“Yeah. Of course.”

“Just checking. You might be busy blowing through all those condoms.”

Amber has a sense of humor. She has to if she wants to work with guys like me. “Ha ha. I’ll take a ten-minute break to deal with details.”

“Have fun with Sunny.”

“I plan to. Repeatedly. Enjoy the bears.”

“Fuck you, Miller.”

I get a dial tone and smile. Amber’s an awesome PA.

Before I go looking for Sunny, I decide now is a good time to get the trimmer out. I’ll be off to camp soon enough, and mosquitoes have a tendency to get caught in my arm hair and bite the shit out of me if I don’t take it down to a number three.

I’m not as hairy as Vi makes me out to be with her mythical fur-covered creature comparisons. Some of the guys on my team are way hairier, especially around playoff time when the beards are in effect and the neck hair meets the chest. Being blond means I can get away with a little less in the personal grooming department than the average guy.

Trimming is messy business, so I step out on the balcony overlooking the backyard. There’s lattice for privacy, but I don’t want to flash the neighbors, so I leave my shorts on.

I check the trimmer blade to make sure it’s the right one. The two lasts longer, but it makes things prickly, and I’m going for soft, not efficient, tonight. When I first started seeing Sunny, I tried the number two. Vi had been making the usual yeti jokes, and I got self-conscious. But I had to wear long sleeves on my date with Sunny during a heat wave. My arms felt like a cactus for a good week before the hair grew out.

Resting my foot on the railing, I start on my left leg. I go over everything twice. My shorts prove to be a problem, though. They’re in the way. I don’t want to end up with the equivalent of a reverse farmer’s tan, except with fuzzy thighs instead of overly white skin. I peek around the lattice. I can see the edge of the pool. On the other side is the neighbor’s patio. An old dude sits in a lounge chair, drinking iced tea and reading the paper in his bathrobe. There’s a pair of binoculars on the table beside his drink. This has to be Sunny’s pervy neighbor. But he can’t see me, so I’m safe to drop the shorts.

After I finish round two with my legs, I run a hand against the grain. The resulting semi-smoothness is gratifying.

Once I shaved my legs with a real razor. Actually, I used four of them. I wanted to see what it felt like. It was winter when I did it, so I didn’t think anyone would see them. Unfortunately, I forgot about the part where I’m an NHL player and I get changed in a locker room with other guys who would notice my hairless legs and razz me about them. Which is what happened.

I lied and said one of the bunnies I’d been with must have done it while I was sleeping. It seemed believable. Some bunnies get territorial. Those are the ones I cut loose in a hurry. Or used to cut loose. Before Sunny.

Moving on to my arms, I resume my mission to tone down the fur. When the breeze picks up, the trimmed hairs swirls around in the air before they go over the edge, floating toward the neighbor’s yard. I bet the birds will love it. Sunny says it makes great nests.

On the final pass with the trimmer, a strong gust of wind lifts the liberated hairs, and the cross-breeze from inside the house creates a cataclysmic weather system. A mini-tornado spins the fluff around in a circle. The tumbleweed of blond rises into the air, disappearing over the edge of the balcony.

There’s some sputtering and clanging from the patio next door. “What is that?” A yippy dog barks in distress as the yelling continues. “Thor! You made me spill my tea!”

I turn off the trimmer and flatten myself against the sliding door. Shimmying over a couple of steps, I peek through the lattice. Sunny’s neighbor has knocked over his chair and drink. His dog, Thor—which, incidentally, is tiny—chases after one of my fuzz tumbleweeds.

“Is everything okay?” That’s Sunny checking on her neighbor.

“Oh, hello, Sunshine. Thor’s chasing fluffs.”

“That’s nice—Oh! Mr. Woodcock! It looks like you forgot to put on your pants again.”

I take another peek through the lattice. Mr. Woodcock’s robe has come undone, his saggy nuts and his wrinkled wang hanging out. I hope my nuts never droop that low.

I slip back into the house and return to Sunny’s room. I still need to trim around the cannon. Last night all I managed to do was clean up my balls. I can’t take care of everything else and leave my dick the way it is.

I lock myself in her bathroom, keeping the number three for the treasure trail. I want to be groomed, not look like my dick is attached to the body of a twelve year old. I’m thoughtful enough to do it over Sunny’s toilet so I can contain the worst of the fuzz droppings.

Once I’ve cleaned up around the junk, I switch out the number three attachment and straddle the toilet seat. I flatten my dick against my stomach and wrap my nuts around like it’s a hot dog so I can make sure I did a good enough job last night.

I snicker to myself at the way half my cock sticks out the top like an oversized wiener. I run the trimmer over the sensitive skin. I flick the loose hair off and inspect my work. Everything looks good. My chest I leave alone. Sunny likes it.

I do a quick rinse-off in the shower and throw on a pair of swim shorts. I find the condoms Amber was talking about and shove a couple into my back pocket, just in case.

On my way to find Sunny I cut through the kitchen and pour myself a cup of coffee. I go in search of sugar, but all I can find is organic maple flakes. I guess they’ll do. I dump half a spoon in and stir. It smells decent. My next mission is checking for cream.