The Lineup(45)

Her thump on the floor seems to echo through the apartment as I strap on oven mitts and pull the perfectly cooked enchiladas out of the oven. Slightly browned on the top with bubbling cheese. My mouth waters at that sight, causing me to temporarily forget about the woman I just knocked to the floor. That’s until I see her hobbling toward me, her hand on her hip.

Trying to make the most of it, I say, “Just got the rug. Was it plush?”

Her eyes narrow. “No.”

“Hmm, I knew I should have gotten that extra cushion mat.”

She rubs her side and steps into the kitchen, right next to me, her proximity concerning.

The anger from dropping her to the floor subsides as she says, “You know, those oven mitts look really sexy on you.”

“These old things?” I show off the stained and food-coated mitts right before I cup my pecs and give them a good squeeze. “Honk, honk,” I add nervously, using my muscular man breasts as sound-making devices.

Her brow lifts, but she doesn’t let my awkwardness interfere with her . . . whatever she’s doing right now. She runs her hand up my chest, playing with the divot in the middle—man cleavage—and leaves but only a few inches between us.

“You know, we can skip dinner if you want? Go straight to dessert.”

She’s drunk.

Or high.

Or both.

Either way, I need to put an end to this.

“You know”—I grip her by her shoulders with my oven mitts and push her a foot away—“I think you’re hungry, maybe your blood sugar is low, because you seem to be acting a little strange. Why don’t we get you some—?”

She swats my arms away and plasters her body against mine. Fuck, her tits feel incredible against my chest and if I didn’t know any better, I’d swear her nipples are hard . . . Oh wait, maybe those are mine that are hard. Either way, with her this close, something else is getting hard, and fast.

“I thought you wanted me. Come on, let’s date. Let’s do this.”

“Heh.” I laugh, a little terrified. I back up, my ass hitting the oven. I place my hands behind me, trying to get as far away as possible. But she doesn’t let me get very far. No, she pins me against the oven. “What, uh, what has gotten into you?”

“I know who hasn’t gotten into me.” She dances her fingers up my chest until they reach my face, with one bop to the nose. I’m rearing back, my hand connecting directly with the enchiladas, startling me so much I fling the dish forward. And we both watch in slow motion as the Williams Sonoma glass nine-by-thirteen dish floats through the air, smacks against the island, and falls to the ground in a mighty crash as waves of tortillas, chicken, and cheese splatter my kitchen.

“My masterpiece.” I fall to the floor, gathering the cheese and sauce in my oven mitts, scooping it back into the broken and shattered dish.

“Oh my God, what did you do?” Dottie asks, standing above me, hand to her heart.

I look over my shoulder. “What did I do? What did you do?”

“Are you saying that I was the one who ruined dinner?”

I stand tall, enchilada sauce dripping off my oven mitts. “Yes, that’s exactly what I’m saying.”

“How dare you blame me for your clumsiness.” She folds her arms over her chest. “I would hate to see how you perform in bed after this fiasco.”

Eh, what? Come again. Fiasco? Does she not realize she’s the reason all this happened? Because she apparently can’t keep her panties on long enough to enjoy a homecooked meal.

“Excuse me, but you’re the one trying to stroke my dick before dinner is served. I was just trying to give you a chance to sober up.”

“Sober up?”

“Yeah.” I motion to her body. “Isn’t that why you’re acting weird? You’re high or drunk. One of the two.” I wince. “Both?”

“I am not drunk or high.”

“Oh.” I pat her on the shoulder. “Stressed then. I get it, when I’m stressed I do weird things too.”

“How am I being weird?” she asks, growing angry.

“Well, for one, you wouldn’t touch me with a ten-foot pole about ten hours ago, but now you’re ready to shove your hand down my pants. Seems odd. Also, you’re being nice to me, offering up smiles and hitting on me. You just don’t flip a switch like that. So tell me, what’s this all really about?”

Her eyes search mine as she takes a step back, her teeth gnawing on her bottom lip. “This was a bad idea. I’m going to go.”

“So you’re just going to leave me like this?” I call out, dinner dripping down my jeans.

“The plants need me. Keep the wine.” Without another word, she sprints to the door and lets herself out.

The plants need me?

Can someone explain to me what the hell occurred tonight? Because I’m confused as fuck.





“Are you alone?” I whisper into the phone, even though I don’t need to.

“Why are you whispering?” Knox asks.

“I don’t know,” I continue to whisper. “I just need to talk to you, and I can’t have your baby mama listening in.”

“Dude, I told you, it’s okay to use KY Jelly when jacking off.”