The Randy Romance Novelist(59)

“You little spikey-dicked bastard. Give me the penis crown and I won’t have to try to strain you through this colander.”

“What’s going on, love?” I asked, shutting the door and startling her.

She clenched her behind from the sound of the door closing and then turned in my direction. She had mascara dripping down her cheeks and her eyes were beet red. My heart sunk to dramatic depths.

“What’s going on?” she screamed, waving the rolling pin in the air. “What’s going on is that hairy monster over there won’t give me the penis crown. He thinks he won it during our test drive of pin the penis on Derk, but I tried to tell him there was no crown prize. He begs to differ. Now he’s just rubbing his win in my face by parading around with it. How could I lose to a cat? I should know where a penis goes.”

Confused, I looked over at the wall to see a life-size picture of Derk hung up by tacks. There was a scratch mark where Derk’s crotch was—my guess was that was Sir Licks-a-Lot’s placement, and then there was a cut out penis stuck near Derk’s nipple.

“Don’t judge me. I spun around too many times. Maybe if we actually had sex every once in a while, I might know where a penis actually goes. This is all your fault.” She pointed the rolling pin at me. “If you actually drained your vein in me . . .”

“Don’t say that.” I shook my head.

“Oh, was that too crude for you?” She was certifiable right now. I reminded myself of why she was losing it. She was stressed from the party; she was most likely horny . . . she was pregnant.

She was pregnant, she was pregnant, she was pregnant.

Instead of arguing with her, I set my bag and suit jacket down and walked carefully over to Sir Licks-a-Lot, who started purring at my approach. He leapt up into the air, penis crown still in his mouth, and landed in my arms. I took the crown from him and allowed him to rub his head against my five o’clock shadow. I glanced over at Rosie, who had her mouth wide open in a look of complete disbelief.

She crossed her hands over her chest and started tapping her toe on the ground. “Oh, so you’re making out with the cat now? Fantastic!”

Kitchen utensils flew in the air as she tossed her weapons to the side and sat down on the floor next to a pile of penis paraphernalia. Mumbles of discontent flew from her as bags were aggressively stuffed with bachelorette party items.

Secretly, I gave Sir Licks-a-Lot a quick pet; didn’t want to be caught fraternizing with the enemy, and then set him down before slowly walking toward the ball of rage stewing on the apartment floor.

Ever so carefully, I knelt down next to her and placed my hand on her leg. The minute our skin made contact, her head snapped in my direction, and I swear to all that is holy, she developed fangs and growled at me.

Startled, I backed off and sat there, watching her practically ripping each bag while she stuffed them in indignation.

“Can I help you with anything?” I asked, ready to be yelled at.

“Oh, you want to help now? How convenient!”

Deep breaths, I kept telling myself.

“Rosie, I’m sorry I’m late, and I’m sorry that Sir Licks-a-Lot beat you at pin the penis; he’s a tough competitor. He was at more of an eye level with the crotch . . . it was easier for him.”

The destructive stuffing slowed down as I spoke.

“If it helps, I think he cheated. Did you even see if he closed his eyes?”

Rosie pondered my question for a second while tapping her chin with her index finger. “I didn’t get a good look. I was so fascinated with his paw going straight for the crotch.” Rosie slammed the bags on the ground and pointed her finger at Sir Licks-a-Lot, who was mid-tongue-to-balls. “Rematch!”

Before I could say one word, Rosie jumped off the ground, yanked her pinned nipple penis off the wall and said, “Get over here, ball licker. We are going to have a rematch, and guess what? Henry is going to judge and make sure you follow the rules this time.” She glanced over at me and said, “What are you waiting for; come spin me.”

Honestly, was this normal pregnant behavior? If so, I feared for all men around the country. Right now, I had a tense and angry girlfriend, waiting to pin a penis to a wall and challenging a cat to a contest only a human could really win—but somehow she lost.

Even though the situation was completely nuts, I played along. I didn’t want any more anger directed at me. So, I grabbed Sir Licks-a-Lot and held him while I spoke of the penis pinning rules.

“All right, each contestant will get spun five times; eyes must be closed, and there will be no feeling around allowed. Where your hand/paw lands on the wall is where you place your penis. Understood?”

Rosie nodded and rubbed her hands together, while cracking her neck to the side. Sir Licks-a-Lot licked his paw and brushed his head. I took that as he understood.

“There will be one round, final death. Whoever pins the penis closest to Derk’s crotch wins . . .” Not sure what the prize was, I leaned to whisper to Rosie. “What are the stakes?”

She raised her fist in the air and said, “Penis pinning rights.”

“Oh, of course.” I cleared my throat. “Whoever is closest to the crotch wins penis pinning rights of the apartment. Contestants, please shake on the terms.”

Rosie turned up her nose at the idea, but reluctantly grabbed Sir Licks-a-Lot’s paw and shook it.