Page 34 of No More Bad Boys
Even outside on top of a concrete picnic table.
He’s just too attractive, and my reaction to him is too overwhelming.
Suddenly, my body jerks in shock, and I pull my mouth away from his with a little scream.
“Get off. Get off.”
Blake leaps off of me, his face twisted in concern. “What happened? Did I hurt you? Am I too heavy?”
I’m sure he thinks he’s bruised my spine by pressing it into the hard table.
“No. No, it’s not you.”
Shaking all over, I scramble to my feet and stand on the tabletop. “One of those ducks just pecked me.”
“What?” he says with a half-laugh.
“Ducks. They hate me. One of them pecked my pinky toe.” I glance at his amused grin. He’s not taking this seriously. “Really hard,” I add.
Now that he’s no longer concerned about having harmed me in some way, Blake laughs out loud.
“Are you referring to the small feathered creatures, sleeping peacefully right over there?”
I give him a dirty look. “Fine. Laugh. But I’m telling you something pecked my toe, and unless you have a bill tucked away in some strange secret location, it had to have been a duck.”
“Well, no, since you’ve asked, I donothave an extra pecker with which I attack the toes of unsuspecting young ladies. But…” He looks around, holding his hands out to the sides. “I don’t see the suspect. And I’m detecting some sort of duck phobia here, or maybe a conspiracy theory?”
I frown at his sarcastic tone and bemused expression. “It’s here somewhere. He’s waiting for me to get down so he can peck me again.”
Blake’s voice is filled with merriment. “Maybe he was jealous—maybe he wanted a taste—”
A loud quack comes from under the picnic table.
“See? I told you,” I hiss in a loud whisper.
He squats down to peer underneath then scrambles back in a hurry as a huge mallard charges him. Blake barely gets to his feet before the duck starts striking his legs.
“What the hell?” he yells, still semi-laughing. He kicks half-heartedly at the duck in self-defense, causing it to retreat.
“Watch out, he’s coming back,” I squeal, pointing and hopping on my toes.
Sure enough, the mallard is moving in from behind Blake for a sneak-attack.
“Ow—fucking duck.” Blake narrowly dodges a second bill-strike to the calf, skipping to the side, putting him further away from my refuge on the table.
“Wait—you can’t leave me here,” I cry.
“You’re safe up there. Don’t worry.” Blake dodges to the other side as the crazy duck makes another run at him. “You should get to the truck while he’s after me.”
I look over at Blake’s pickup. The parking lot seems miles away.
He’s right—the picnic is definitely over, and it’s time to go. But try as I may, I can’t get my feet to move. My legs feel like concrete pillars, and my feet are welded to the tabletop.
Blake has succeeded in drawing the duck further away, running backward a step or two ahead of the fierce fowl’s advance. He takes his eyes off his adversary to motion to me.
“Come on—this is your chance.”
“I… I don’t think I can. I’m… frozen.”
