Passion & Ponies (Chocoholics 2)

“I like mushrooms,” he replies.

Uh, okay.

“Did you know a female swine will always have an even number of teats? Usually twelve,” he adds, the smile never leaving his face.

Thankfully, our waitress comes over and I’m saved from having to comment on pig ni**les. She takes our drink orders and leaves us alone again.

“So, thanks for agreeing to see me. I know when you do this sort of thing you never expect to actually meet one of your kids,” I tell him with a nervous laugh.

“I like to smell magic markers. Purple is my favorite smell,” Dean says, his smile growing even wider.

Oh, my God. They really scraped the bottom of the sperm think tank for my mom, didn’t they?

I guess it’s random fact time at this Father-Son event.

“Yeah, well, I like to give my balls names that coincide with holidays,” I admit, trying to get him to do something other than smile at me.

“Every time you lick a stamp, you consume 1/10 of a calorie. So far today I’ve had twenty-five calories. I like stamps.”

The waitress drops off our drinks and as she turns to leave, I grab onto her arm and pull her close to me.

“Please tell me you made a mistake and sat me at the wrong table,” I beg as I whisper in her ear.

She glances across the table and then back at me. “Nope, that’s Dean. He was really excited about meeting his son. But just so you know, he’s already eaten four paper napkins and he’s got one in his hand right now under the table.”

She stands up and pats me on the back before walking away again.

“Dean, give me the napkin,” I tell him, reaching across the table with my palm up.

He shakes his head at me and frowns.

“Give me the napkin right now. You can’t eat napkins, Dean.”

I give him a stern look and he slowly lifts his hand out from under the table, a small napkin clutched in his fist. He reaches towards my hand and right when he’s about to drop the napkin into it, he quickly pulls his hand back and shoves the entire thing in his mouth.

I stare at him with wide, unblinking eyes as he chews.

“The average human can eat two pounds of paper before risking a bowel obstruction,” Dean mumbles through his mouthful of paper.

As the waitress comes back to take our food order, I let my head drop to the table with a thunk.

Chapter 11 – I Will Not Have Sex With Tyler

“Look, I told you it’s fine with Gavin and I if you stay here until you can find your own place. But do you really think going out and getting drunk tonight is a good idea? You just got in a fight with mom. Maybe you should just stay in. We can pig out on ice cream and watch movies,” Charlotte suggests.

I know she means well, but staying here is not going to happen. I’m depressed and pissed off and sitting around watching her and Gavin be all cutesy with one another is just going to push me over the edge.

I ignore her as she sits down on the bed in her guest room while I dig through my suitcase trying to find the perfect outfit for getting tanked and picking up a random stranger at a bar to help take my mind off of things.

I think of Tyler and a flash of guilt washes through me.

Shit! I have no reason to feel guilty. Tyler and I are NOT dating. We have sex every once in a while and, now that I’ve put an end to it once and for all, I need to get laid and blow off some of this steam. I’m not a slut; I just enjoy sex. Really, really enjoy sex and it’s been seven days, thirteen hours and twenty-seven seconds since I last had sex. Not that I’m counting or anything.

“You know mom didn’t mean anything that she said today,” Charlotte continues as I pull a black, quilted, drop-waist skirt from Forever 21 out of my suitcase and hold it up.

“Do you still have that teal, bow-front, studded tube top from H&M that you wore to Molly’s sixteenth birthday party?” I ask about our younger sister, ignoring what Charlotte said about mom.

I made the stupid mistake of showing her the finished blog after Aunt Jenny had worked her magic. I was so excited to show someone how great it looked and she shit all over it, telling me once again that I was wasting my time on something that had nothing to do with my future.

“Dude, seriously? Molly’s sixteenth birthday was three years ago. How in the hell do you even remember that?” Charlotte asks.

“Do you still have that top or not? It would look great with this skirt and my black Nine West phantom peep toe ankle boots,” I muse.

“It’s under the box of dildos.”

“JESUS CHRIST!” I shout, jumping in surprise and quickly turning around when I hear Molly’s quiet voice.

“How long have you been standing there? And that door was closed and locked, how did you even get in?” I demand.

I swear to God, Molly should have been a ninja instead of a pastry chef. After being around her for nineteen years, you would think I’d be used to her stealth, but it still catches me off guard. Out of the three of us, she’s the most quiet. And I’m not just talking about the way she can move in and out of a room like a ghost. I’m talking about the fact that we don’t know anything about her life. She keeps to herself and never shares any personal information, but you can bet your ass she knows everything about everyone else.

Molly just shrugs. “I have my ways. As I was saying, Charlotte still has that shirt. It’s on the top shelf of her closet under the largest box of vibrators I’ve ever seen.”

With that little piece of information, she turns and walks out of the room.