Tempt The Playboy (Tempt 2)

“I was trying to get Josh to imagine that you’re a woman with a hairy bush so he doesn’t ask you out again!” I drink from the wine glass I’m holding in my hand. “You’re welcome.” I smirk.

“What the hell are we going to do with all those penis balloons?”

She looks around. “Asshole,” she grumbles under her breath.

“What’s the story with Noah?” I try to ask casually, thinking back to the conversation we had. I would have let him plow my lawn.

“No idea. He’s Austin’s best friend from what I gathered,” she tells me while looking at Rachel, who is running in circles with, unfortunately, a penis balloon in her hand. “Ten minutes to bath time!” she calls out, hoping she acknowledges her, but she just continues her one-girl—with a penis balloon—parade.

“Mom,” we hear Gabe call from behind us. “Can I go to Jesse’s house to kick the ball around?”

She checks her watch before answering. “Only for thirty minutes, okay?”

“So, what are you going to do to Austin for all of this?” I ask, pointing to the balloons.

“Nothing.” She smirks. “We called a truce.”

I sit up and put my glass down. “I know that smirk. I’ve been on the receiving end of that smirk!”

“I mean, we called truce today, right? We didn’t call truce on Wednesday when he made me run back out for a fucking crisp kosher pickle, because the one that came with his sandwich was limp, right?” she asks me with a perplexed smile on her face. It’s almost like you’re looking into evil.

“What did you do now? From the pictures, his balls were almost the size of Gabe’s soccer ball.” I think back on Noah’s phone that he took out when he got a text from someone. His lock screen was of swollen balls.

She slaps the table. “You saw pictures?” Her mouth is hanging open.

I nod. “I did. Not the actual frank, though, just the beans. But they were ginormous.” I motion with my hands, forming them into huge round objects in the air. “Now, what did you do?”

“Nothing that will make any part of him swell. I will never, ever do something like that again.” She shakes her head. “I may have shredded one of his parking tickets that had to be paid by yesterday so he could avoid his car getting booted,” she confesses quietly, looking into the glass she picked up from the table.

“Holy shit. I hope you kept the photocopies, because you can’t not pay that. He is going to know it was you,” I warn her.

“I know, I know. I kept them, so just relax.” She puts her hands on her hips and states defensively, “I’m going to pay them.”

“When?” I ask her again, earning an eye roll from her.

“Next week,” she replies. “Rach, bath time.” She walks to the back door. “Don’t you dare sit there and judge me, missy.” She points at me. “By the way, the potatoes had butter in them. That’s for the bikini wax,” she says before she turns her back to me and walks inside with the sound of her curses filling my ears.

“Are you fucking insane? I’m vegan. That’s fucking wrong.” I shake my head, picking up a penis straw and throwing it at her, where it nose dives on the table.

I sit down, finishing the rest of my wine while the cleanup crew comes and starts taking down everything.

“Excuse me, ma’am,” one of the men calls me. “Where do you want all the balloons?” he asks me.

I smile at him.

“In my sister’s car.” I point to the gate door. “The minibus in the front, just pile them in there.” He smiles at me and nods, the balloons following him as he walks to the car, shoving most of them in there.

“Take that, Donkey Kong Bitch.” I smile into the wine glass, finishing off the last drop.

I walk inside, closing the door, then walk upstairs right as Lauren comes out of the bathroom. “Are the guys still cleaning up?”

“Yeah, they are almost done.” I smile at her, walking to my room and closing the door. I turn on one soft light in the room, undressing, tossing my dress into the basket. My phone buzzes and I pick it up as I lie on the bed and see I missed out on quite a bit.

There are messages from the studio about a change in the times. Then there is another one from an unknown number.

Hey, I hope I have the right person. Do you have a manicured lawn?

I throw my head back, laughing at the message.

It depends on who is asking. How did you get my number?

I jump onto Facebook while I wait to see if he’ll answer right away.

It’s called stalking 101. I went on Lauren’s Facebook, went to her friends list, found you. Clicked your page, and on your about section I saw your studio name. Clicked the studio and then boom, I got my prize.