Hoot just blinks at me.
“You know what? You’re ungrateful. Anyone ever tell you that?” I lob at him as I inch away from the bathroom doorway, deciding he can fend for himself.
Like some overprotective girlfriend, the skunk lifts its head and, I swear, shoots an unappreciative look my way. Immediately I freeze, throwing my hands up like the skunk just barked, you’re under arrest. I watch petrified as it gets up, arches its back with a stretch, and then levels a cold obsidian stare on me. If I didn’t know better, I’d think it was offended on behalf of Hoot. It watches me, and I watch it right back for what seems like forever. I feel like an ant under a magnifying lens just waiting for it to find the right angle and singe my ass with the sun’s brutal rays.
I gather up my courage and move to the side slowly, non-threateningly, and then stop in my tracks when the skunk’s tail twitches in response.
“You’re okay,” I coo silkily at it. “I’m just trying to leave so you and Hoot can get back to your cuddle party,” I add, trying for another step.
The skunk’s weaponized ass starts to angle in my direction. I look at Hoot, stupidly expecting him to tell his little friend to simmer the fuck down and behave, but he just yawns. Yep, it’s official, it’s every man for himself up in this bitch.
“You don’t want to do that,” I declare confidently to the skunk as it turns even more. But apparently it really does, because it’s armed and loaded butt is pointed at me before I can even finish my sentence. “Mother fuck—” I scream and dive to try and get out of the way of any noxious projectiles the little beast can send my way.
A loud thump fills the room as I land hard. It knocks my grimoire off the dresser, and next thing I know, it’s plummeting down toward me. Unable to roll away in time, I take a book spine to the ribs. I swallow down a yelp that could very well give my position away to the enemy, and start to army crawl toward the window. That bastard skunk probably thinks I’ll make a run for the door, but I’m one step ahead. Unagi all the way.
Ross would be so proud.
The door to my room slams open with a loud boom like it was just kicked in by SWAT. My head snaps toward it just in time to see Rogan stomp in, his green eyes furious and searching.
Fuck, he’s directly in the line of fire!
I push off from the ground, my towel abandoning me in my haste. My head is on a swivel as I look from the skunk to Rogan, who’s just standing in prime spraying range. I leap for him, screaming for him to get down like some crazed banshee. Rogan’s eyes widen as I tackle him, his arms wrapping around me as we both go down like felled trees.
He hits the ground first with an oomph, and I bounce against him from the impact. I squeeze my eyes shut, knowing that the skunk is going to release its deluge at any moment. Hopefully, I get the worst of it and Rogan is somewhat spared.
“What is going on?” he growls, making my eyes pop open to find his green gaze going from me to the room as though he’s still searching for the threat.
“Hoot let a skunk in the house. Close your mouth, we’re going to be sprayed any second now,” I bark at him, once again squeezing my eyes shut and taking my own advice and clamping my mouth closed too.
Rogan doesn’t say anything, proving his self-preservation instincts are firing on all cylinders. I wait, every muscle tense, for a malodorous mist to cascade down upon me, but nothing happens. I wait a little longer and then a little more. Nothing. I risk cracking one eye open to take in what’s happening. Maybe the skunk wanted a better angle.
I look over to find the little menace just sitting and watching us, Hoot right at its side, like Rogan and I are their entertainment for the evening. I turn my perplexed gaze to Rogan, who doesn’t look nearly as worried or pissed as I thought he would, and the gears in my head start turning.
“You know this skunk, don’t you?” I ask on a whisper, just in case my voice sets the little striped demon into a spraying frenzy.
“Lennox, meet Gibson. He was my familiar before…”
I let out a huff and try not to roll my eyes. Of course he had a skunk for a familiar, why wouldn’t that be completely normal? And here I was thinking a ferret would have been bad.
“Um, he won’t hurt you,” Rogan supplies, like it should be obvious and he’s trying to figure out why I’m acting like a mental case. “He was de-scented as a baby,” he adds casually, and I feel a blush crawling up my neck and into my cheeks.
“He can’t spray?” I ask warily, because that skunk was ass out and ready, which makes no sense if it can’t actually use said ass as a weapon.
“Not at all,” Rogan confirms.
“Why the hell didn’t you tell me you had a skunk for a familiar?” I demand, pushing up from his chest so I can stare down at him annoyed.
He ignores the weight of my irritated glare and moves into a sitting position, which has me straddling his lap, and us chest to chest. I’m painfully aware that I’m naked, but I’m hoping if I don’t draw attention to it that he won’t notice. This plan is getting less and less feasible as I feel my skin morph into a lovely shade of scarlet, but it’s all I have to work with at the moment.
“There’s been a lot going on. I guess I forgot,” he offers lamely, but I don’t know that I’m buying it one bit. Maybe he didn’t anticipate a naked tackle, but I could totally see him getting a rise out of freaking people out.
“Oh, you simply forgot,” I snark, my tone making it clear just how much I believe that crap.
“Why on earth did you tackle me?” he defends, turning this around on me. Typical.
“I was saving you,” I point out incredulously.
“From a skunk that can’t even spray?” he counters ungratefully.
“I didn’t know that at the time, you ass. It twerked in my direction, and I got the fuck out of the way. I didn’t stop and examine its equipment.”
“Gibson does not twerk.”
“Hate to break it to you, Rogan, but he sure as hell does.”
“Why are you naked?” he asks, and my mouth flops open wordlessly.
So much for his not noticing. His thumb paints an arc on the skin of my hip, and I all at once can’t help but notice how his body feels against mine. I clear my throat, brushing aside the way his soft T-shirt teases my now peaked breasts. Or the way the rough texture of his jeans feels between my thighs. I ignore how close his face is to mine, or just how intimate our current position is.
“Because your towel abandoned me in my time of need,” I defend, suddenly feeling a little breathless. “You should really get towels made of sturdier stuff.”
“I’ll get right on that,” he answers without missing a beat, his eyes fixed on mine and unreadable.
I know I should tell him to close his eyes while I get out of his lap. I know I shouldn’t feel any amount of satisfaction as he hardens beneath me. Excitement shouldn’t light up my insides simply because his breaths are coming a little quicker. His response to me shouldn’t matter. He shouldn’t matter. But as his eyes dip down to my lips, and his fingertips warm my hips, there’s no denying that something is here...and it matters.
My heart picks up its pace, and I’m not sure what I should do. I feel like I’m on the cusp of something, but I’m not sure exactly what. Will he lean in? Do I want to kiss him? Is it wise to add this potential complication to an already messed up situation? His eyes flick back up to mine, and I can practically see the same questions swirling in his gaze. We stare at each other, one second flowing into another. We don’t advance. We don’t retreat. We just sit in indecision until doubt starts to bloom in my chest.