Page 31 of Cream and Punishment
Before he could reply, Mr. Baked Beans reappeared and thrust the freshly wiped donkey at us. I took it after a moment of hesitation, careful to avoid looking it in the eye or touching the left ear. It was heavier than expected.
“Phew! Sorry about that.” Mr. Baked Beans flashed a wobbly smile. “I’m over her, though. I’ve moved on. Ready to wade back into the dating pool again.” He looked me over with much more interest than my haphazard appearance warranted. “Are you single?”
“Uh.” I froze, eyes wide and brain spinning out before it inevitably died in a fiery crash.
“Sorry, man” —Max moved to my side and wrapped an arm around me, warm and strong and oh so wrong— “she’s taken. But you’ll find someone.” He hesitated for a second before forging on. “It’ll hurt for a while, I won’t lie. But it’ll get better, too. Thanks for the…costume.”
He waved to Mr. Baked Beans and smoothly turned me around so we could make our getaway. This was easier said than done, considering I had to drag Eeyore’s evil twin along for the ride. Ultimately, I hefted the donkey over one shoulder. This unfortunately brought me level with its chest, where the slight bulge didn’t seem quite so subtle anymore.
“This donkey has abosom, Max,” I hissed once we’d made it down a few stairs and out of Mr. Baked Beans’ earshot. “This isn’t what I signed up for.”
He cackled softly. “This is even better than I could’ve hoped for. And it’s…chestal areaisn’t so bad. I’d say it just has a feminine figure.”
I carefully lowered myself to the next step, regretting wearing flip-flops for the umpteenth time. “Pretty sure having boobs is part of the definition offeminine figure.”
“Are you willing to bet on that? I could really go for some more of those cupcakes you made again.”
“Har, har.” Normally, I’d be down for a wager, especially since the prize wouldn’t put me out much at all if I lost. But he seemed extremely confident. What if he randomly had the entire Merriam Webster dictionary memorized?
A few beats of silence passed, broken only by my heavy breathing and grandma shuffling down the stairs.
“Can I please carry that for you?” he asked. “You’re making me nervous.”
A quiet grunt escaped before I could stop it. “I’ve got it.”
Sort of. Truthfully, this thing was awkward and heavier than my exhausted body was prepared to carry for two blocks. Seeing the steps in the complex’s dim lighting was hard enough without an equine head swinging back and forth across my butt. Not a comfortable experience. But I could carry it myself. I’d gotten myself into this, and I’d get myself out.
And I did. Up until the last few steps.
My flip-flop caught in the metal grating of the stair as I started dropping to the next one. Between that and the donkey throwing off my center of balance, I overshot, missed the step, and went tumbling. My ankle landed wrong, twisting with a sharp snap of pain before I plummeted to the ground.
Instead of landing on rough concrete, I landed on rough concrete separated by a layer of donkey and plastic. So, hey. Silver lining.
“Dekker?” Max’s worried voice carried over the crinkle of plastic in my ears and the thumping of feet on metal stairs.
I groaned in reply, slowly rolling over and testing each limb to make sure my pride was the only thing damaged. My left ankle was especially tender, but everything seemed to work okay.
“Are you hurt?” Max asked, crouching beside me.
“I’m humbled, that’s for sure.” I eased into a sitting position, pretending I didn’t see his hand extended to help. One of my flip-flops had slipped off my foot, which I fixed as fast as possible. What were the odds he hadn’t noticed that? “The donkey took the brunt of it. Thank goodness for donkey cleavage, huh? All that extra padding paid off.”
He laughed and adjusted his position until it was impossible to miss his offered hand. When I stared dumbly at it for a few seconds while warring between offending him by not taking it or racking up more debt on the karmic scales, he sighed. “I hope one of these days you won’t find me so repulsive anymore. But if you don’t want any help up, I’m fine with that, too.”
“It’s not that,” I rushed out. “You’re not repulsive at all.”
As far from it as physically possible, actually. If anything, the problem was hownotrepulsive he was, and how I craved his touch as much as I panicked being around him.
To prove how not repulsed I was, I thrust my hand into his. And,sweet sarsaparilla, what a mistake that was.
Sparks like confetti exploded where we touched, dancing up my skin until they threatened to fry what little common sense I had left. I inhaled sharply but resisted the urge to pull away. We locked eyes before he looked away.
I might need to pop antacids for a week after this, but it’d be worth it. Being burned by Max was a delicious torture I couldn’t refuse.
“See?” I cleared my throat to shake away the breathiness that had taken my voice captive. “Not repulsive at all.”
He cleared his throat, too. “Good.”
He helped pull me to a standing position much more gracefully than I could’ve done on my own. I might have dwelled on how humiliating this whole ordeal was, had I not put weight on my ankle.
