Page 91 of Bears Behaving Badly
“Hang on, I think you’ve got something—Jesus.”
sprang to her assistance, and then she sprang to his, sort of, if springing meant grabbing and kissing and thenhandseverywhere and also she was very much afraid this was more than a physical attraction, more than random sex-fueled neurons firing because now she was wondering if he liked lakes or the ocean, movies or plays, salads or steaks (or both!), and that was bad, this wasn’t a love story, it was…something else. And the only thing to do was to take a page from Dory’s book: just keep kissing, just keep kissing, just keep kissing…
All of which came to an instant end when someone on the other side of the door hit it with enough force to rattle the thing on its hinges. They both jumped back, Annette managing to get it unlocked before more, noisier damage could be done. She knew the sound of those fists.
And there she was, rushing in, then closing and locking the door behind her. “Strip, morons.” When David and Annette exchanged a glance, Nadia all but threw the clothing at them. “Now!”
“Yikes.” David turned his back and began unbuckling his belt. Annette almost laughed, and hoped his erection would go down so he could get his pants off.
“You’re going to a memorial to presumably fake respect for a dead fuckwit, yes? How are you going to pull that off in yesterday’s rumpled clothes? Have either of you considered that? No? I thought not. Why does it smell like pheromones in here?”
“No idea,” Annette lied, ignoring David’s snort.
They were in the Super Target family restroom with Nadia and her bottomless bag of new clothes, which meant two werebears were trapped in a six-by-six box with an agitated raptor. Compliance was the quickest guarantee of safety. Annette kicked off her shoes, stripped off her sweater, shucked her pants, and held out her hand for…
“Dammit.”
“Oh, stop it.”
“I loathe salmon. The color,” she clarified, looking at the dress on the hanger. “And I think you knew that.”
“Beggars and choosers, darling. Besides, it’s apricot, not salmon.”
“And since it’s a memorial,” Annette continued, “shouldn’t this be black?”
“Your coloring demands apricot! You have enough black. Yech. Here. No, bend forward. More.More.Oh, just stand still. My God. You’re like a child.”
“I know you are, but what am I? And any clothing I need help putting on is clothing I will never wear again,” Annette warned, her voice muffled as the silky material rolled past her face.
“Do shut up, Annette.” Nadia fussed with the thing, coaxing it to fall and drape wherever it was supposed to fall and drape. Annette had to admit, once it was on, it was fairly comfortable. It was an off-the-shoulder dress with a nipped-in waist and a hem that fell just below her knees. And, she realized, pivoting, it did terrific things for her big butt. Which was irrelevant, but nice.
“It’s supposed to hit at mid-calf,” Nadia fussed, “but you’re obscenely tall. Legs too long, hair too wild, face too pale, figure too zaftig.”
“You forgot about my scurvy and chronic trench mouth.”
“And yet, my unerring fashion sense will be able to camouflage all of it.”
“Her legs are perfect,” David said, looking pretty perfect himself. “And so’s her hair and her face and her zaftig. She doesn’t have to change a thing.”
“David, you’re just too adorable sometimes.”
“I thought it would itch,” Annette confessed, petting the fabric.
“Yes, it’s polyester, I’maware, Annette. I was under considerable time constraints, and I am appalled,appalled, at the depth of your ingratitude.”
“I meant because of the lace patchwork around the shoulders. But see?” She wriggled her (nearly bare) shoulders. “No itching.”
“Oh. Very good. Now, David,yourcoloring demands embalmment. Which wasn’t an option, but I did the best I could. And I’ll remind you—”
“You don’t have to remind us. But you will.” David coughed. “A lot.”
“—that my best is better than 95 percent of anyone else’s best.”
“Only 95 percent? It’s fine.” David was in black slacks, a black mock turtleneck, and a black suit jacket. “Not to sound ungrateful, but how’d you know all my sizes?”
“I have eyes, don’t I?”
“It’s still creepy.”
