It’s her turn to look alarmed. “Ewww.”
I shake my head. “Exactly.”
The next mile or so we’re both silent. I’m deep in thought and assume she is too. I finally glance over at Elle for a second to make sure she’s all right. As it happens she’s squeezing her boobs and I almost lose control of the car.
“What are you doing?” I ask, my throat suddenly as dry as the Sahara.
“Checking.”
“Care to elaborate?” I ask with a smirk.
“I’m checking to see if my boobs got bigger.”
“Since when?”
“Since this morning.”
“They grow that fast?”
She shrugs. “It seems like it.” She thrusts her chest out. “Here, you want to see for yourself?”
Her words make me die a little inside. I want to feel her up so badly, but I can’t. She doesn’t understand my issues with self-control. One minute I’d be sizing up her breasts as I fondle them, the next I’d have her pinned down across the front seat with her panties pulled off.
“No thank you,” I say, my steely gaze focused on the cars in front of me.
“It’s because of this Melanie person being back in town that you won’t touch my breasts, am I right? I could tell that she wasn’t just any ‘ol girl when Trisha brought her up. Was she one of your sex girls?”
“Sex girls?” I ask, perplexed.
“Like number three of your foursome?”
“Ah no, she was not, nor would ever be one of my sex girls.”
Elle’s eyes narrow. “So she was more?”
“More or less, depending on how you look at it.”
“What does that mean?”
I clear the gruffness out of my throat. “I was crazy for her, but she always refused to go out with me.”
“You’re joking, right?”
My stoic expression falls. “No joke, I swear.”
“How in the world could she refuse you? Is she gay?”
I have to smile at her apparent high regard for my desirability.
“Nope, not gay. Just very picky.”
“But you’re the entire package. And with the anaconda, you’re the entire package plus!”
“Is there ever a time where you aren’t thinking about sex, Elle?”
Her cheeks blush pink. “No, not really.”
“Well, she turned me down more times than I can count. I found out later that she preferred older men. She was particularly drawn to the prestigious designers.”
“Ah, so she’s ambitious.”
“Very. How did you know?”
“It’s the only way any of it makes sense. She turns you down for some older guy who can help her move ahead. Only now that you’re getting somewhere with your career can she be bothered.” She huffs and looks out the window.
“Kind of judgmental, aren’t you?”
“Maybe. But if she can’t appreciate all of your amazing qualities then she doesn’t deserve you.”
“Is that so?” I ask, trying not to make my tone sound too playful.
“I could find you a much better woman than Ms. Melanie.”
“So what? You’ll be my pimp?”
The irony that the one woman I’ve made up my mind I want, is the same woman determined to get me someone else, is not lost on me. If our situation wasn’t so crazy, I’d really be gutted.
She grins. “I’ll be your pimp, and you’re my baby uncle. We’re so damn modern.”
“So what kind of girl will you pick for me?”
She looks up to the side and purses her lips. “Let me see. First of all, I’m thinking a big, curvy girl.”
That wasn’t what I was expecting. “Why?”
“So she can handle you. You know . . . all of you.”
She is obsessed with the anaconda. I guess it works because it’s obsessed with her.
“Well, I dig big, curvy girls so I’m okay with that. Will she have big tits?” I ask this crude question to throw her off, but she doesn’t even blink.
“Most likely, those two things tend to go hand in hand.”
“What does she like to do in her free time?” I ask.
“Exotic dancing,” she answers, without missing a beat.
I nod. “Good.”
“Yes, she’ll have the moves.”
“Is this someone I can bring home to meet the family?”
Her lips pucker into a little pout as she taps her chin with her finger.
“Maybe on second thought she’s not an exotic dancer.”
I nod, fighting back a grin.
“And she can’t be a ballerina, they’re too stiff.”
“Yeah, I like my women bendy.”
“I know! Your parents are Irish . . . she could be an Irish dancer!”
I let out a guffaw. “Ha! Have you ever watched Irish dancing?”
“Sort of.”
“It’s all jumping up and down.”
“So . . .”
“Didn’t you say she had big tits?”
She bends over laughing. “Oh my God! Jumping up and down is not good for the girls!”
“Not that I’d mind watching that, just saying . . . but it could be really uncomfortable for her.”
“Good point. Okay, I’ll keep thinking.”
I’m almost to her house when Elle turns toward me. “So what does this Melanie look like?”
“Mmm. Back in the day she was long and lean, gorgeous smooth skin, a mysterious smile, and the biggest blue eyes. But it was the way she carried herself that set her apart—she seemed aristocratic.”
“A mysterious smile?” she says with her lips pursed. “What does that mean?”
“Like she knew something you didn’t.”
“What’s my smile like?”
“I don’t know. I’ve never thought about it.”
She folds her arms over her chest. “Oh I see. She’s mysterious and I’m forgettable.”
“That’s not what I said.”
“You may as well have said that.”
“Is this a hormone thing? Because you’re acting unusually nutty.”
“Unusually nutty? So I’m always nutty, but right now even more so.”
My brows knit together and I shrug. “Yeah, I guess.”
“So do I amuse you with my nuttiness?”
“Usually you do, but not so much right now. But don’t worry about it. I was reading about pregnancy and I’m sure this is your hormones going haywire again.”
She doesn’t respond, and when I glance over I see a dark red flush running across her face. That can’t be good.
She points out her window. “Pull over!”
I swerve to the side and skid to a stop. If she’s going to upchuck dinner I sure as hell don’t want it in my car. As soon as I hit the unlock button, she swings the door open wide.
But instead of leaning into the curb she pops out of the car, turns and slams the door shut.
Luckily the window is partially rolled down so she can hear me yell out, “Hey! What are you doing?”
“This nutjob is getting away from you, Mr. Critical.”
My mouth falls open. “What did I do?”
“Oh, you didn’t do a thing. It’s all me. And I’m sure it will be an incredible relief to get away from nutty me and take out the exquisite Miss Melanie with the perfect skin and ‘together life’.”
She does quote marks in the air to emphasize her point before continuing.
“I’m sure Melanie won’t be hormonal and demand massive In-N-Out meals because she accidently got knocked up. No! She’ll probably suggest the hippest new restaurants where they serve little aristocratic portions. And I can bet that Ms. Perfect won’t be feeling up her own boobs at inappropriate times, since unlike me, she has hot guys lined up that want to feel them for her.”
Oh man, she’s gone off the ledge. I better try to reason with her. It isn’t good for her to be this upset.
“What are you talking about? Those Tinder guys wanted to feel you up. I bet if you called them they’d be happy to do it again.”
She juts her hands on her hips and gives me a look so harsh that it makes me wither inside.
“Awesome response, Paul, to make me feel even better in my state of hysteria. That was epic. Thanks for the suggestion that I do Tinder hook-ups while pregnant. That’s so appreciated.”