Baking and Babies (Chocoholics #3)(49)

“Whatever,” Gavin grumbles. “It’s not like I’d marry you anyway. It just would have been nice to be asked.”

Tyler gives him a smile, pounds his fist against his heart and points at Gavin. “You’re my boy, Blue Balls.”

Gavin does the same with his fist and Tyler turns back around on his knees to face Jim.

“So, do I have your permission to marry Ava? I’ve already made the calculations and I only need to sell two more ounces of weed to be able to buy her the ring she wants, and since I have roughly thirty ounces heading to Madelyn’s house—”

“Twenty-five,” Drew interrupts. “Sorry, that shit is full of sorcery. It kept calling my name and I couldn’t resist. Speaking of that, you’re out of Cheetos and Fruity Pebbles.”

Jim sighs, shoving Tyler’s hands off his knees. “You didn’t knock her up, did you? Do I have to get my shotgun?”

Tyler quickly shakes his head. “No, sir. We are extremely careful. I always wear a condom, and when I don’t, I pull out faster than a roadrunner speeding away from dynamite. No sperm has touched your daughter’s ovaries, I can promise you that.”

Tyler looks over his shoulder and gives me a smirk. If he wasn’t so much like a girl and hitting girls is frowned upon, I’d punch him right in the face.

“Get off your damn knees, dumbass. I’ll let you marry Ava as long as you never use the words sperm and your daughter’s ovaries in a sentence again. Ever. If you even think those words in my presence, I will kill you and make it look like an accident,” Jim threatens.

Tyler pushes himself up from the floor and leans in to hug Jim, who immediately holds his hand up and presses it against Tyler’s face to hold him off.

“Stop trying to hug me.”

“Can I call you dad, then?” Tyler asks, his words muffled behind Jim’s palm.

“Not if you want to keep your dick from being shoved down your throat.”

My phone vibrates in my back pocket and I quickly pull it out and step out of the room while Drew runs over to Jim and Tyler and tries to make a group hug happen.

When I get out the hallway, I look down and smile when I see a text from Molly.

Send me a penis of yur picture :)

I laugh when I see she screwed up her words and must have managed to sneak some alcohol at the party, and then my laughter dies when I realize what it is she’s trying to ask. She wants me to send her a picture of my penis. My heart starts racing and my palms start sweating as I run down the hallway to the closest bathroom.

Flipping on the light switch and locking the door behind me, I turn in circles trying to figure out where I can stand that will give me the best lighting. It’s not very bright in here and there are too many dark shadows. This is not going to make my penis look the best that he can be, dammit! I need a spotlight or a bulb with a minimum of seventy-five watts for optimum photographic beauty.

Realizing I’m not going to get what I need in here, I see another door by the shower. Walking across the large bathroom, I open the door and see that it leads into a bedroom. Poking my head into the room, I see exactly what I need in the far corner. I move quickly across the carpeted floor, unbuttoning my jeans as I go. I don’t have a lot of time to do this before the guys will wonder where I am.

I close my eyes and play back the kiss out in the yard, remembering the feel of Molly’s tongue against mine and the soft little moans she made into my mouth. I need a chubby for this photo to really impress Molly and a chubby is what I’m now holding in my hands thanks to that quick little trip down memory lane.

It would be great if I could say that my girlfriend’s father didn’t walk in on me two minutes later sitting at his wife’s make-up table with the bright lights lining the mirror highlighting my dick in one hand while I held my cell phone pointed down at it in another, staring at a framed photo of his wife which I swear was a total accident, but that would be a lie.

While I apply pressure to my bloody, split lip and wonder if I still have the ability to eat solid foods, Drew sits down next to me on the floor of the bedroom. He hands me a bag of frozen peas to hold against my eye, giving me a sympathetic look.

“Don’t feel bad, dude, we’ve all spanked it a few times to a picture of Liz, she’s hot.”

Fucking Betty White. I blame her for all of this.





Chapter 17




– Lips, Tongue, Penis, Suck –

Molly




“Oh, my God! Are you drunk?!” Charlotte whispers hysterically.

I sway a little bit as the room spins, grabbing onto the edge of the bar in the kitchen of the ginormous suite we’ve been celebrating in.

“Bugger off, you daft cow!”

“Why are you speaking with a British accent? What the hell is happening right now?” Charlotte complains, grabbing my arms and giving me a little shake.

“I’m practicing for when I travel the world. I want to fit in with the locals in London. Top o’ the mornin’ to ya, eh?!”

Charlotte shakes her head at me, all three of them. “That was Irish and I think Canadian. How much alcohol have you snuck?”

I hold up one hand and spread out all five fingers.

“Seven many,” I mumble, trying to focus on my fingers and wondering why we have so many. Why five and not four? Do we really need a ring finger? It holds no purpose aside from giving us a place to put rings.