Page 50 of Bad at Love
He takes a small step back and then nods. “Yes.”
I grin to myself in anticipation. “Okay.”
I grip the ends of one of the frames with both hands and slowly pull it up out of the hive.
A very large comb, maybe two feet long, hangs off, every inch covered by hundreds of bees, wriggling like one dark beast. It’s a gorgeous sight but…
Laz is screaming.
“Oh my god!” he shrieks. “Fuck this!”
He turns around and starts running. I watch him, trying not to laugh as he goes across the lawn looking like a lunaticin his white suit, like a Hazmat worker fleeing the scene from a radioactive monster. Then he slips on the grass and eats shit.
Now I’m laughing and it’s shaking the comb, so more bees are coming off of it, mad at me for disturbing them.
“I’m so sorry,” I say to the bees through my laughter, hoping I can put the frame back in before one of them stings my bare hands.
Thankfully I make it and I go running after Laz who is lying on his back spread eagle on the grass.
I zip off my veil and hat and stand above him, peering down.
“Are you okay?” I ask, still laughing.
“No.” His head rolls to the side until he’s looking at me. “Marina. You just had like, thousands of bees in your bare hands.”
“I know. This is part of my job. I do this almost every day.”
“Bloody hell. I am not cut out for this.”
“I can see that.”
“I’ll stick to poetry and playing obnoxiously loud music.”
“And singing. Don’t forget singing. You have a hell of a voice. Hey, maybe you can sing to the bees.”
“Yeah right. That probably signals for them to attack me.”
“Believe me, no bee in their right mind would sting you. What’s the point when you just run away every time, screaming like a little girl.”
“I think my ego just took a hit.”
“It’s about time. I was wondering if you’d ever be taken down a peg.”
“You know, as my friend, you’re supposed to keep liftingme up on pegs, not taking me down. And also, you could give me a hand.”
I sigh and straddle him, reaching down with both hands to grab his arms.
Except he reaches up and grabs me by the elbows instead and pulls me down so I’ve fallen in an awkward heap on top of him.
I yelp and am about to roll off when his arms wrap around me tight, holding me in place, keeping me pressed against his chest.
“Let go of me, you beast,” I say playfully, both enjoying being this close to him and also wondering what the hell is happening because Laz and I have never been the touchy-feely kind of friends. We hug but we don’t hold hands, we don’t cuddle, we don’t have wrestling or tickling matches.
He grunts in response and then rolls over so he’s on top of me now, elbows planted on either side of my shoulders.
Oh hell. This feelsgood. The hard and heavy length of his body flush against mine, the weight of him making me feel so small and dainty and…captive.
I know he expects me to squirm. I know I should. But secretly, I’m in heaven.
