The Lineup(66)

Fine my me. I get to watch her ass jiggle in those leggings.

Might be the last time I get the chance after how uncomfortable things are between us.

I’m soaking up that jiggle as much as I can.

When we reach our doors, she’s already unlocked hers and halfway in when I say, “Great weekend, thanks for the—”

Her door slams.

“—invite,” I finish to myself. Well, that couldn’t have gone any better.

I consider knocking on her door, asking her how I could make things better, but I’m pretty sure she wants to be alone right now and honestly, I think I would be a dead man walking if I knocked on her door.

Kicked in the crotch by her words no doubt.

Not in the mood, so I unlock my door and start to settle in my apartment. I leave my suitcase in the entryway because even though I might be quite the lady of the house, I can also be a slob occasionally and taking care of a suitcase is never the first thing I do when I get home.

Nope, I need comfort food.

I head straight to the kitchen where I pull out a beer, pop the top off, and take a long swig. Pretzel bites, Daddy needs some pretzel bites.

With queso.

I rummage through my freezer, grateful I have some, splash them on a baking sheet, and stick them in the oven. I then look through my pantry and spot an unopen jar of queso. Bingo, bango!

It might have been a shitty last twelve hours, but things are about to be in my favor.

When everything starts to heat up, I go to my TV and start scrolling through the On Demand movies.

GASP! Isn’t it Romantic is available. I’ve heard great things about the rom-com starring Rebel Wilson and Adam Devine. Don’t mind if I do.

Now I just need to get into my flannel jam-jams and this will be—

Knock. Knock.

Actually it was more of a POUND. POUND.

There is only one person who could make such a threatening sound with their fist, and I’m pretty sure they’re a five-foot-six force of nature with black hair and clear blue eyes.

I stand there, in my living room, contemplating if I should answer in a high-pitched voice, “No one’s here,” or if I should answer.

I take a step forward toward the door.

POUND, POUND.

My balls hug each other, collectively protecting my unfertilized children.

Another step forward.

POUND, POUND.

My dick turtles in on itself, uncircumcising its own length.

One more step.

POUND. POUND. POUND.

My nipples shrivel up into dust, leaving a note behind that says “You’re on your own, buddy.”

One last step.

POUND. POUND. POUND. POUND

My sphincter swallows in on itself, soldering my ass cheeks together, making it so there’s no entrance or exit available.

Swallowing hard, I say, “N-no one’s h-here,” in my best ladylike voice.

“Open the goddamn door, Jason.”

I yelp and leap back, feeling the hiss of her tongue lick the side of my neck through the door.

Demon possessed, it’s the only way one could possibly make an entire body recoil with fear. If I wasn’t so worried about her seeping through the crack under my door and attacking me with her serpent tongue, I’d slowly back away, but a slithering Dottie does not seem appealing, so I open the door to an irate woman, hand on her hip, irritation heavy in her eyes.

“Oh, hey, didn’t know that was you.”

She steps up, points her manicured finger at me and says, “Cut the crap, Jason.”

I hold my hands up. “Whoa, whoa, whoa. Where’s all this hostility coming from?”

She pokes my chest, her finger feeling like an ice pick trying to pierce my skin. “You know what it’s from.”

“Mind reading seems like one hell of a super power, unfortunately, I haven’t been able to obtain such an anomaly.”

And then, after that snarky comment, the top of her head pops right off, hair and all. Her eyebrows turn into flames, her eyes morph into green slits with a red ring of death around them, and her mouth hinges wide open, her canines turning into straight-up fangs.

Hissing and spitting, steam pouring from her ears, her fingers change into death-defying claws. In the matter of seconds, she transforms into a mythical creature that has yet to be discovered in the land of fantasy. A new species, one that’s sole purpose is to destroy any and all men with the name Jason Orson.

World, it’s been nice knowing you. Please remember me for the following:

Baseball’s finest ass—firm and tight.

THE towel picture.

Perfectly proportioned balls to dick ratio.

Sensitive man-bear with an uppercut that can rip open a jaw.

And of course, the most important accomplishment of my entire life, the ability to razzle-dazzle my peers with a combination of mayo, dill, and potatoes. #BestDamnTatoSaladEver

Through clenched teeth, her jaw so tight, I can see every vein in her once elegant, now scaly neck, she seethes, “Why . . . didn’t . . . you”—her jaw juts out, and I really am terrified for the next few words that take their time to form in her mouth—“kiss . . . ME . . . IN THE CABIN?” She enunciates every word with evil precision.

Why didn’t I kiss her? Maybe because I knew secretly she had it within her to morph into the thing she is right now.

I gulp and bump into my doorway as I try to gain some distance, but it’s useless because she follows me. At least when I die, I’ll be in the comfort of my own dwelling. It’s small miracles like this that make me feel at ease with my impending doom.