Baking and Babies (Chocoholics #3)(61)

“Arwiwona Fate, Arwansas Fate, Wamy,” I recite with a muffled voice, refusing to remove my mouth from her nipple.

“God I love football,” Molly says with a sigh.





Chapter 21




– Drunk Babies –

Marco




“Beated up the hooky again, Uncle! Ooooh, steal anodder car and shoot more people!” Valerie shouts with excitement as she bounces up and down on the couch next to me.

“It’s pronounced hooker, not hooky, and I don’t need to steal another car right now, sweetie,” I explain, jerking my body to the left as I aim the PlayStation controller at the screen and make my car swerve around a pedestrian.

Letting my four-year-old niece watch me play Grand Theft Auto for the last hour probably wasn’t the best decision I’ve ever made, but at least it kept her in one place instead of screaming and climbing the walls.

No, seriously, she actually climbed the wall in my bedroom like f*cking Spiderman. It’s Tessa’s fault. She told me to give her a piece of chocolate every time Valerie goes to the bathroom on her own. No one gives me a Snicker’s when I take a shit without assistance, but whatever. Valerie must have a bladder the size of…I don’t know, something really f*cking small because she has gone to the bathroom every two minutes for the last three hours. I’ll let her swim in the sugar bowl as long as she doesn’t piss on the carpet.

“Shoot him in the head! Make his head explode!” Valerie screams, clapping her hands together when I shoot a cop trying to arrest me.

“Do you remember what I told you, Val?” I ask, pausing the game to look down at her.

“Grand Feft Auto isn’t real life. It’s bad to shoot people, even hookies. I mean hookers,” she tells me with a serious face.

“You’ve learned well, Grasshopper,” I reply with a nod and a pat to the top of her head.

Once I finally found something to hold her interest for more than two seconds that wouldn’t cause death or dismemberment and a seriously pissed off sister, it actually hasn’t been so bad hanging out with my niece. When I asked Tessa if I could babysit her for a few hours today, I thought she was going to choke to death she laughed so hard. After she finally stopped laughing and realized I wasn’t laughing with her and I was totally serious, I had to sit there for an hour while she gave me a quick course on Babysitting for Dummies. When she finished and gave me a list of telephone numbers for every person she’s ever met in her entire life, including the numbers of ever hospital in a three-hundred mile radius, she made me sign a piece of paper stating she has permission to cut off my balls with a pair of rusty scissors if anything worse than a paper cut happens to her child under my care.

I’ve had a goofy f*cking grin on my face ever since I successfully took care of that pesky partial-virgin status for Molly, but at the same time, I feel like the biggest jerk in the world that she trusted me and gave something so important to me and I still haven’t managed to tell her the truth. The more time we spend together and the longer I wait, the worse I feel, yet I keep coming up with one excuse after another to keep putting it off.

Molly’s giving me a blowjob—it can wait.

Molly’s naked in my living room—what’s one more day?

Molly wakes me up with her head under the covers and her mouth on my dick—she needs to rebuild that confidence and overcome the penis puke, I can’t ruin that.

Molly takes me on a tour of Seduction and Snacks and asks me to f*ck her in the warehouse in the vibrator aisle—I swear I’ll do it after her orgasm when she’s relaxed but one orgasm turned into four and I needed a nap.

Molly asks me to help her with a troubling recipe, and before I know it, there’s chocolate sauce on my penis and dripping off her tits—chocolate on tits is delicious. No explanation needed.

Molly brings home toys from work and asks if I want to watch her use them—I AM JUST A MAN, STANDING IN FRONT OF A WOMAN, ASKING HER TO GET HERSELF OFF!

Before I knew it, the day before the wedding was upon us and I knew I needed to wait until it was over. Charlotte has turned into a bridezilla, and Molly is stressed about her parents finding out the real truth and them being mad at her for lying. She has too much on her mind right now that it wouldn’t be right to add one more thing that I know will upset her.

Since there’s no use denying how much of an * I am and I’m scared to death Molly will never trust me again or let me put my penis inside her which would be a tragedy I’ll never recover from, I’m doing whatever I can to show her I’m not that person anymore. I overheard her talking to Ava on the phone last week when she thought I was sleeping and I still can’t get her words out of my head. She was on her iPad going back through every damn post I made on the Alfanso D. page for the last six months. Even though I couldn’t hear what Ava was saying, it wasn’t too hard to figure out whenever Molly would say, “I know, right? He’s such a pig” or, “You’ve got to be a pretty stupid woman to ever sleep with someone like that.”

Yes, I was a pig. Yes, I was a bit of a man whore and yes, I exploited my sexcapades in a cookbook. I put up posts about how easy it was to sleep with any woman you wanted as long as you fed her chocolate. I made comments putting women down, putting relationships down and putting people down who had kids. I was that guy. The frat boy who refused to grow up.