I’m still holding the bags, and there’s something cold inside. It feels nice so I haven’t set them down yet. Violet’s face is at waist level when my towel unravels and falls to the floor.

“Oh my God!” She gets an eyeful of my man snake. He’s dangling out there for the world to see. Well, the world inside my apartment. “What the fuck, Buck?”

She rears up and throws the lemon. It hits me in the cheek, which is surprising. Maybe Alex has been teaching her how to play sports. He’s braver than I thought.

I move behind the island to hide my junk. “It’s your damn fault for handing over all that crap!”

“My fault? You knew I was coming up! Why wouldn’t you put on some clothes before you open the damn door?”

I set everything on the counter and retrieve my towel from the floor. “I was washing that shit off my arms. It didn’t work by the way. Look at this!” I hold out my raw, red forearms. Most of the hair is still there, with small irregular patches missing.

Vi stops freaking out about seeing my junk, frowns, and grabs my wrist.

“Ow! Don’t do that.” I slap her hand, and she lets go.

“That is not supposed to happen. Did you have an allergic reaction?”

“Maybe. I couldn’t even keep it on the whole time. I don’t know what the actual benefit of that crap is. It stinks, and it takes forever. It’s like I’m molting.”

“Like a yeti in the spring.” She’s grinning like the jerk she is.

“It’s not funny!”

“How long did you have it on for?”

“I made it to the forty-minute mark before it felt like it was eating off my skin.” The burning sensation is back, and it’s getting worse.

“You’re only supposed to keep it on for twenty minutes.”

“I thought it said fifty. That seemed like a damn long time.”

“It’s probably a chemical burn.” Instead of doing what she normally does, which is make me feel like an idiot, Vi turns the tap on and ushers me over to the sink. “I’m sorry. This was a bad idea.”

Cold water eases the burn. She plugs the sink, gets an ice cube tray out of the fridge, and dumps it in. The cold water stings first, then numbs.

“What am I gonna do? Sunny’s gonna be here soon, and it looks like I have flesh-eating disease.”

“It’s not that bad.”

I look at my forearms and then at her.

“It could be a lot worse. You can wear long sleeves to cover it up.”

“Maybe.” I’m not sure that’ll work out so well. It’s hot as balls, and I have a feeling anything touching my arms is going to sting like a bitch. This is worse than the time I went to Cancun and forgot to wear sunscreen. I was the color of a lobster for the entire week.

Vi does a quick search on the Internet. I put some antibiotic ointment on the worst spots—where most of the hair is missing—but I don’t want to be too liberal with Sunny on her way here. I take one of the painkillers they gave me after Waters broke my nose and hunt down the numbing spray I pilfered the last time I got stitched up during a game. It stings like a motherpucker, but once it takes effect, it feels a lot better. By the time we’re done managing my chemical burn, it’s five minutes to five. Sunny’s punctual. I’m only wearing a pair of shorts.

Vi cleans up the kitchen and puts all the crap away in the bathroom while I throw on clean clothes, including the bikini briefs from the bag. I’m right; I can hardly get my parts to fit inside, but it’s too late to turn back now.

Vi meets me at the door when the buzzer goes off. She cringes at the state of my arms. “Everything’s a go. The vegan menu is on the counter with all of Sunny’s favorites highlighted. Order one of each, and you’ll be golden.”

“Okay. Thanks for all your help, except the arm cream.”

“Does it hurt a lot?”

“It feels like I doused them in acid and threw some vinegar on them for good measure.”

“I’m sorry. I’ll eat ice cream as penance when I get home. Put gauze on it before you go to bed, or you’ll stick to your sheets.” She gives me a huge hug. “I’d wish you luck, but coming from me it’s like the kiss of death.”

I follow her to the door, clear my throat even though it’s not scratchy, and hit the intercom button. “Hello?”

“Miller? It’s Sunny.”

“Hey! Right on time. I’ll buzz you in.”

“Okay. See you in a minute.”

Vi slips on her blinged-out flip-flops, pats me on the cheek, and leaves. I do one more check through the condo to make sure I haven’t left any crap lying around, spray my arms with the numbing solution again, rinse with mouthwash, make sure the wine is chilling in the fridge since Sunny likes white, and wait for her to knock on the door. After a couple minutes there’s still nothing, so I peek out into the hallway.

She’s out there, except she’s standing in front of my neighbor’s door. “Hey,” I say before she raises her hand to knock. If Vi’s right about my neighbor being a porn star, she’s the last person I want Sunny to meet right now.

She stops and looks my way, her confusion turning into a smile. “I almost knocked on the wrong door,” she whispers and tiptoes down the hall toward me. She’s wearing a summery dress. It’s off white with wide straps. I doubt she’s wearing a bra. The promise of fall gives a chill to the evening air. If she gets cool enough, I might be able to see her nipples through it. I stop thinking about sex long enough to answer with an appropriate, non-offensive reply.

“You’re good. I caught you.” I wink and open the door wide. “Come on in.”

Sunny kicks off her shoes and looks around. “This is nice. It’s big.”

“Thanks. It’s nothing like Waters’ cottage or his condo in Toronto, but it’s got an outdoor pool. And it’s dog friendly.” I don’t know why I tell her that. It’s not like she’s going to bring Andy or Titan on a plane to visit for the weekend.

“Really? That’s great.”

She fiddles with her hair, and I hook my thumbs into my pockets—even the backs of my knuckles are burned from that hair-removal crap.

We stand there for another minute. It’s probably not that long; it just feels that way because neither one of us is talking—instead we’re staring at each other.

Any other time I’ve had a woman back to my place, it’s been for the sole purpose of fucking. Sometimes there’s food involved, but that’s usually afterward. Sex makes me hungry. This is the first time I’ve ever done this with the intention of having real conversation and dinner prior to getting Sunny into my bed. I wish there was a manual to consult.

“Can I show you around?” I gesture to the open concept living room-kitchen-dining room combo.

“Can I hug you first?”

“What? Oh. Yeah. For sure.” Physical contact I can do. I hold my arms out. She presses her entire body against mine. It feels really nice. I wrap my arms around her shoulders and drop my face into the crook of her neck. I wish I could turn her smell into an air freshener.

Sunny sighs and burrows in, her arms tightening around me. We stand like that until I start to get an obvious hard-on. I back off, expecting Sunny to do the same. Instead she lifts her head and licks her lips.

It’s the sign.

The one where she wants me to kiss her. It’s been almost a week since I’ve had my tongue in her mouth, so I’m all over accommodating her wishes.

I lower my head an inch, and Sunny lifts her chin. The first kiss is soft, lips touching lips. Sunny sucks my bottom lip. I open for her, letting her take the lead. All the nervousness melts away like cotton candy on my tongue. The emotions I couldn’t or didn’t want to name before we made up in Toronto are clear as exploration makes my hard-on ache.

She frames my face with her hands and breaks the kiss to get some air. “This week was long. I like you better in 3D than I do through a computer screen.”

“It’s way easier to make out, isn’t it?”

“Definitely.”

We go back in for round two of tongue wars. She has to be able to feel my hard-on by now. Girls are lucky. All their signs of horniness can be hidden. Guys have this big—if we’re lucky—stick that jabs people in the stomach to let them know what’s going down. Or up.