want to ask what you’re talking about?” Nicholas questions, his eyes still staring unblinking over at the stripper by the front door.
“Well, this guy got a piece of Beautiful Bobbie and now he can’t quit me,” she says with a sigh. “He stands out on my front lawn, jerking off while reciting poetry. It was cute at first, but there’s only so many times you can hear someone moan through a Robert Frost poem.”
“Jesus, Bobbie,” Reggie groans, turning his body all the way around to face the stairs behind us so he’s not tempted to look anywhere else.
“Why don’t you just ask him to stop?” I question, bringing one hand up to the side of my face to shield my eyes.
“And crush the poor man’s heart? That’s just cruel. He’ll run out of poems and semen to fertilize my lawn with eventually,” Bobbie says with a shrug.
Bev starts apologizing to Pinky all over again about her rude family, and I turn around to face the stairs with Reggie when she pulls her past all of us and down the hall into the kitchen to get her something to eat.
“If anyone needs me, I’ll be out in the garage until tomorrow,” Reggie announces, stalking out the front door behind Aunt Bobbie, who went out to sit in my truck and wait for me to give her a ride to my place.
Giving Noel a kiss that is entirely too short for my liking, interrupted by Aunt Bobbie laying on the horn of my truck out in the driveway, I back away from her toward the door.
“We’ll talk tomorrow, I promise,” Noel says. “And thanks for not looking at the stripper. I would have punched you in the neck if you looked at her tits.”
“I KNEW IT! I knew it was a test!” I shout in victory as she blows me a kiss before heading off into the kitchen to help her mother feed the stray stripper.
At this point, we might have to leave the country to get a minute alone so we can talk. Come hell or high-water, or another random stripper coming to stay, we will talk tomorrow.
Chapter 11
Front Butt
Noel
“I s that really what you’re wearing?” my mother asks, one eyebrow lifting as she takes in my outfit of choice.
I glance down at myself, my nerves out of control as it is without my mother’s judgment.
“What’s wrong with what I’m wearing? Black pencil skirt and a white button-down with a wide black belt. It’s a standard interview outfit.”
She scoffs and shakes her head at me. “The clothing choice is fine, I’m referring to the granny shoes on your feet. You should borrow something from Pinky. She has very nice taste in shoes.”
I ignore her comment, and the half-dressed woman who walks into the hallway in a short, white silk robe with matching white, furry, heeled slippers on her feet and her hands wrapped around a mug of coffee.
“There’s a foot of snow on the ground. I’m not going to chance breaking my neck before I even get to Happy Greetings. These two-inch black pumps are just fine,” I tell her, trying to calm my racing heart while attempting not to stare at Pinky as she watches us and sips her coffee.
How is it possible someone can make drinking coffee look sexy? I was joking when I told Sam I was glad he didn’t look at Pinky last night because honestly, I’m not insecure about the way I look. But Jesus, I don’t stand a chance standing next to a stripper with fake boobs and even faker lips who looks like she’s about ready to give her cup of Joe a blow job.
“I do have a pair of thigh-high, black stiletto boots that would look fabulous with that skirt,” Pinky tells me with a smile. “We look to be about the same size so I’m sure they’d fit.”
Yeah, same size in shoes only since my tits aren’t bigger than the Grand Canyon and my waist isn’t the width of a twig.
“Thank you for the kind offer, Pinky, but I think I’ll pass.”
She shrugs. “Let me know if you change your mind. I also have a really cute pair with clear heels that you can put a goldfish in.”
“Oooooh, that sounds fun!” my
“Well, this guy got a piece of Beautiful Bobbie and now he can’t quit me,” she says with a sigh. “He stands out on my front lawn, jerking off while reciting poetry. It was cute at first, but there’s only so many times you can hear someone moan through a Robert Frost poem.”
“Jesus, Bobbie,” Reggie groans, turning his body all the way around to face the stairs behind us so he’s not tempted to look anywhere else.
“Why don’t you just ask him to stop?” I question, bringing one hand up to the side of my face to shield my eyes.
“And crush the poor man’s heart? That’s just cruel. He’ll run out of poems and semen to fertilize my lawn with eventually,” Bobbie says with a shrug.
Bev starts apologizing to Pinky all over again about her rude family, and I turn around to face the stairs with Reggie when she pulls her past all of us and down the hall into the kitchen to get her something to eat.
“If anyone needs me, I’ll be out in the garage until tomorrow,” Reggie announces, stalking out the front door behind Aunt Bobbie, who went out to sit in my truck and wait for me to give her a ride to my place.
Giving Noel a kiss that is entirely too short for my liking, interrupted by Aunt Bobbie laying on the horn of my truck out in the driveway, I back away from her toward the door.
“We’ll talk tomorrow, I promise,” Noel says. “And thanks for not looking at the stripper. I would have punched you in the neck if you looked at her tits.”
“I KNEW IT! I knew it was a test!” I shout in victory as she blows me a kiss before heading off into the kitchen to help her mother feed the stray stripper.
At this point, we might have to leave the country to get a minute alone so we can talk. Come hell or high-water, or another random stripper coming to stay, we will talk tomorrow.
Chapter 11
Front Butt
Noel
“I s that really what you’re wearing?” my mother asks, one eyebrow lifting as she takes in my outfit of choice.
I glance down at myself, my nerves out of control as it is without my mother’s judgment.
“What’s wrong with what I’m wearing? Black pencil skirt and a white button-down with a wide black belt. It’s a standard interview outfit.”
She scoffs and shakes her head at me. “The clothing choice is fine, I’m referring to the granny shoes on your feet. You should borrow something from Pinky. She has very nice taste in shoes.”
I ignore her comment, and the half-dressed woman who walks into the hallway in a short, white silk robe with matching white, furry, heeled slippers on her feet and her hands wrapped around a mug of coffee.
“There’s a foot of snow on the ground. I’m not going to chance breaking my neck before I even get to Happy Greetings. These two-inch black pumps are just fine,” I tell her, trying to calm my racing heart while attempting not to stare at Pinky as she watches us and sips her coffee.
How is it possible someone can make drinking coffee look sexy? I was joking when I told Sam I was glad he didn’t look at Pinky last night because honestly, I’m not insecure about the way I look. But Jesus, I don’t stand a chance standing next to a stripper with fake boobs and even faker lips who looks like she’s about ready to give her cup of Joe a blow job.
“I do have a pair of thigh-high, black stiletto boots that would look fabulous with that skirt,” Pinky tells me with a smile. “We look to be about the same size so I’m sure they’d fit.”
Yeah, same size in shoes only since my tits aren’t bigger than the Grand Canyon and my waist isn’t the width of a twig.
“Thank you for the kind offer, Pinky, but I think I’ll pass.”
She shrugs. “Let me know if you change your mind. I also have a really cute pair with clear heels that you can put a goldfish in.”
“Oooooh, that sounds fun!” my
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