Logan dropped the hazmat suit and lay beside Sky on the sofa. He brushed a strand of hair from her face and kissed her neck. Fuck, she smelled so good. “You awake?” he whispered, caressing her shoulder.

“I am now.” Her voice was thick from sleep as she slowly turned to face him. “Sorry I dozed off. Did you get rid of them?”

Logan touched his lips to hers. “Yes. I even helped them tape the house to speed up matters. We’re alone.”

“And the major glitch?”

“The lady who was hanging from the roof is now safe and sound on the ground.”

“Good,” she said, moving on top of him. “What do you want to do? You tired?”

Tired? He was totally pumped. “I have a couple suggestions. You in?”

She smiled enticingly. “Only if you’re up for it.”

The vixen. Encircling her neck with one hand, he brought her to him and took her mouth while palming her sweet ass. She whimpered, giving herself to the kiss, grinding her pussy against him.

“You have too many clothes on,” he growled as he let her come up for air.

Sky sat on him and slowly pulled off her T-shirt. “Yes, I do. You too.”

She reached for his boxers and yanked. Logan watched her, so sexy, her hair cascading over her naked body. There was no room on the sofa to maneuver, so he rolled them onto the carpet.

“Wait. What—” she complained as she found herself on her back.

“My show.” He settled between her thighs and latched on to her tits, sucking at one nipple while he pinched the other.

She moaned, bowing her back, offering herself to him. Trembling. “We still don’t have condoms,” she said, wrapping her legs around his hips, her panties the only barrier between them.

“I still can make you come. Ever heard of dry humping?”

Her laugh was throaty. Such a turn-on. The way she was writhing against his cock was a bigger turn-on.

He grabbed her wandering hands and held them over her head as he set a slow, hard rhythm, rocking against her pussy while she whimpered and thrashed and lifted her hips. So responsive. He locked his muscles, keeping himself on a tight leash, his cock about to shatter from need. “You’re fucking close, baby.” And so was he. About to explode, actually.

“You left me hanging, remember?”

“Sorry about that, Butterfly.” He increased the speed of his thrusts, nudging her clit with every stroke.

“Logan,” she choked out. “Your hands, please. I want to feel you inside me.”

“I got you.” He couldn’t deny her anything. Even if that meant spilling on himself at the sight. Releasing her, he shifted to her side and slipped his hand under her mangled panties.

“You’re dripping wet,” he growled, slowly sliding two fingers in, up to the second knuckle. Fucking hot and tight and inviting.

“Yes. Like that,” she breathed, nipping at his lower lip, then soothing it with her tongue. Her pussy was gripping his fingers so hard, he was going to come in his pants, pressing against her thigh like a fucking teenager. Not that the embarrassment would make him stop.

“More,” she demanded, thrusting against his hand and licking his mouth—his lips, his chin, the tip of his nose, again and again and again…

Logan woke up to a hellhound slobbering on his face. Oh, hell. He’d been dreaming.

“Aww, Arnie likes you,” Sky said.

Logan looked around, confused. It was daylight and he was on the sofa, wearing the hazmat suit and a monumental hard-on, the dog looming over him.

He pushed Arnie away and sat up. “No, he doesn’t. I was having the most amazing dream.”

“Really? What about?”

He glanced over his shoulder. They were alone. “You and I were exploring alternatives for our lack of goat intestines.”

“So that’s why you’re red and sweaty.” She looked down. “Oh, my. That’s impressive. You’re lucky Arnie didn’t confuse that with a chew toy.”

He grimaced, rearranging his erection. Wouldn’t that have been a blast, waking up to a beast castrating him.

“Fucking hot in here,” he grunted, pulling at the neck of the suit.

“You should get that outfit off. I don’t think that fabric breathes.” She brushed a hand over his cheek. “Jeez, you’re burning hot. I think you have a fever.”

It sure as hell felt like it. His throat was sore and his head was about to explode. His nose tickled, and he sneezed. “Shit.”

After helping him out of the hazmat suit, Sky went for the thermometer and handed it to him. “I’m afraid you got what I had.”

He threw his head back, resting it on the sofa. Probably.

“Yep. 102,” she said after it beeped. “You came down with the flu.”

“Fantastic,” he grumbled.

“On the plus side, the house is already taped shut. Carol won’t have to worry about containment.”

Every cloud had a silver lining.

“Why didn’t you come to me after the pandemic crew left?” she asked, sitting by his side. “Were you already feeling sick?”

Sick? Not at all. Horny as hell? Yes. His only thought had been getting back to Sky.

“I came to you, Butterfly. My recollection is a little fuzzy, but as I remember, you’d fallen asleep, and Cerberus growled at me when I tried to get close.”

The way Arnie had stared at him, it had been clear no one was to approach Sky unless she was awake and able to call the monster down.

“Pity,” she said, her voice mischievous.

“I meant what I said yesterday. About having no issues servicing you.”

She smiled. “You make me sound like a car.”

A car? She was a frigging Ferrari.

“Be that as it may, you’re sick,” she continued.

He didn’t give a flying flip. He could be delirious with malaria for all he or his cock cared. “I can get condoms in five minutes. You’ve already had what I’ve got, so you can’t catch it again.”

“It’s not me I’m worried about,” she said, coming closer and kissing him softly on the lips. “Was I good in your dream?”

“You were fucking amazing.” Right up until he’d realized it was a dog smooching him.

“I’m much better in reality. I need you at your best when I let you in my pants. How was my pussy? Any particulars?”

He wasn’t following her. “What do you mean?”

“In your dream, was my pussy bare? Did it have a bush? Any special decoration or customization I should be aware of? What’s big around here? Oh, God, was I vajazzled?”

“Vajazzled? What the fuck is that?” Was that even a word?

“It’s a combination of vagina and bedazzle,” she explained. “Dolling up one’s lady bits with crystals. Swarovski, if you’re loaded. It was very much in fashion some years ago, but apparently it takes time for trends to reach the hinterlands. Although I doubt Barnie’s carries stick-on pussy crystals.”

“I don’t see preppers sticking anything on their bodies, unless it’s the coordinates of their hideout or some shit like that.” He brushed his lips over hers. “No crystals, just the sweetest, tightest, hottest, barest pussy I’ve ever had. Why?”

She winked. “Trying to figure out what I have to live up to. Just remember, I was going to Paris, France. Euro chicks are well known for their au naturel tendencies.”

“So I should expect crazy, unruly bush, 70s style?”

She laughed. “Not telling.”

* * *

“Hey, over here,” Shayna called, waving as Sky stepped into the bowling alley.

Sky picked up a pair of bowling shoes and made her way to the four girls wearing bright pink jackets with The Sisters of Doom written on the backs. They were in one of only two lanes that were occupied. How a town with such meager services sustained a bowling alley was mind-boggling. Although, given the rundown condition of the establishment, it had seen better times. The bar, however, was full.

“Everyone, this is Sky. Sky, these are Haley, Sierra, and Alberta, aka the Sisters of Doom, four-time state bowling champions.”

“Nice to meet you all.” Sky glanced at Sierra. The woman looked so familiar. Then it dawned on her. “Hey, you’re the one who won the 10K.”

Sierra nodded. “Guilty as charged.”

“She’s the town’s fitness guru,” Shayna explained. “Our own Chris Powell. Now, you ready to bowl?”

Sky grimaced. “I’m a bit rusty.” That was the mother of all understatements. Since discovering the beauty of fake nails, Sky had avoided any kind of sport that could damage them. Sticking her fingers in a damn heavy ball and throwing it around hadn’t been high on her to-do list. Now, though, she’d lost all the nails somewhere in the Minnesota countryside so when Shayna called and insisted she go bowling with the team, Sky had agreed. The fact that they had won the state championship four years in a row was something the sneak had omitted to mention.

“The lanes are kind of empty, aren’t they?” The equipment looked extremely old. She wouldn’t be surprised if they still hired kids to pick up the pins.

“People don’t come here for the bowling. They come for the smoky drinks,” Shayna said.

Smoky drinks? Maybe they served hot chocolate martinis. Or chocolate hot buttered rum. Smoky cocktails were so trendy nowadays. She was about to ask for more details when they got interrupted.

“Good evening, ladies. Training a new recruit?” asked a man wearing an Iron Man arc reactor on his black T-shirt. The design seemed to activate by sound, because it was blinking in time with his voice.

“Hi, Adam. This is Sky, better known as Patient Zero. Adam is the owner of this joint,” Shayna explained.

“Nice to finally meet you,” he said, shaking Sky’s hand. “I’ve heard a lot about you.”

“All bad, I presume,” Sky said, grimacing.

Adam chuckled. “Apparently you’re spreading infection in the Land of Always Winter.”

“Doc cleared me. And it’s just the flu,” she grumbled. “Iron Man should be able to withstand it if anyone can.”

“You bet. So, what can I get for you ladies today?”

Shayna turned to Sky. “You like beer?”

When Sky nodded, the girls looked at Adam and said in unison, “Batmans.”

“Batmans it is.”

“Batmans?” Sky asked as Adam left.

“Dark, smoky ale. Adam brews his own beer,” Shayna said. “He uses old bread. Apparently 20 percent of food waste is bread, so Adam is trying to make a dent in that.”

Right. No classy cocktails.

Some people recycled diapers and moldy bread. Others prepped for the end of the world and trained ravens to talk. God bless America.

“He’s a geek,” Haley added. “Has a kickass collection of superhero outfits and loves cons. He’s a nice guy, but people around here consider him a weirdo.”

Sure. The whole town hoarded toilet paper and ate seven-month-old eggs, and Adam was the weirdo?

“Geeks are still misunderstood creatures in this neck of the woods,” Shayna said. “His beer is the best thing that’s happened to this town since they brought in the mechanical bull.”

The Batmans arrived: black beer with smoke coming from it. Sky took a sip. “Not bad. Where’s the smoke coming from?” She couldn’t see any dry ice or smoldering herbs.

Shayna shrugged. “We don’t ask. They don’t tell. Better for everyone. Let’s get bowling, girls. How’s Patient One, by the way?”

“Grumpy,” Sky answered.

“Men are such babies when they’re sick,” Sierra said.

In all honesty, Logan was sick as a dog, coughing and sneezing and running a steady fever. Under the circumstances, he hadn’t complained much.

In spite of their botched attempt at sex, things hadn’t gone weird between them. On the contrary. Logan seemed very comfortable around her, always finding an opportunity to joke. Rough appearances aside, he was easygoing. Goofy, even.

And it had been rather enjoyable to take care of him. The choice of evening television viewing was still a point of contention, but arguing with him was kind of satisfying.

“How’s NoName treating you?” Alberta asked, handing her a ball. “You ready to shoot yourself yet?”

“Not so far, no.” She’d gotten back to her morning routine, waking up early and primping, regardless of the shitty weather. Having Arnie by her side helped a lot. She’d been taking him for walks into town for coffee every morning. Adjusting her habits to the limitations of a place like NoName had been challenging, but she was managing. Had to, really. Discipline was important. A regimented life was a productive one. Rules made a good safeguard.

The classes had been fun too. Logan’s students were doing great, not afraid to talk or make mistakes anymore. And they’d eaten all the food she prepared, unappetizing-looking ceviche included.

Sky, predictably, got her ass kicked to kingdom come. As she trudged back from yet another gutter ball, Shayna asked, “Remember when you did my makeup the other day? It was a huge success, so I promised a couple of friends I’d speak to you. What do you think of getting together some afternoon and you giving us a few tips?”

“Sure.”

“How about a week from Thursday?”

“Fine, I guess.” She wasn’t sure Logan would be up for having a giggly show-and-tell at home by then, but they could meet at Shayna’s tea shack.

“Great. I’ve already reserved the AV room at the community center.”

Oh, boy. “I thought you said a couple of friends?”

“Did I mention your makeup was a huge success? Everyone asked about it. Even the pandemic squad is ready to brave infection to come.”

“They could check my YouTube channel.”

“These people prefer face-to-face encounters. Off-the-grid enthusiasts and all.”

“I don’t know,” Sky said hesitantly. The community center wasn’t very big, but the potential crowd was still a far cry from showing beauty tricks to a handful of people over beers. Besides, it was the face-to-face encounters that worried her. Addressing thousands of strangers through her YouTube channel was a piece of cake. Heck, she could handle internet trolls without a problem. But personally showing her cheap-ass tricks was a bit more difficult.

“Come on, come on,” Shayna pleaded. “Say yes. It’s only an afternoon.”

“I wouldn’t know where to begin.” Her YouTube channel was targeted at people like her, with similar interests. She had very little in common with rural Minnesota folks who hoarded food and ran 10Ks through the snow.

“Basic stuff, like what you told me about refreshing hair dye or making my lips bigger. Think of it as a crash course for preppers without access to the brand-name products.”

Oh, God. This was sounding more difficult by the moment. “I don’t know the first thing about prepping.”

“You don’t have to. Just take a look around Barnie’s. Those are the ingredients at our disposal. Teach us how to use them to maximum benefit. We don’t care about a super-duper expensive moisturizer launched by some high-end designer. Barnie’s will never carry that, and we wouldn’t be able to afford it anyway.”

“You’ll owe me big time,” Sky muttered.

“Yay! In exchange, you can have a spot in my self-defense class for women.”

“No, thank you. I’ve got a pepper spray for that. And by the way, the best deep-skin moisturizer ever is coconut oil and aloe vera gel whisked together. You can grow your own aloe vera. Coconut oil is a multipurpose product, good for everything from wood and metal polish to makeup remover to toothpaste, if you add baking soda. Barnie’s ought to be interested in carrying it for its antibacterial properties, if nothing else.”

“That’s what I’m talking about. You got this. Just think prepper!”

Right.

* * *

Logan knew the second Sky arrived home, because Arnie’s ears perked up and he went to the door. The monster was a softie where his owner was concerned. Wherever Sky went, he followed. If there were stairs involved, he cried and yelped and attempted to climb until he got stuck and looked so miserable that she came to rescue him. If she went to the bathroom, he’d wait outside, scratching the door to check on her every couple of minutes.

Sky opened the front door, carrying two pizza boxes and two big cups. “Hi, sweetie! Did you miss me?” she asked, going on her knees and kissing the beast.

“He was fine,” Logan grumbled. “I took him to the greenhouse.”

She pursed her sexy lips reprovingly. “I hope you put that cream under his nose.”

“You know he’s a dog, don’t you?”

At that moment, one of Logan’s students knocked on the window.

“Hi guys,” Sky greeted them as she let them in. “I didn’t have time to cook, so I brought supper. I got soup for us,” she said to Logan. “Well, soup for you. Chicken and steamed veggies for me.”

He would have loved to pig out on pizza, but being unable to taste sucked all the fun out of it. Plus his throat hurt like a motherfucker when he swallowed.

“No problem,” Miguel said, smiling. Then he turned to Logan. “Maybe we should eat in our cabin tonight?”

“I’d appreciate it, guys.” Logan couldn’t smell much, but the sight of pizza alone made him salivate.

“Ha! It’s a bitch when fate turns around and bites you in the ass, huh?” Sky said, sitting by Logan on the sofa, both cups in her hands. She handed one to him and then addressed Myrat. “I haven’t forgotten about you. We’ll do ishlykly next.”

Myrat gave her a high-five. “You got it.”

Logan couldn’t believe these were the same guys who’d been like ghosts in his lab before Sky’s lessons. She’d really gotten them out of their shells.

“Ishlykly?” Logan asked after his crew left.

“It’s similar to pizza but covered with a layer of dough. A typical Turkmen dish.”

“Well, I hope it turns better than your phò.”

She smacked him on the arm. “Hey. They ate it. And liked it.”

“They like you too much to tell you it was shitty.”

He’d never been so glad to be sick as he was that evening. Even being unable to taste wouldn’t have protected him from the awful-looking lumps in that soup, he was sure.

“Keep trashing my cooking and you’ll be in deep trouble. Do I have to remind you that you’re in quarantine? I’m your safe line to the exterior, buddy. Besides, if you suddenly die, no one will wonder. The internet connection is back, and Google searches are very helpful when it comes to finding untraceable poisons.”

“The pandemic squad would find it when they dissected me. I have faith in them.” He blew on the soup. “How did it go with Shayna and the Sisters of Doom?”

“Apparently Shayna’s makeup was a huge success. She told everyone I was responsible for it, and now they’re organizing some sort of crash course at the community center with yours truly as the teacher.”

“Really?”

“Yup. Beware, doomsday preppers! The Antichrist of fashion and vanity is in town and collecting souls.”

He took a sip of broth. “You’re nuts.”

“Me? I’m by far the most stable person in this town, thank you very much. I’m not even the one with the weirdest pet.”

True, and a beast afraid of climbing stairs was difficult to beat.

“What about me?” he asked. “I’m stable.”

“You have a hazmat suit at home—one you went to the trouble of customizing to tick off your neighbors—and you collect dirty diapers to grow mushrooms. Enough said.”

True again. “Thanks for bringing supper.”

“I know how you can repay me,” she said mischievously.

He grimaced. “What do you want? Control of the remote?” She’d been complaining about his movies and lobbying for fashion reality shows. He couldn’t care less about stupid makeovers. His crew, star-struck as they were with her, still feared him enough to side with him on the matter, but those days were numbered, he could tell.

She shook her head. “I want to trim your beard.”

Shit. That was even worse. “Sure you don’t want to watch, what was it called, Project Runway?”

The corner of her mouth quirked up. “Tempting, but no. Come on. That beard’s gone past Unabomber and into ZZ Top territory. Mountain men got nothing on you.”

“Okay,” he grumped.

Before he could even blink, she left her cup on the table and ran upstairs. Arnie, of course, tried to follow, and she had to come back for him.

“Where are you going?” he asked.

“Getting what I need for the makeover,” she shouted from her room.

“No makeover! I only agreed to a trim!” And he was already regretting it.

“I know, I know,” she said, returning with a toiletry bag in her mouth and Arnie in her arms. She put dog and bag down and declared, “Cleaning up that beard will make a world of difference.”

He cocked his brow. “You saying I look bad, Butterfly?”

“Excuse me? Were you in the room when I jumped you? I find you extremely attractive, obviously. What I’m saying is that you’re a fashion disaster. Why do you insist on calling me Butterfly?”

“I like it. You… flit around. And you’re flashy. It suits you.”

“It doesn’t,” she replied, rolling her eyes, chagrined. “It makes me sound like a bubble brain. It’s bad enough that everybody in town calls me Patient Zero.”

He pondered for a second. “I guess I can always call you Brazilian Ass. Would that be better?”

If the slap on his chest was anything to go by, then no, it wouldn’t. “So you know, I’ve heard several people refer to you as Patient One,” she added.

Clever. And it sounded less embarrassing than Alchemist.

She glanced at her surroundings, then frowned. “We better do this in the bathroom.” Her frown turned into a grimace at the sight of Arnie. “Forget about it. I don’t want to carry him upstairs again. Let’s do this in the kitchen.”

She spread some newspapers on the floor, placed a chair in the middle, handed him a dishtowel to put on bib-style, and ordered him to take a seat.

Letting out a deep breath, he obeyed, but she didn’t seem happy with this arrangement. “You’re too low. I’m going to need you to stand.”

Really? Because she was on the short side. Her arms would tire in a second, not to mention the neck ache she’d get from looking up.

She must have figured that part out for herself, because after pushing the newspapers to the area by the cabinets, she hopped up to sit on the counter. “This will work better.” She motioned for him to step onto the newspaper as she unzipped the toiletry bag, the side of which read, Beauty is my duty.

“Beauty is my duty?” he asked.

“Damn right.” Widening her legs, she pulled him between them, scissors in hand. “Now don’t move. We don’t want to cut off a chunk of hair by mistake and be forced to shave the whole beard, do we?”

No, we definitely did not. He placed his hands on her thighs and remained still while she trimmed. “Why are appearances so important to you?”

She snorted. “Why are they so unimportant to you?”

So like Sky to deflect a question with a snarky one of her own. “I asked first.”

“It’s not only about the way others perceive you, it’s the way you perceive yourself that’s important. No matter how shitty your life is or how down you’re feeling, if you get up in the morning, dress nicely, and do your makeup, the day brightens, and your disposition with it. There’s no excuse for letting yourself go. You won’t get less depressed by walking around in pajamas all day long, hair a mess and your face too.”

“It sounds like you’ve thought about this a lot. But I was really asking about you, not a manifesto for the great unwashed. Why are appearances so important to you?”

Harrumphing, she continued trimming, visibly not happy about being put on the spot. “My mother died from it.”

He didn’t like how serious she looked, so he went for humorous. “From lack of makeup?”

It paid off, because she smiled. “No, you dork. From MDD. Major depressive disorder with melancholic traits.”

“Sorry.”

She shrugged. “It sounds fancy, but it was basically good old severe depression, the kind where you let yourself die.”

“Did she kill herself?” he asked cautiously.

“As a matter of fact, she did. Not actively, though. Passively. She stopped caring for herself and about the world around her, anesthetizing herself with food, pills, and sleep, until her body eventually gave up and she stopped breathing.”

“Not to come across as an insensitive bastard, but I doubt makeup would have helped.”

She paused and looked him in the eye. “I know depression is hard. It hijacks your mind and turns it against you. That said, letting yourself wallow in misery ain’t gonna help matters. You pull up your big-girl panties and keep at it, day after day, until facing the world comes naturally to you.”

He frowned. “You’re talking like it’s all about personal responsibility, but mentally ill people aren’t to blame for being sick. It’s not up to them.”

“Of course not. But how they deal with their disease is. Everyone has to find coping mechanisms that work for them. Dressing the part is what works for—a lot of people.”

“Fake it until you make it,” he said.

“Exactly. Done,” she said, putting her scissors down and handing him a mirror. “You like it? Less Unabomberish, more Robert Downey Junior.”

In spite of all his prior reservations, he had to admit she’d done a great job. He liked how she’d brought out his jawline and cheekbones. Project Runway it wasn’t, but she did know what she was doing. “Thank you.”

“It’s shorter than those oh-so-carefully-groomed hipster beards, but for that we’d need special products to keep the hair straight and not frizzy. We’d have to blow-dry too. I doubt you’re ready to go to that much effort, so I recommend trimming more often.”

“I’ll take it into consideration, Butterfly.”

“Your lips are chapped,” she said, brushing her thumb over them. “They look painful. And angry red.”

As if her sweet pussy against the zipper of his jeans wasn’t bad enough, now he had her caressing his mouth. “This damn flu.”

“I have something for that,” she said, reaching into her miracle bag and taking out a lip balm container.

“Is that the same one you use? The one that smells all girly?”

“You mean my marshmallow-strawberry lip balm.”

He grimaced. “You don’t have normal, unflavored Chapstick?”

Sky rolled her eyes. “Normal, unflavored Chapstick. Can you say ‘bo-ring’? Please. Who do you think you’re talking to? I only buy those to chop up so I can make my own.”

“Don’t you have something more… macho than strawberry and marshmallow?”

“Lucky for you, lip balm is a seasonal product. Try this.” She pulled out another container and dabbed some balm on his lips.

“Wow, this smells like—”

“Pumpkin spice. For autumn,” she explained.

“Did you make this yourself?”

She nodded, looking damn pleased with herself. “The base is oil and beeswax. Chapstick, if you don’t have access to beeswax. You heat the two ingredients, add whatever you want for taste, and let it cool. The pumpkin spice lip balm has almond oil, honey, Chapstick, and pumpkin spice. You haven’t gotten a real Halloween kiss until you’ve kissed me.”

“How do you taste for Christmas?”

“Mulled cider and cinnamon.”

“Summer?”

“Oh, summer is the bomb. Piña colada! Crushed pineapple candy, rum extract, and coconut oil make the best combination.”

“I bet,” he said, laughing.

“Laugh all you want, but flavored lip balms go for top dollar in high-end stores. Mine are better. They’re safe to eat, no problem,” she said as he licked the corner of his mouth, “although you should really avoid licking your lips as much as possible.”

All the things he wanted to do to her included his lips. Having flu sucked on so many levels. If this lasted much longer, his cock was going to fall off.

“You should teach the women in town how to prepare edible lip balms in your crash course. Preppers are big on multipurpose products.”

Sky snorted. “No shit. Pam will force me to create a bacon-and-eggs lip balm. Breakfast on the go.”

Probably.

“Your nose is chapped too,” she said, cupping his face.

“Let me guess. You’ve also got something for that.”

She laughed. “Bingo. Actually, any of the lip balms would work.”

“Isn’t there anything simpler?”

“Sure. What do you prefer, coconut oil or honey?”

He thought about it. “Honey.”

“Honey it is.”

He reached for the honey jar in the cabinet and handed it to her. “I’m going to end up smelling like a four-course meal,” he grumbled as she applied a bit of honey around his nostrils.

She totally ignored his words. “Now we wait half an hour, and we dab it dry with a damp cloth. In no time your nose will be as good as new. You know, hipsters use coconut oil to shape their mustaches and beards.”

“You are not smearing my beard with coconut oil,” he warned.

“Spoilsport.”

“Where did you learn all this, Butterfly?”

“I told you,” she said, putting her beauty gear back in her toiletry bag. “YouTube and Instagram are the patron saints of broke girls. Store-bought products are bullshit. You can sink tons of money into them and get no results. Expensive doesn’t always mean better. Well, in clothes it does.”

“So you don’t sew your own dresses?”

“My grandmother was a seamstress. She sewed all my clothes, bras included, until I got old enough to buy them myself. I’ve had enough of that for a lifetime.” She caressed his forehead, then his cheeks, and gave him a stern look. “Your skin is very dry. You’re in dire need of a facial. I could throw in a scalp massage as incentive.”

Ha. He placed his palms on the counter, bracketing her with his arms, and studied her for a long second. “Landing strip?”

“What?” she asked, confused.

“Down there,” he said, holding her gaze. “Trimmed into a landing strip?”

She giggled. “You still stuck on that?”

Totally. “Shaved with a spot of hair at the top?”

She came close, brushing her lips against his. “Not telling. When you get better, you’ll find out. What about your manscaping? Any pejazzling?”

“Is that from penis and bedazzle?” he asked, furrowing his brows.

She nodded. “You into shaving your balls, Alchemist?”

“What do you think?”

Now it was her turn to study him. “You probably have tresses down there.”

He barked out a laugh. “No. My balls are self-polishing.”

"You mean you have friction burns from all those hand jobs?”

He eyed her. “Very funny, lady.”

“Latino girls are hairy. Our hair does not give up. Not even when self-polishing is involved.”

“Curled and dyed?” he continued, nuzzling her neck. She smelled so fucking good. And he wanted her so badly.

“You are impossible.”

“Pussy piercings?”

“Nope. That’s a gravity issue. Nothing escapes gravity. We all grow old. Things sag. No need for extra weight making matters worse. I don’t want to be dragging my vagina along the floor when I hit eighty.”

He chuckled. “Maybe by then Saint Instagram will have a solution.”

“Oh, he already does. It’s called labia reconstruction. Can’t afford it.”

Man, she was hilarious. And hot and sexy and so damn beautiful. “You know, I don’t have a fever.”

She looked at him, one brow lifted.

“Much,” he added grudgingly.

“A stuffy nose and crazy-monkey sex don’t go together well. I’d kiss you and you’d accidentally suffocate. You can’t perform under those conditions. Although we could always not kiss,” she suggested, cupping his junk.

Oh, fuck. He breathed in deep, praying for calmness. He raised her hand to his mouth and teased her knuckles with his lips. “As tempting as you sound right now, I must decline. I like kissing you.”

“It’s the strawberry lip balm, isn’t it?” she asked with a smirk.

“Let me guess: coconut oil, Chapstick, and strawberry candy?”

“Almost. A red gummy bear and a mini marshmallow. I’ll make a metrosexual out of you yet.”

He had pumpkin pie on his mouth, honey on his nose, and he was sure she was going to try to sneak coconut oil onto his beard. And still he was smiling like a fool. Bring the metrosexual on; it couldn’t be worse than this.