Page 84 of Smut

I roll over and get up, not caring that I’m hanging out in front of her partially erect. “Food,” I tell her. “That’s happening again by the way” —I gesture to the bed— “but I need my strength.”

I grab her hand and pull her up to her feet.

She’s immediately bashful, standing there completely naked and awkward, trying to hide her body from me.

I walk over to my dresser and toss her a shirt.

“Here, put that on,” I tell her. “Unless you want to be naked. No complaints from me.”

She slips the shirt over her head. “This is good, thanks. What’s for dinner?”

“Cold pizza,” I tell her as we walk to the kitchen.

“Cold pizza? That is so college student circa nineteen eighty-nine,” she tells me, leaning against the island counter, as if we were alive then. “Do you have Pepsi too?”

“Well, tonight it’s college student two thousand sixteen,” I tell her, opening the fridge. “And Pepsi? What’s wrong with you?” I pause and peer around the fridge door at her. “You might want to avert your eyes. I have to bend over.”

She averts them by way of rolling them up to the ceiling. Good enough.

I get the pizza out and start divvying up slices onto plates. “Ever see that Seinfeld episode where Jerry has that girlfriend that’s always naked?”

“Yes,” she says. “Please don’t open any pickle jars around me.”

“No promises.” We sit down on the stools at the kitchen island and nibble on our slices. Amanda keeps blushing, and I can’t tell if it’s because of the good sex, the fact that we’re having sex at all, or the fact that I’m naked. I have a feeling her prat of an ex-boyfriend never walked around naked in front of her. She probably only saw his penis in the dark. Might have been a good thing.

I’m staring at her like a total dork, probably with a goofy look on my face, when she stops chewing, her mouth open, the pizza hanging limply from her hand. Her eyes widen, focused on a spot beyond me.

Then her hand starts shaking and the pizza is shaking, and it’s like I’m watching that scene with the Jell-O in Jurassic Park.

I stiffen. “What is it?” I’m already whispering, preparing for a raptor behind me.

Her eyes dart to mine. “Um,” she says, voice squeaking. “Just how dangerous is a tarantula?”

Oh no. Oh no.

No.

My head whips around to see Fluffy on the counter behind me.

I swear he lifts one of his hairy legs and waves it at me, giving me a wink with one of his many dark shining eyes.

There’s a split second where everything freezes. Fluffy in mid-wave. My heart. My lungs.

And then Fluffy suddenly moves.

And I don’t know if he’s flinging himself at me or just running away or what’s going on, but I scream bloody murder and I jump to my feet, running clear to the other side of the room. Somewhere in this display of utter cowardice I remember I’m with Amanda. And I’m naked. And still I’m hoping she’s a bigger man than me.

But she’s also screaming, running down the hall.

“Are you okay?” I yell at her, shudders running through me.

“Yeah!” she cries out from around the corner. “Ahh, I feel like he’s crawling on me!”

“Me too!” I slap my hands all over my body. My eyes dart all over the living room, the kitchen, expecting to see that fuzzy rose gold body anywhere.

“What are you going to do?” Amanda yells.

“I don’t know. Kill him?”

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