The Firework Exploded (The Holidays #3)(25)

“Shit! She’s crying? Is it because of me? Where is she?” I ask in a panic.

Scheva laughs, finally looking away from the door to smack me in the chest with a limp, drunken hand.

“No, silly! She’s crying because I may or may not have burned her cell phone. Or she might be crying because she really has to pee and can’t figure out how to do it. Now that I think of it, she might not be crying at all. I think that was me who was crying, actually. I’m gonna go throw up now.”

She turns and runs down the hall and up the stairs, and I wait until I hear the upstairs bathroom door close before I go in search of Noel.

I get to the kitchen when I hear a muffled voice coming from behind the closed bathroom door right across from it. I press my ear to the wood and smile when I hear Noel’s soft voice.

“Since when do women get stage fright? The f*ck, urethra? Why have you forsaken me?”

I knock softly, keeping my voice down when I call Noel’s name, even though there’s probably no point since Scheva’s butter war cry and my scream probably woke up the entire neighborhood.

“Sam? Is that you? I need assistance,” Noel speaks from the other side of the door.

Turning the handle, I push it open and stop in the doorway at the sight in front of me.

“Can you close the door, please? This is probably something my parents don’t need to witness.”

Moving further into the bathroom, I gently close and lock the door behind me, wondering what the hell I’m looking at and why I’m so turned on.

Noel is standing up in front of the toilet, wearing nothing but a hot pink pair of lacy boy shorts with a mouth-watering amount of ass cheek showing and a matching hot pink lace bra. She twists her body at the waist to face me and my eyes immediately drop to her nipples that I can see through the lace. My eyes then trail down the front of her body to stare in confusion and whatever it is she’s holding in front of her crotch.

“It’s not what it looks like,” she tells me.

“It looks like you’ve pulled aside the crotch to your underwear and you’re holding a rubber funnel that sort of looks like a dick against your *.”

She nods, turning her body back to face the toilet.

“Okay, so it’s exactly what it looks like. It’s called a SheWee and Scheva ordered it for me online. It’s a funnel for women so we can pee standing up like men, but I think it’s broken,” she explains, shaking her ass and bouncing up and down on her feet.

“I have no idea what is happening right now, but my dick is hard,” I whisper.

“Quick, say something wet and watery. I have to pee so bad I think I’m going to die,” she whines, staring down at the SheWee in her hands.

Doing what every man was taught to do at an early age, I lean over to the sink and turn the dial for the cold water. As soon as it starts rushing out of the faucet, Noel moans loudly, her eyes close and her head drops back.

I stare in awe, wondering why witnessing this isn’t weird, as Noel holds the narrow end of the funnel that looks like a dick, pee flying out of it and into the toilet. She swirls her hips and shakes the end of the dick funnel when she’s finished, exactly like a dude with a penis.

She lets out another contented sigh, opens her eyes, and leans forward to flush the toilet.

“Look at that? I did it with my eyes closed and didn’t get one drop on the seat. Now you tell me, how do men who have penises all their lives, manage to piss all over the seat, the walls and the floor, with their eyes open?” she asks.

“I have no idea,” I tell her. “But I really want to f*ck you right now. Is that weird? I think it should be weird, but it doesn’t feel weird.”

Noel pulls the funnel away from her and tosses it into the sink, leaning around me to turn off the faucet.

“I don’t know. I’ve never peed standing up in front of a guy before. Maybe you should pee in front of me so I can see if I get turned on,” she suggests.

“Okay, now that sounds weird.”

“Fine, let’s just have sex then. I threw up all the vodka already so I’m good to go. And don’t worry if you can’t finish. I don’t care if your penis doesn’t find me attractive anymore, I still want to marry you. Just don’t die, okay? And don’t hate my family and haunt us forever if you do die and you’re all pissed off at us when you go to heaven.”

She takes a step toward me and even though my dick is still hard from whatever the f*ck I just saw, I gently wrap my hands around her upper arms and stop her from pressing her body against mine.

“I really hope you meant it when you said you threw up all the vodka, because we need to talk and I don’t want you to be too drunk and out of it for this,” I tell her softly.

“Right. Talk. I forgot we needed to do that,” she mumbles. “Quick, ask me a question I’d know if I was sober”

“What’s thirty-five times seven?” I ask.

“Oh, my God! I said a question I’d know if I was sober. Two plus two is potato and math is stupid,” she complains.

“Fine, do you still love me and want to marry me?” I question in a low voice.

“Absolutely, without a doubt, one-hundred percent,” she immediately answers.

“Excellent, let’s go to the living room and talk.”