Futures and Frosting (Chocolate Lovers 2)

“Folks, if this is everyone, I need you all to take your seats so we can leave,” the limo driver informs us as he pokes his head in the door of the bus.

“Well, I guess that’s my cue to leave,” Mrs. Gates says as she stands there, not making any attempt at moving.

She glances around at everyone expectantly, waiting for someone to beg her to stay and join us.

No one speaks.

Or moves. There might have even been an uncomfortable cough that I think came from the driver.

“Okay….well…you kids have fun now!” she finally says as she walks to the door of the bus. “Oh my goodness, I almost forgot the most important thing!”

She turns back around and rushes down the aisle towards Liz. Everyone groans quietly.

Mrs. Gates stops in front of her daughter and reaches into the giant suitcase she calls a purse and pulls out a penis. Or should I say, “penis products.” Lots and lots of penis products, things I didn’t even know they made in the shape of a penis, and now I will have to bleach my eyes at the thought of Liz’s mom walking into a store and purchasing these items:

A candy necklace full of sugary penises, a penis-shaped water bottle, a penis-shaped pacifier that she decides needed to be tied around my neck.

Yes, I am absolutely going to stay classy this evening.

But she isn’t done yet, oh no. Next out of her bag of tricks: penis-shaped pasta. Seriously? What the f**k do we need with a bag of penis-shaped pasta on a limo bus? We’re not going to fill a pan with some water from the tiny bathroom at the back of the bus and stick it on the engine to boil it so we can make macaweenie and cheese.

She hands Jenny a box of penis gummies that Drew tells her to open up immediately because he wants to hear her say, “This penis tastes so good.” Last but not least, she hands everyone different colored rubber penis pen caps. Because you know, at some point during the night there might be an emergency that calls for someone to write a note using only a pen with a penis pen cap.

I should check the scavenger hunt. It could be on the list.

Mrs. Gates looks like a perverted Mary Poppins pulling penises out of her carpet bag. I'm waiting for her to pull out a penis-shaped lamp or a penis-shaped coat stand. When she finally emptied her bag of all things phallic, she steps off of the bus and we all let out sighs of relief—and then we rip every single sash, hat, veil, and suck for a buck item off of us.

Drew pours everyone a shot of Tequila Rose (in penis shot glasses, of course) and passes them out.

“What is this pu**y shit?” Jim asks as he sniffs the thick, pink liquid in his shot glass.

“It smells like strawberry milk,” I say with a cringe. I don’t know about anyone else, but milk and liquor just does not sound like it should go together.

“It tastes like strawberry milk too. And it’s good shit. I thought I’d start us off with something girly tonight so know one hurls in the first hour,” Drew explains.

We all nod in understanding. No one wants to be the first one to puke.

The six of us sit at the back of the bus around the semi-circle leather couch. We raise our shot glasses in the air until they all clink together in the middle.

“I’d like to propose a toast,” Drew says. “Here’s to you, here’s to me – fuck you, here’s to me!”

We all down the shots as the bus starts up and pulls away from the curb.

6. Back Door Action

Oh. My. God. What is that noise? WHAT IS THAT NOISE??

It feels like someone is screaming in my ear with a bullhorn. I let out a groan, roll over, and pull the covers up over my head in an effort to stop it from exploding.

Sweet Jesus what did I do last night?

“CLAIRE! For f**k’s sake shut your alarm clock off!”

The yelling from Liz on the other side of my door makes me cringe. I pull the covers down just far enough so I can squint at my alarm clock.

Sure enough, the sound that's threatening to make my ears bleed is coming from that little bastard on our dresser across the room.

The repetitive flash of the time, its bright red numbers, and the staccato beeping on that thing makes me think its judging me. I can hear it— tequila, shots, vodka, karaoke, you’re an idiot.

“Carter,” I mumble.

Jesus, my voice sounds like I swallowed a bucket full of gravel. It feels that way too.

“Carter,” I groan again. “Shut off the alarm clock.”

With my squinty eye, I turn my head as slowly as possible and see the spot next to me in bed is empty.

“Shit.”

I stick my arm out from under my cocoon and grab the first thing my fingers touch on my nightstand—a vibrator with a leash on it. It’s a sad, sad day when something like this doesn’t faze me. I whip it across the room and watch the giant pink rubber penis and its diamond-studded leash crash into the alarm clock and effectively shut it up.

Small bursts of memories from last night flash through my addled brain and make me wish I can have a lobotomy.

Did I sing “Like a Virgin” at a winery? And why am I not wearing any underwear?

With my eyes squeezed shut so the bright rays of sun shining through the window don’t light them on fire, I stumble out of bed and throw on a pair of yoga pants that are crumpled on the floor. I slowly make my way out of the bedroom and into the living room.

“Yo, Claire Bear! You’re alive!” Drew shouts from his spot on the couch as I peel my eyes open and gave him the finger for being so cheerful and not hung-over.