“Shit,” I say again.
“I think they’re still sleeping,” I hear Mom say.
“Or they’re out for one of their runs,” Dad says. “Slick roads, though; might not be smart.”
I turn to Larkin. “They can’t see us naked.”
“Obviously,” she whispers. “God, and what would they think of you sleeping with your assistant?” She places her hand on her forehead in distress. “They’re going to think I’m a harlot.”
I glance toward the kitchen and then back at Larkin. “They won’t.” I pause. “Shit, I have no idea what they might think, but I have a feeling if they see us naked, they will have something to say about it.”
“Anyone in their right mind would have something to say about finding two individuals naked in their living room,” Larkin says, her panic rising.
I grip her hand for a brief moment. “It’s okay. We can be really quiet and let them believe we’re not here, and then we’ll sneak out while they’re taking showers.”
“That’s a great idea and all, but all of our clothes are outside this tent.”
“Fuck,” I mutter and then lean an ear toward the kitchen. Luckily, we didn’t zip up the tent, so I can partially see the living room. “I think I see my pants. Why don’t I get dressed quick and distract them in the kitchen while you get dressed?”
She nods. “Okay, yeah, that’s a great idea.”
“Good.” I ease out of the sleeping bag as quietly as I can and reach out for my sweatpants, which are about three feet away. I look over my shoulder to find Larkin staring at my bare ass. “Can you not look at me from that angle?” I ask. “It’s not entirely flattering.”
She clamps her hand over her mouth, suppressing a laugh. “It’s flattering on this end.”
“That’s never a flattering angle.”
She motions to the living room. “Just grab your pants; who cares what angle I’m seeing your ass at.”
“I care. Because you’re not just looking at ass . . .”
“Are you referring to your balls? Because those are nice too.”
My cheeks flame. “We have severely crossed the line.”
“We crossed it last night, when your face was between my legs the second go-around.” She smirks, nibbling on her bottom lip.
“Don’t get me—”
“Your coloring book is in here,” Mom says, her voice drawing closer.
Fuck.
I quickly snag my pants and then pop back into the tent while Larkin dives under the sleeping bag.
I’m a sitting duck with two options.
Pray I can put my pants on faster than my mom can enter the living room, or I can duck under the sleeping bag as well.
Can you guess what I decided on?
Hint: it wasn’t the right choice.
“Yes, I’ll grab your colored—Ford,” Mom says, her mouth falling open as she steps into the room. I’m inside the open tent, with one leg in my sweatpants, one out. She assesses the living room, and I hope to God she doesn’t notice the discarded thong somewhere around here. “What are you doing?”
I blink.
I swallow.
I try to look like I don’t have company.
“Uh . . . you know . . . camping.”
“Camping? In the living room?”
“Did I hear camping?” Dad’s voice booms down the hallway.
“Yes, Ford is camping.”
“Outside?” Dad walks into the living room and assesses the mess. “What on God’s green earth is happening in here?”
I clear my throat and wish that I wasn’t half-naked—one leg still out of my sweatpants, completely bare. “Camping,” I answer.
“In the living room?” Dad asks, confused. “Naked?”
“He’s not naked,” Mom says and then takes a closer look at me. “Are you naked? In my living room?”
“No, not naked. Why would I be naked in your living room?” I ask nervously as they stare me down.
I’m thirty-six years old, but in this moment, I feel like a teenager caught with his pants down. Half of that statement is true.
“I don’t know, that’s what we’re asking—” Mom pauses and then glances up the stairs. “Dear Jesus, Ford. Is Larkin upstairs? And you’re naked down here? What the hell do you think she’d do if she came down here to see you camping naked in the living room, for Christ’s sake?”
“Larkin is here?” Dad whisper-shouts. A bead of sweat rolls down my back. If they only knew. “For the love of God, get your pants on. What are you . . . some kind of pervert?”
The sleeping bag shakes next to me, no doubt from Larkin barely holding in her laughter.
“No, Dad, I’m not—”
He points a finger at me. “I didn’t raise a pervert.”
“I’m not—”
Mom clutches her chest. “Oh no, is he a Peeping Tom? You weren’t naked, looking in on her bedroom, were you? I don’t think I could handle that.”
“And what’s with the tent? Is it a pervert tent?” Dad asks.
“I’m not a pervert, and I wasn’t doing any Peeping Tom shit. Jesus, who do you think I am?”
“I don’t know.” Dad tosses his arms up in the air. “I didn’t think I would come home to my adult son naked in our living room with his assistant upstairs, but here we are, so excuse us for questioning if you’re a pervert.”
Wow, are my parents taking this too far?
But I have no idea how to cover this up, how to explain why I’m half-naked in their living room. Think, Ford . . . think . . .
Decided to pitch my own tent? God no, that would be alluding to the pervert thing.
Loves to sleep naked, can’t get enough of it? Uh, still slightly perverted, because who can’t keep it together for one night in their parents’ house with said assistant upstairs?
Hmm . . . spilled juice on my pants? Now this is a viable possibility, but I’m not sure if my parents have juice—
“Ahhhh-choo!”
Oh . . . fuck.
Mom and Dad’s eyes widen as they glance toward the sleeping bag, where Larkin is lying as flat as can be.
Thinking quickly, I say, “Uh, pardon me.” I laugh nervously. “Gassy in the morning.”
Dad shakes his head. “Unless your asshole is a nose, that was not a fart.” He scans the living room, and his eyes land on something. From the narrowing of his eyes, what he’s staring at is most likely incriminating. “Peggy. A lady’s garment.”
Yup.
Mom gasps, and then her head whips toward me.
“You have a woman in that tent with you? While poor Larkin is upstairs? You . . . you miscreant.”
“Mom, it’s not what you think.”
“Make yourself known, woman!” Dad’s voice booms.
“Dad, that’s not necess—”
The sleeping bag shuffles, and Larkin pops her head out, shocking the pants right off my parents. I bury my head in my hands as they both take a step back. Stunned. Shocked. Aghast.
“Larkin,” Mom whispers in shock.
“I don’t believe my eyes,” Dad says in awe.