My butt itches.

I swear there are a dozen creepy-crawlies down the rear end of my pants in a pile of feathers and itching powder! My hands twitch to scratch it. I shift and fidget trying to get rid of it. But it won't go away.

Now if I'd been alone, there wouldn't have been a problem. I could have reached back and scratched it, no prob. But damn, I'm with my girlfriend and her friends and there is no way I'm going to look like a monkey in front of the hottest chicks I'd ever seen.

But it itches like hell!

So how the hell am I supposed to scratch it without looking like fucking Curious George?

My eyes travel across the room—we're at the mall with the high ceilings, extended window-walls, and crowds larger in number than the total amount of trees in the world —and I watch Carla and her friends watching me.

I try to smile but the expression probably looks like it'd been torpedoed the wrong way out of a blender. Carla furrows her eyebrows.

"What's wrong, Bryan?" Itch. Itch. Itch!

My hands twitch and I have to use every ounce of my self-restraint not to break down then and there.

"Uh . . . nothin'."

I must have channeled the Minotaur or somethin' because she looks at me with that "Oh really?" expression that every woman seems to have.

"Are you sure?"

I start to shake my head when a brilliant idea surfaces. If I didn't itch so bad, I would have grinned.

"Actually—shit! Carla, watch out!"

I dive across the five-foot space between us and push her down amidst the screams of her and her friends, my chest landing on hers, all the while quickly scratching the fuck out of my butt.

Carla groans and winces, rubbing the back of her head with her free hand, but I don't even feel the stinging slap of the impact because I'm so relieved. Carla's frightened blue eyes look up at me.

"What! What happened, Bryan? Are you okay? I—"

Oh shit. What am I gonna say?

"Oh . . . Uh . . ."

My eyes peer frantically around the room for an excuse. I see a couple of guys with some sick-looking skateboards and quickly say, "Some dude with a skateboard almost T-boned you."

Carla looks up in surprise, just staring at me for a second. Then she starts squealing.

"Awww! How sweet! You protected me! Thanks, Bryan!"

She tilts her neck up from underneath my lifted head and gives me a peck on the cheek. I frown.

"That it? C'mon, I save you from death by skateboard and all I get is a kiss on the cheek? My grandma could do better!"

I shouldn't be talking . . . If Carla knew I lied, she'd probably either give me a slap on the cheek or laugh herself silly. She laughs and rolls her eyes.

"Well if you let me get up—"

I stand up faster than Roadrunner on steroids can turn the corner.

After she gets up, I smile and lean down. I brush away her short blonde hair, tucking it behind her ear and tilt my head down, waiting for the kiss.

And boy do I get it. Damn, I scored a good one.

Hot, sexy, talented, and a badass kisser.

After we part (since Carla's friends start making kissy noises) I take Carla's hand and we follow her friends to some prissy dress shop called "Dress to Impress."

I let go of her hand and tell her to go ahead with her friends while I go get us some ice cream. As I'm walking out, Carla's friend Hannah walks up to me and stops.

"I saw that, Hotshot. Mind scratching mine for me?"

She winks and jogs in. I groan.


AN: Hope you enjoyed it! Please review!