The Cougar Chronicles 2 Read online

  “What’s an apa piercing?”

  I’m the one rolling my eyes now. “Everyone knows what an apa is.”

  “I don’t.” He shrugs his shoulders and I actually love how unconcerned he is with being cool.

  I turn my phone around so he can see a picture of what a thick bar looks like pierced through the head of a penis. It looks a little like the head of a tree impaled with a metal telephone pole.

  Sam lunges backward, covering his dick protectively with his hands and his face drains of color.

  I stare at him.

  “I don’t think that was necessary,” I point out. “I’m not going to hold you down and pierce you.”

  “Why.. why would…. Oh my God,” he finally manages to bleat like a sheep terrified of going to slaughter. I laugh.

  “Apparently, it makes sex better.”

  “For who?”

  “For both.”

  “I can hardly believe that’s true,” he finally says, and he’s still pale and I’m still laughing.

  “We should find out,” I suggest. I glance at his crotch and he grabs it tighter.

  “No.”

  “It might be fun,” I waggle my eyebrows over the tops of my Jackie-O’s. “Come on. Be adventurous. Also, you can let go of your penis now. I promise, I’m not going to attack it.”

  Probably.

  Sam doesn’t look convinced and I take a minute to appreciate his masculinity. Because come on… he’s literally wearing a plaid work shirt rolled up to his elbows, work jeans and boots. He’s like FarmWorker Ken doll. Which means I could be FarmWife Barbie. We could churn ‘butter’ together. I could butter his roll. He could stuff my chicken….

  But no.

  I internally slap myself. He’s too old. He can’t keep up with me. I’m only as old as the men I surround myself with. I make a mental note to acquire a harem of college boys.

  “Nevermind,” I tell him sweetly, gazing at him over my sunglasses. “You don’t have the adventurous spirit for an apa. My mistake.”

  He levels a gaze at me. “My nipples are pierced and my back is tattooed. I don’t feel the need to prove anything to you. I don’t even know you.”

  “Your nipples are pierced?”

  Lord, I might’ve misjudged him.

  He nods. “I’ve been a wild child.”

  I’m intrigued.

  “You don’t look wild,” I tell him doubtfully. Beautiful, yes. Wild, no.

  “Well, looks can be deceiving,” he answers smoothly. “For instance, you look like a wildcat. But on the inside, I think you’ve got a soft heart.”

  My head snaps up and I see red.

  “Take that back!” I snap. “That’s the meanest thing anyone has ever said to me. I don’t have a heart. And if I did, it would be made from ice.”

  He laughs.

  “Whatever, Ice Queen. You portray an image that you want people to believe. I’m not falling for it.”

  “You don’t know me,” I tell him with my nose in the air. “I wear expensive shoes, I get Brazilian waxes, I do spin classes and CrossFit five days a week, and I drink wine that is a hundred dollars a bottle.”

  “Are you trying to impress me?” he asks, puzzled. “Because good wine isn’t always expensive. That leads me to believe that your other items might be unnecessary too.”

  This makes me gasp loud enough for Vegas to hear.

  “Take that back,” I huff. “My ass is tight enough to bounce quarters off of, and that’s because of spinning. I only date men half my age because of that.”

  “Because you can’t handle a real man?” Sam lifts a cocky eyebrow.

  “You’re clearly delusional.” I get to my feet and stalk away in a huff. “I’ve got penis pictures to print. Good day, sir.”

  I keep my back straight and my nose in the air and I can hear Sam laughing behind me the whole way to the house.

  The nerve.

  Six

  God, I love penis pictures

  When Alli comes down from showering, I’m in their library surrounded by penis pictures which I’ve taped onto the shelves and I’m misty-eyed from a happy ending.

  Not that kind of happy ending, you freak.

  “They lived happily ever after,” I sniff to Alli, holding up the book. “And he has an apa.”

  She nods with a smile. “See? I told you that you’d like it.”

  “And they had awesome sex all of the time.”

  She nods again. “Yep. Just like me and Alex.”

  I glare at that.

  “I hate you. You know that? You’ve got a fairy-tale life and a winery and a freaking library…Hey, wait a minute. You’re very focused on this apa business. Did you talk Alex into getting one?”

  She’s surprised, then she bursts out laughing. “I love Alex, and he’s amazing, but he faints when he gets his blood taken. I think an Apa is a bit above his pain tolerance.”

  “I know what my wedding present is going to be,” I announce and my brilliance is undeniable.

  “It better not be talking Alex into an apa,” Alli says and why does she have to know me?? “The recovery time is months. I want a good honeymoon.”

  “Fine. I’ll think of another epic wedding gift,” I promise and the wheels are already turning. “Have you ever thought of getting your clit pierced?”

  “Wouldn’t that be a gift for Alex?”

  Good point.

  “Have you gotten BB waxed lately?”

  Alli pours another cup of coffee. “Yes, I get Brazilians monthly, and you’ll have to think of some other way of torturing me, you freak.”

  “That’s not a very nice way of thanking me,” I mutter. “I’m the one who introduced you to the joys of the Brazilian Baldy anyway.”

  She smiles beatifically. “Thank you.”

  “You’re welcome.”

  She bustles around the kitchen and I bustle around too, browsing through cabinets.

  “I’m going to need a few supplies for the book club tonight,” I tell her. She freezes in the middle of the room, spinning slowly to look at me.

  “More than the one hundred penis pictures you’ve already posted in the library?”

  The look on her face is one hundred percent pure panic.

  I cackle.

  “I’m gonna need wine, a needle, handcuffs, and some twine…to start.”

  Alli starts coming at me and I run behind the nearby table. She rounds one side, I round the other. We go back and forth in a such a way for a while.

  “What do you plan on doing?” she demands, and we’re at a stalemate because I’m not allowing her to catch me. I fake her out and she bumps the table.

  “Nothing,” I insist. “Just a little interactive entertainment. God. You want me to run a book club, I’ve got to do it my way, Allison.”

  “Allison?” Alli’s voice is pure terror now because I never use her full name.

  “Just tell me where to find twine. And how many people are going to be here? Because I’ll need that many eggplants.”

  I think Alli sways on her feet.

  “You’re supposed to make my life easier this week,” she tells me indignantly. “Not give me a heart attack before I become Mrs. Alexander Harris.”

  I ignore that.

  “I’m also having some boxes delivered here for your bachelorette party,” I tell her. “Don’t look in them. No matter what. Also, if you hear mooing, don’t be alarmed.”

  She stops dead in her tracks. “I can’t even. I can’t deal with you right now. I’m going to get my dress fitted. If you need anything, find it. Don’t alienate all of my book club chicks. I mean it.”

  And with that, she seriously leaves me high and dry. What the actual fuck?

  “Was it something I said?” I wonder after her.

  She pokes her head back in the door. “And there will be twelve coming.” Then she’s gone.

  Great. I need to find twelve eggplants.

  * * *

  By the time six pm rolls around, I’ve
been a busy, busy Queen Bee. I’ve been to the store, I’ve found all of the supplies I need, I’ve bought fancy cubed cheese and located amazing wine. I’ve got twelve TV trays situated around the library, and set the ambience with my penis pictures and penis candles.

  Because nothing says class like penis candles.

  Who knew this little town would have a sex shop?

  Thank God for small favors. I bet He really does have a penis.

  “What the…” Alex takes one step onto the library and steps immediately back out. “Alli wanted me to check on you. But Lord Jesus, I don’t want to.”

  “Is it the eggplants?”

  Alex looks at the eggplants that I’ve suspended from each chair. “Don’t worry. I used temporary hooks. They won’t hurt your ceiling.”

  “I’m not worried about the ceiling,” he stammers. “What are they for? You know what? Don’t tell me.”

  He tries to escape, but I grab his arm.

  “Hey. I have twelve bottles of wine. Do you think that will be enough? I don’t know these women.”

  “If it’s not, call. I’ll bring more,” he promises, tugging his arm away and practically sprinting toward the door.

  I stare limply after him.

  Chicken.

  I don’t have any time to ponder it though, because the doorbell starts ringing and the women start to arrive. I straighten my tiara, because nothing says fun like a tiara, and paste a smile onto my red lips.

  Let’s do this thing.

  Before I know it, I’m standing in front of a room of women, wine and eggplants. Every girl’s dream.

  “I know this might not be the book club you’re expecting,” I tell them. “But I read this book this morning and it deserves more than mere conversation. Mark my words- Kristen Proby and I will be best friends someday, but that’s beside the point. For now, I’ve lit penis candles in her honor. To start things off tonight, I want to go around the room, and each of us say what we think the best thing about Nate’s apa is. Let’s call it our Homage to Nate’s Big Dick.”

  The ladies titter and giggle but they’re willing and I hear things like, Stimulate my clitoris, it would rub my fun button.

  “Come on, girls,” I urge them. “We’re not in Health class. Use your words. Your real words.”

  Now we’re talking. I hear things like cock, snatch, cootch and my favorite, love muffin.

  “Love muffin?” I cackle. “I’m gonna use that in my memoir.”

  The girl blushes.

  “Anywho,” I continue. “Every one knock back some wine.”

  They lift their glasses.

  “Shoot it like you mean it,” I tell them, so they do.

  “Now. You might notice that there’s an eggplant in front of you.”

  They all nod because there’s no way to miss the giant purple vegetables handing in front of their noses.

  “On your table, you’ll find a blindfold, a large needle and a metal bar. I imagine you know where I’m going with this, but what you’re going to do is slip the blindfold on, and give your eggplant an apa. The woman who does it the fastest and closest to the appropriate spot—which is the head of your eggplant penis—will win.”

  “What do we win?” one cheeky woman asks. She gulps her wine again and I do believe she looks nervous.

  “Don’t worry. The eggplant won’t feel a thing. The winner will receive the chance to do a body shot with Sam the Foreman.”

  I came up with this prize on the fly, as I’d forgotten to buy prizes and didn’t realize it until this exact moment. I text Alex quickly. Send Sam in please.

  “Sam agreed to that?” one of them asks incredulously, and I nod.

  “Yes, he’s looking forward to it.”

  I’m the best liar in the world.

  “Ok, ladies. Blindfolds on.”

  They obey and I feel like the most powerful woman in the world. The fate of these eggplant penises in is my very manicured and pampered hands.

  “Annnnnnnd, go!”

  Eggplants go swinging as blind-folded women attempt to pierce them.

  It’s the funniest thing I’ve ever seen. I sit back and sip my wine as I watch the comedic genius unfold.

  Eggplants smack women in the face, they get threaded mid-shaft, fingers get pricked, which to be honest, is something I didn’t consider. I hope I can’t get sued.

  And it’s at this exact moment, when women are piercing vegetable penises with bloody fingers”, that Sam chooses to come in.

  He stops short, looks around the mayhem, and his sparkling gaze focuses on me.

  “Have I interrupted something?” His question is droll.

  “Not at all,” I tell him. “You’re just in time. Come to the front please. You’re the prize.”

  He stares at me, unmoving.

  I plead with him with my eyes. I widen them, and soften them, and give him my best bedroom stare.

  He remains frozen.

  “You’re stubborn,” I tell him.

  “Done!” one woman crows, and she strips off her blindfold, and her eggplant is pierced.

  Sam stares at it. “Is that…”

  I nod. “Yes. We gave our eggplants an apa.”

  He covers his crotch and starts to back out.

  “No. No. NO.”

  I cackle and rush to his elbow and tug him to the front. “Don’t be stupid. We’re not going to pierce yours. You’re the prize, not the eggplant.”

  “Of course,” he answers. “How could I be so stupid?”

  “Come up here,” I tug him. “You’ve got to strip off your shirt and lay on the desk.”

  The women start to chant his name, and Michelle, the girl who won, stands up, her eyes gleaming.

  “Hi, Sam!” she greets him, and I can tell that she knows him.

  He looks at me.

  “No.”

  I nod. “Please. You owe me.”

  “For what??” His head might snap off from spinning to look at me so fast.

  “I’m not sure yet. But you will someday and you might as well pay up now.”

  “You’re ridiculous,” he decides.

  “Take off your shirt.”

  “No.”

  “Pleassssse, Sam. I’m in a bind here. I’ll owe you.”

  He glares at me, but I see him wavering, and then then thennnnn, he finally nods.

  “Fine.”

  I decide to help him and tug at his shirt and Michelle helps, and before I know it, I’ve got his shirt in my hand and he does have a tattoo on his back.

  And lots of back muscles.

  I get a lady boner and my ovaries cheer.

  “Oh, hello,” I whistle, nice and low.

  “I don’t want to do whatever you’ve got planned,” he tells me, his voice low.

  “You’ll like it.” I promise it as I shove him on the desk, and pat his flat abs with my hand.

  Holy Monkeys. “How many crunches do you do every day?”

  He rolls his eyes. “I don’t. It’s called manual labor.”

  “Michelle,” I call. “Come claim your prize.”

  “Don’t,” Sam begs me.

  But of course I don’t listen and Michelle doesn’t either, and I pour shot of tequila and place it in the apex of Sam’s thighs.

  “Close your eyes and figure out where the shot is,” I instruct, and everyone hoots and hollers. Sam’s fingers curl around the edge of the desk and he shoots daggers at me with his eyes.

  Michelle fumbles, on purpose I think, and grabs Sam’s dick, his balls and everything in between before finally taking the shot glass in her mouth and tipping it up like a trophy.

  She downs the liquor and slams the glass on the table and before any of us can stop her, she strips off her shirt and swirls it above her head like a lasso.

  She lets go of it just as Alli steps in the room, and Michelle’s shirt hits her in the face.

  Her expression goes from stunned to horrified in one second flat, and then it turns murderous as she takes in the chaos
of the room.

  “Sara! What the fuck are you doing to my brother?”

  Seven

  Keeping it in the family

  “Your brother?” I stammer, and I look from Sam to Michelle to Alli, and everyone is quite aware of this knowledge but me. “I thought he was your foreman. How did I not know you had a brother? Jesus, Alli. I’m your best friend.’

  “You’re my dead best friend,” she corrects as she absorbs all the glory of the room. “So dead.”

  “Why didn’t you tell me that you’re her brother?” I ask Sam while he sits up and puts his shirt on.

  He shrugs. “You didn’t ask.”

  “Ladies, I think book club is over,” I tell everyone graciously. “Thank you for coming, and for participating. You can all blow out a penis candle and take one for your house.”

  Everyone laughs and takes a candle and after everyone is gone, Alli stares at me murderously.

  “Why did you think I didn’t want you near my brother?”

  “Because you said he’s too nice for me. You could’ve mentioned that he was also related to you.”

  “Why are there pierced eggplants hanging from my ceiling?”

  “Surely that’s obvious.”

  She sighs. “Sam, please stay away from my best friend. She will chew you up and spit you out. After what happened with Michelle, I think you’d listen to me.”

  “Michelle? The chick who just won the body shot?”

  They both nod.

  “What happened with Michelle?” I ask, but I’ve already got a sinking feeling of dread in my belly.

  “She was cheating on me with the bank president,” Sam tells me, although he doesn’t sound too broken up about it.

  “Why didn’t you say something?” I hiss, and Sam looks at me.

  “I distinctly remember saying I didn’t want to do it. But you didn’t listen and I didn’t want to make a scene.”

  “My brother is a gentleman,” Alli tells me through her teeth, and lord, she’s pissed. “He’d never embarrass you like that.”

  “I don’t get embarrassed,” I announce hesitantly, because actually, I might’ve if he’d refused after I already said he’d agreed.