Pretty Instinct (17 page)

I answer breathily, but honestly. “Yes.”

“I understand.” His mouth turns down just enough for me to notice, as though he’s…disappointed? “Promise me one thing?”

“What?”

“You’ll let me know the second your answer changes.”

Biting my bottom lip and casting my eyes to the ground, I give a slight, affirmative shake of my head. Why
am
I always so damn honest? I could be tasting Cannon right now, finally confirming the flavor of my consuming fantasies.

Damn the whole taking the high road thing.

But I don’t want to be someone’s “too soon” or “maybe this will be better.” I want all or nothing, and I’m sticking with the familiar and safe—nothing—until I’m certain I’m all.

“Come on,” he entwines our hands, “they’re waiting.”

***

The three goobers who immersed themselves, literally, in the zoo desperately need showers once we’re on the road. Conner’s asleep by the time it’s my turn. Oh, they all offered for me to go first—my gentlemen—but I like to be available when Conner’s up and wanting to play games or watch movies. Which we did and he never once mentioned that I smell, perhaps because I didn’t get up close and personal with every animal possible.

Besides, a cold, late shower never hurt anyone.

After the little speech Cannon gave under the tree about promises and kisses, coupled with him coming out from his shower glistening, donned only in pajama pants…a brisk shower seems imperative.

The water’s almost lukewarm when I slink under it, a nice surprise, and after I’ve pre-gamed—body and hair—I make a conscious decision to change course. Rather than self-remedy away all my “Cannon frustration,” the way I usually do, I decide to let it fester. After all, anticipation is the spice of life, and it makes me feel tingly and intrigued and
anticipatory
, knowing he’s obviously thinking of kissing me. I’m going to let my raging desires build up for ultimate pleasure when, and if, we get our moment.

If anything, I should be kicking, not pleasuring, myself anyway—opening my big, honest mouth before! But it’s true, Cannon’s been with us for…thirteen days now, and that does seem a bit fast to go from planning to marry a girl to kissing another. I don’t wish for time to fly by; I want to savor every single minute and conversation getting to know him, but part of me (okay, a lot of me) is ready for his rebound/too soon grace period to be over.

Feeling levelheaded now rather than robbed, I get dressed and ready for bed then step out of the bathroom to unexpected quiet.

I might not be a mother exactly, but I’ve developed a certain instinct via Conner that tells me if there’s mischief afoot the minute I walk in a room.

My radar is currently beeping in triple time.

Hmm… Cannon and Jarrett are at the table, huddled together over a laptop. I pull open the curtain quietly and find Vanessa passed out in Jarrett’s bunk, which is fine since he’s not in it with her. Rhett is snoring softly from his own bed.

So then what tomfoolery is it I’m picking up on?

Approaching stealthily, I diagnose the cheesy disco and panting sounds coming from the screen far sooner than they realize I’m standing there. “Whatcha guys doing?” I whisper.

“What?” Cannon startles, turning a “cat at the canary” look my way. “N-nothing.” He tries to slam the screen down but Jarrett holds him off.

“No way! I’m watching that! Conner’s asleep; she can’t get mad. In fact, Mama Bear,” he pats the spot next to him, “come check this out.”

“Jarrett Paul Foster, are you suggesting I watch internet porn with you two?”

“That’s exactly what I’m saying. Now shh and sit down, I wanna hear.”

Oh yeah—because the dialogue is
so
complex and intricate. It’s a bewildering, often traumatizing, experience watching his mind work.

Shocked at myself, I do in fact take a seat, rolling my eyes. Cannon leans across and cocks his left eyebrow at me. “You want some popcorn, Siren?”

I glower back at him, then quickly turn my focus to the screen. “Okay, so catch me up on the riveting plot.”

Jarrett jumps at the chance, pointing to the screen. “This girl called a maintenance man to fix her sink and his apprentice came along. Now they’re, fu—uh, now they’re—”

“Got it!” I hold up a hand to stop his enlightening, linguistically fascinating explanation. “All caught up.”

The bench is shaking from Cannon laughing at my reaction, his head dipped and turned away, though it does nothing to hide his amusement.

“Um…” I cannot believe I’m about to ask this, but I know the curiosity will eat at me, so I gulp and go for it. “Why is head fix-it guy’s penis two different colors?”

“What?” Jarrett booms, laughing like a hyena.

“Shhh!” I warn him,
not
wanting the others to wake and catch us in one of our least attractive moments. “Look, right where her mouth is, there’s clearly a line where it goes from brown to pink. See,” now I point on-screen, “right there, that line. That’s freaky. Something’s wrong.”

Now they’re both face down on the table, trying to muffle their boisterous laughter, and still not answering me.

“Cannon, you gonna take this one?” Jarrett snorts.

Cannon’s head flies up, all signs of amusement gone, eyes wide and scared like roadkill in the headlights, seconds before the impending crash. “Not a chance in hell.”

“Pussy,” Jarrett goads. “Liz, lot of guys have lighter heads than shafts. Totally normal.”

I scrunch up my face in disgust. “I would not put that
not normal
, deformed looking thing in my mouth. It’d be like unwrapping a cherry sucker and half of it’s green. You know, something’s just
not quite right
. Ergo, don’t stick it in your mouth!”

“Oh no?” Jarrett challenges. “So you’ve already seduced him, and his dick’s ready, in your face. You simply say ‘no thank you’?” He laughs. “Awful harsh. Besides, you ever
really
looked at a vagina? Not exactly beautiful, all wrinkly and shit, like a raisin gone horribly wrong. Parts popping out of bigger parts, like that movie where the fucking alien is scary enough, then KAPOW, a baby one busts out his belly! “

“I have no idea what you just said, and I actually
have
a vagina,” I mutter in a monotone response of complete abhorrence and disbelief while Cannon shields his face in his hand, his whole body shaking with tempered laughter.

“Your clit. It’s all shrouded up in the wrinkles, then
surprise
, out it pops!” Jarrett thrusts out jazz hands and twirls them. “Talk about
not quite right
.”

This may never happen again—I literally have no words. I just shake my head, scarily fascinated at his inner issues, and force myself to instead think back to the original point,
not
the eloquent vagina description, pondering if I
could
be that rude and make the guy feel bad. Hmm…my mind goes to work and I snap when I’ve got it. “I’d act like I fainted!”

Their wails can’t be contained now, liable to wake the bus and the dead. I wait, knowing I’m brilliant, while they simmer down and regain the ability to converse.

“Fake faint?” Cannon asks with twinkling eyes, battling an amused grin. “Do you know how to do that?”

“Sure.” I show him, letting my eyes roll back in my head dramatically, falling backward, arms limply out to my sides.

“Pretty good,” he replies. “I’d buy it.”

“Shit, me too,” Jarrett says incredulously. “Women are so sneaky.”

“Hey!” I come to life and shove him. “I’d do it to be nice, not sneaky. Now finish your dick flick. I’m going to bed.” I shoot them looks of disapproval and pad off, crawling under my covers. It’s been a long, but blissful, day and I am spent. “And Jarret?” I turn back with a saucy grin. “Thou protesth too much; dead giveaway. I’m sorry about your rainbow penis.”

***

What the hell?
Feeling like I
just
got to sleep, I come to, looking around in the dark, scared it’s finally happened—pieces of Rhett’s bed are breaking apart onto my head.

Then a wad of something hits me in the face, a subdued laugh from across the aisle following it. Ok, not the ceiling collapsing, just Cannon throwing things at me. My hands fumble around, finding two clumps and I switch on my bed light to see what they are. Unfolding the first crumpled ball of paper, I giggle out loud.

Don’t be afraid, Little Siren. At least 8 out of 10 penises are all one color. DO NOT do a field study, take my word for it. –C

I open the second one, again tempted to snicker at the random thoughts keeping him awake.

Rebound—to recover.

Recover—to return to normal condition, esp. after a setback.

Synopsis: Rebounding hasn’t gotten a fair shake, the negative connotation thrust upon it unfair and incorrect. Getting back to normal after a setback is a good thing. A setback is not a good thing. –C

If he’s not the most witty, clever charmer in the world….

I reach above my head for a pen and turn the sheet over to reply.

Why are you telling me this? In the middle of the night? –L

Then I toss it back his way and go to the other one.

Good information, thank you. No worries—no focus groups currently planned. –L

Returning that one as well, I should really turn off my light and discourage further incognito, late night note passing—but my tummy’s got acrobatic anticipation going on and my heart’s thumping madly. No matter the time or method (
obviously
), I thrive on interaction with Cannon.

The wad comes flying back and my trembling fingers fumble to get it unwrinkled.

Because I want you to understand—numb complacency wasn’t “normal,” just tolerable since nothing else shined brighter. Only once a siren calls, do you recognize extraordinary from not too terrible. –C

Are you hitting on me, through a note? –L

Throw.

Catch.

Absofuckinglutely. –C

Oh Lord
, okay so that’s hot and alluring and the best kind of charming. I pull back my curtain a smidge, enough to look out, his eyes are already locked right on me, turned raven and smoldering, just waiting for me to peek out.

“Hi,” he mouths.

My heart patters swiftly as I jerk the sheet back in place, deciding notes are far safer for my sanity, not to mention my body temperature.

You’re a flirt. It’s only because I’m here, convenient. And it’s only been 2 weeks, my shiny and new will wear off, I promise. Mundane and bitchy should be resurfacing any time now. Or maybe the “movie” got you worked up. I thought we were “friends?” –L

Throw.

Catch.

I hate that we’re doing this over 3
^rd
grade notes in too close quarters with an audience. I want to be able to see your eyes when I tell you things, so you can see the honesty in mine. We are friends, that’s where it should always start. And you lying two foot away, all soft and sleepy, that works me up. Tomorrow before the show, may I please take you to dinner, just the two of us?–C

P.S. I haven’t asked a girl out via note since I was 14.

Even if I don’t buy a word he’s saying, except the part about not asking a girl out like since 14—that’s hopefully, for his dignity’s sake, very true—I always enjoy his company, so the answer is easy.

Yes.
–L

Throw.

My curtain flies open and I gasp, scooting against the wall, stunned, as one sleepy yet forebodingly sexy Cannon looms over me.

“I can’t wait. Come ‘ere.” He crooks his finger at me and with an echoing gulp, I inch toward him the slightest bit. “Closer,” he says with a wink.

One more wiggle, that’s all he’s getting.

When he does, his head bends in and he places a single, tender kiss on my lips, then leans back to gaze at me. “You are definitely bitchy, in the most adorable, protective way possible. But if you ever call yourself mundane again, I will spank your delectable little ass. Twice. Until tomorrow, sleep well, my bewitching siren.”

He pulls closed my curtain like he didn’t just serenade my girly parts…and I guess falls asleep?

Lord knows I don’t. Estrogen, femininity, and fairytale musings are currently running rampant within me, causing quite the “keep me awake” ruckus.

So I do what I always do and quietly sneak out my notebook to jot down the lyrics flooding my mind.

The next day begins with me on edge from the minute my eyes crack open. With my date with Cannon on the horizon, I’m anxious, but more nervous about the others’ reactions when they find out. I’m dreading any buts or “are you sure?” skepticism; I want to enjoy this at face value, to blindly…have a little faith in him, it, this, us.

While everyone’s busy with breakfast and showers, I sneak outside to join my uncle in his cloud of smoke.

“Morning, girl.” He smiles fleetingly, turning to cough up a lung.

“I wish you’d stop smoking.” I grimace, patting him on the back. “Why don’t you try Chantix? I’ve read a ton of success stories on it.”

“You know how expensive that stuff is?” he asks, strained.

“No, but I do know there’s not a price I’m not willing to pay. So you’ll try it?”

He tries not to look at me; I know he’ll be unable to resist if he sees my pleading face. So I shift to stand right in front of him.

“When we get back home, make an appointment. Promise me?”

He ponders a minute then nods in defeat, stomping out his current stick. “That all you wanted?”

“Oh, uh, no.” I conveniently take my turn to not look at him. I know it’s silly, I’m twenty-three years old and actually “the boss” here, but nervous as a whore in church all the same.

I wonder if my mom would like Cannon, or if she really did send him to me
because
she likes him. If she saw him with Conner, undoubtedly she’d adore him, but what about
for me
? I’m getting too ahead of my whimsical musings—it’s a meal with a man who two weeks ago was ready to spend his life with someone else, nothing more.