The Firework Exploded (The Holidays #3)(23)

With that, she kisses each of us on the cheek and heads upstairs.

“I think what she meant to say is that you should totally drunk text Sam,” Scheva tells me, climbing over my lap and elbowing me in the face as she reaches for her cell phone on the end table. “I think I might have accidentally thrown your phone in the fire outside. I’m starting to think I might have a problem with burning things when I’m drunk.”

She climbs back off me and hands me her phone. “Here, send him a text from my phone. I’ll help you tell him what to say. It should probably have something to do with talking and shit, but maybe add something about butter so he can see you’re totally cool and have good taste in food.”





Chapter 10




SheWee

Sam




“I knew it!” Alex shouts loudly over the noise in the bar. “The drag thing totally worked and Scheva wants me back.”

He turns his phone around and I squint to read the text he’s pointing to.

“Um, I’m pretty sure that is not at ALL what that means. I think she’s saying she wants to bite off your dick while lighting things on fire,” I inform him.

“Whatever, dude. She loves me and she wants me back. We didn’t even have to go full-on gay to make it happen. This is the best night ever. SHOTS FOR EVERYONE, ON ME!”

All the people in the crowded bar cheer when Alex shouts.

“Are you planning on handing out sexual favors to pay for those shots?” Aunt Bobbie asks. “You left your wallet at home and we’ve all been paying for your drinks tonight.”

“SHOTS FOR EVERYONE, ON THESE GUYS!” Alex shouts, pointing at Aunt Bobbie, Reggie, and myself.

The bar patrons cheer again and I refrain from punching Alex in the arm when I feel my phone vibrate in my back pocket. Pulling it out, I stare in confusion at the text I just got.

I wasn’t really in the mood for a bachelor party, but Alex would have slit my throat if I denied him the chance to take me out for one last night of debauchery before my wedding. Even though he couldn’t decide on any place to go tonight and we’ve all been paying for his drinks instead of the other way around, it was still nice to get out and not have to think about everything that’s been bothering me.

And then I had a few beers, got a little buzzed, and turned into a giant * who couldn’t have fun at his own bachelor party and just kept thinking about how I should have done whatever I could to make time to talk with Noel this past week. I can blame it on working overtime, I can blame it on Reggie not getting me home from illegal firework trunk shopping until three in the morning, I can blame it on not wanting to say anything that will upset Noel when she’s already stressed, I can blame it on having nightmares about Turd Ferguson every night, and I can blame it on always having to keep a constant vigil whenever I get out of my car to protect my legs from further attack. I can blame it on a whole shitload of things, but it all boils down to me being a chicken shit.

Under normal circumstances, the text I just received would have made me laugh, but right now, it just sobers me up, confuses me, and makes me wish I would have stayed home tonight, sucked it up, and talked to Noel.

Aunt Bobbie leans over my shoulder and reads the text, laughing as she reaches behind me and pats Alex on the back.

“Sorry, sweet cheeks, looks like Scheva wants to chew on Sam’s dick instead,” she tells him.

Reggie moves Aunt Bobbie aside and looks at my phone as well, lifting his head to glare at me while he drinks his beer.

“I swear to God, I have no idea why Scheva sent this to me,” I plead with him, as Alex too moves in close and reads the text out loud.

“Hey. It’s me. Not her. Do you like Amish people? Circle yes or no. I want to eat your dick like a stick of butter. I have to pee. Come help me hold up my dress. You can watch me pee and we can talk. We’ll call it Tinkle Talk. Love, Me. Not her. Definitely not her.”

No one says a word until Reggie polishes off his glass of beer, slams it down on the bar behind us, and flicks my ear with his finger.

“OW! What was that for?” I complain, rubbing my stinging earlobe.

“What have I told you about eating butter or any other dairy product all over God’s creation before you’re married?” he asks.

“Um, that you’ll cut off my dick and beat me with the bloody stump?” I ask tentatively.

“Exactly,” Reggie nods. “Do you want me to cut off your dick and beat you with the bloody stump?”

I shake my head. “No, sir. I do not want you to cut off my dick and beat me with the bloody stump.”

“Reggie, darling, you do realize that Sam and Noel live together, right? They’ve been cohabitating since February. I’m pretty sure there’s been so much dairy consumption in that house, that we’re now on a nationwide shortage because all the cows in the world have died from being milked dry,” Aunt Bobbie tells him with a laugh.

“They live in separate bedrooms, at opposite ends of the house, and Noel puts a padlock on her door every night before she goes to bed like a good daughter. Isn’t that right, Sam?” Reggie asks with a threatening raise of one eyebrow as he stares me down.

“Yep, you are absolutely correct. I even went out and bought her two more padlocks just to be safe,” I add.