“You can take the front. Sounds like you two have a lot of catching up to do, and I’d like to check my emails,” he replies.
“Suit yourself.” Emily flips the seat forward, and gestures for him to climb into the back. He puts one leg onto the floor of the back seat, pushes forward and grunts. I’m about to circle the car, but notice he’s not moving, or grunting. I’m not even sure he’s breathing. Great, I think we’ve killed him. We certainly have the motive. As I glance around, and contemplate on how to hide, or even move, the body, a loud groan reverberates through the near empty parking garage.
I admire his perfect ass, wedged between the back seat and the frame of my car. “Um, do you want me to push?”
“I think maybe you should pull.”
I take in the angle of his body and consider the logistics. “What do you want me to pull?” Emily chuckles beside me and I nudge her with my elbow. “Stop it.”
“Ow,” she complains.
I glare at her. “You’re not helping.”
She snaps her gum, enjoying this entirely too much. “What am I supposed to do?”
“I don’t know. Go around the other side and push on his head.”
“I thought that’s what he wanted you to pull.”
“Ohmigod!” She grins, clearly proud of her quick-witted sexual innuendo. “Do you want to walk home?”
The car rocks as he tries to free himself, and I pray to God he hasn’t heard Emily, or think in any way that I want to pull his…anything.
Emily drops her gum back into her purse. “Fine.”
She circles the car, and I step up to him. “I’m going to put my hands on your hips and pull, okay?”
“Yes, I believe that will work.”
Pity once again hits me. The man is obviously embarrassed. The British are so stiff—do not think about head and stiff.
Dammit, I’m thinking about it.
Let me try that again. The British are stoic and reserved, and this must be mortifying. Then again, maybe he’s none of those things. People have misconceptions about Canadians too. Yeah, okay, it’s true. We’re ridiculously nice and overly apologetic. Sue me.
As he struggles, I take a fast second and consider drawing this out, letting him wallow in his embarrassment. I mean he is here to destroy our town, but because I only have one mean bone in my body—you did just hear me say we were ridiculously nice right—and I might need to use it later, I put my hand on his sides, and brace my pelvis against his rear.
I glance over my shoulder and pray no one is watching. The last thing I want to be accused of is bum-fucking some Brit in the back of my car. I’m not looking to cause an international incident here. I suppose I could just tell them I’m trying to remove a stick that’s lodged deep. That’s more believable, anyway.