“Yes, he does. Okay, just making sure you aren’t stocking up on the ‘roids. Okay, kid?”
He presses play on the control. “I’m not a kid. In fact, I got a date with double-D hunny, Claudia, tonight, and considering it’s at her place, I’m pretty certain you won’t be cooking me breakfast.”
“When have I ever cooked you breakfast?”
It’s laughable. The kid eats Captain Crunch every morning.
“It’s an expression. You know because I’ll be busy motorboating all night—”
There’s a knock on the door, interrupting Tristan’s motor-boating comment. Staring into the peephole, I see Eric’s perfectly styled hair looking right back at me. Oh, dear God, seriously, here comes a tidal wave of drama.
I open the door, and Eric walks right in and stands beside me. He’s dressed in gym gear—the tights hugging his thin frame and other parts prompting me to look away.
“Make yourself at home, Eric,” I comment sarcastically.
“Hey, Batman. Is Robin, ready to hit the gym?” He notices Tristan playing on the sofa. With a look of disgust, he turns off the television.
“Eric, what the fuck?” An annoyed Tristan glares at Eric.
“Uh, hello, Flubber! Gym time. I messaged you!”
Flubber! Tristan is scrawny. The irony and reference to the movie make me laugh out loud.
“No, you didn’t,” Tristan argues back.
Eric searches the coffee table until he locates Tristan’s cell. “Here, let me prove it.” He scrolls through with a confused look on his face. “Who’s Claudia?”
Tristan snatches the phone but doesn’t speak so I interject, “Double-D hunny who Tristan plans to motorboat tonight.”
“I didn’t say that!”
Eric is quiet, which is very out of character. “A date, huh? So, tell me, what do you plan to wear?”
Tristan shuffles his feet awkwardly. “Maybe that blue shirt and my jeans.”
“And shoes?” Uh-oh, Tim Gunn has entered the building.
“My chucks… I think.”
“Tristan, no girl wants her beaver pounded by a guy wearing chucks. Rule number one,” Eric points out.
“I do plan on removing my chucks before I bang anyone,” Tristan shouts, heading toward the kitchen.
“I’ll argue that… I have chucks. I pound beavers,” I correct him.
Eric plasters on a fake smile. “But you, my dear, are Batman. You can wear a pink tutu, and women will still want the full buffet breakfast.”
Tristan walks back into the room with a bottle of water. “Buffet breakfast? As in eggs, bacon—”
Eric cuts Tristan off. “No, sweet pea, as in they want an Aussie kiss. The same as a French one but down under.”
“Eric…” I burst out laughing at his pathetic analogy.
“Oh, wait! I’ve got a good joke I heard the other day.” Eric straightens his face to tell the joke, Tristan cringing already as I suspect Eric tells him crude jokes all the time.
“How is a pussy like a grapefruit?” He waits for our response.
“How?” I indulge him.