Chapter Sixteen

NOELY

“Toss me another biscuit,” I call out to my niece who has a glint in her eye and the determined look of a major league baseball pitcher.

Plucking a biscuit from the basket in front of her, she cocks her arm back and a little part of me sweats, because I can foresee where this is going . . .

“Wammeee.” Before I can decipher the incriminating sound coming from my niece, Chloe, I’m pegged between the eyes with a buttery, flaky biscuit.

“Chloe Michelle,” my sister-in-law squawks as she walks into the dining room carrying two glasses of milk, one for me—I like milk, sue me—and one for the walloper herself. “When someone asks you for a biscuit, you do not chuck it at their head.”

“But Daddy—”

“Daddy isn’t a good example for anything. In fact, he’s been grounded ever since we’ve been married. So unless you want to be grounded for life, I suggest you take cues from me, your mother, rather than your immature father.”

Chloe turns to Alex and asks, “Daddy, you’re grounded?”

Leaning back in his chair, casual and unaffected by the fastball biscuit his daughter just knocked me with, he tosses a piece of broccoli in his mouth and nods. “Yep. And do you know what happens when you’re grounded for as long as me?”

“What?” Chloe leans in, her glass of milk halfway to her mouth.

“You lose your hair.” He points to his early balding head.

Chloe’s eyes go wide, and her lip starts to tremble as she spins toward her mom. “I don’t want to lose my hair.” Tears immediately follow the dramatic, shrill voice of my niece from her father’s blatant lie.

Lauren, my sister-in-law, gives Alex a you’re dead face and scoops Chloe into her arms and carries her out into the living room, away from her father. Smart move.

“Yeah”—Alex plays with the leftover food on his plate with his fork—“I’m going to pay for that one later.”

“I look forward to seeing the wrath Lauren has in store for you.”

“You’ll be long gone by then.” He glances at his watch. “Hell, it’s already seven thirty, don’t you start melting when the clock strikes eight?”

Tearing apart my biscuit, I stick a piece in my mouth and revel in the homemade, gluten-filled, delicacy. Lauren is a master in the kitchen, and if I don’t leave five pounds heavier, I’m virtually insulting her. I’ve been trying to convince her to do some cooking segments on our show but she has yet to agree. Keeps saying she’s camera shy. If I were honest, I think it’s because she doesn’t want to share her recipes. She’s one of those people.

“Don’t get salty at me, bro. You’re the one in trouble, not me, and don’t even think about dragging me down with you.”

“Why are you here again?”

I’m about to answer when Lauren comes back into the dining room, minus child, sits in her seat, and downs the rest of her beer. Without looking at her husband she says, “Your daughter wants to start using your Rogaine so she can still do naughty things but keep her hair. I hope you’re happy.”

“You use Rogaine?” I quirk an eyebrow at him.

“It’s not Rogaine. Lauren, stop calling it that.” Alex huffs his displeasure, and it makes me giggle. “It’s an Aveda product. Has some natural crap in it to help my hair follicles become more active.”

“It’s easier to say Rogaine.” Lauren shrugs and turns toward me. “Did you enjoy dinner?”

“Meatloaf is my favorite, you know that. Plus these biscuits? My trainer is going to kill me, but it was so worth it. Thanks for having me over.”

“Of course, we love when you eat with us, especially when you have juicy stories to tell us when children are distracted by Bubble Guppies.”

“Juicy stories?” There is a crinkle in my brow. I don’t have any gossip, at least none they don’t already know. And I know what you’re thinking. You said you don’t gossip, Noely. Well, I don’t, besides my family. I tell them things, and I’m okay with it.

“Don’t hold out on me.” Gesturing with her thumb over at Alex, she says, “I’m married to this guy; I need some dirt on your new dating life. Tell me all about this blind date venture you’re on.”

“Ah, I see where you’re going with this.” I shift in my seat and cross one leg over the other. “You want to grill me, don’t you?”

“As your sister-in-law, I think I’ve earned the right, especially after giving you such an adorable niece. That little hellion came straight out of my vagina, just for you.”

So true, well . . . sort of. I wanted a little baby to cuddle and play with and I wasn’t about to have one of my own, so I hounded Alex and Lauren until they got pregnant. Granted, they wanted Chloe as well, but I might have been a little too invested when it came to her ovulation schedule.

“So because you gave me a niece I have to tell you everything?” I fold my arms over my chest—defensive stance 101.

Giving me a pointed look, Lauren says, “Did you not hear me? I pushed a child, a living, breathing thing out of my VAGINA for you. That means, you tell me everything.” She takes a biscuit and plops a piece in her mouth. “And don’t leave out the good stuff just because your brother is here.”

“Yes, please tell me all the sexual things you’re doing,” Alex deadpans.

“My pleasure.” I wink. It’s moments like these that I see the heavens open with beautiful payback for all the horrible things Alex did to me when I was a teenager. “So I dry-humped a man on a motorcycle.”

“I’m out.” Alex stands quickly from his seat, hands in the air. “No way am I going to sit here and listen to that. Bubble Guppies here I come.”

Lauren pats him on the side and nods toward the kitchen. “Be a dear and start on the dishes.” She blows him an air kiss. “Love you, beefcake.”

He shakes his finger at Lauren. “Don’t be getting any ideas from her. I don’t want you coming up to me tonight asking me to dry-hump on Chloe’s rocking horse because you felt like trying something new.”

“Please, dry-humping on the rocking horse is never going to happen. Now her bean bag chair, that’s a viable option.”

Rolling his eyes, Alex takes off but not before gathering some plates to take to the kitchen. He’s a good husband.

When he’s out of earshot, Lauren twists toward me with dreamy eyes. “So you dry-humped on a motorcycle. God, that sounds hot. Tell me all about it.”

I spend the next few minutes recalling my date with Beck, blushing when I speak of all the . . . uh, touching we did. I’m still a little shocked I let loose that much. There were multiple times that night I felt Beck’s “excitement” on me. And you know what, it only spurred me on to beg for more.

Harlot, that’s what I was, an absolute harlot, and I have zero regrets. Hell, I’m ready to grind up on him on our next date while we cook dinner.

“Beck Wilder.” Lauren leans back and pretends to smoke a cigarette while looking at the ceiling. “God, just his name makes my toes tingle, but knowing he’s a motorcycle-driving, salsa-dancing, Spanish-speaking, erotic-humping rebel? Well, I very well might be in lust for you.” She takes a pretend puff and blows her “smoke” toward the sky. “And he’s a good kisser?”

“So good.”

“Damn, that’s some excellent stuff. And what about The Suit? That’s completely done? Or are you dating two guys right now? Is that even allowed within this app?”

“I have no clue, probably not, but I’m done with The Suit.”

“Oh?” She raises an eyebrow at me. “What happened there?”

I’m still bitter about the whole thing—clearly—by the way I slightly snapped when I said I was done with him. But can you blame a girl? We had this great connection and then out of nowhere, without a second chance, he breaks everything off. I mean, I get it, we were only going to go on a second date, but it was the way he was wooing me, our messages, our date, his kiss. It was . . . intentional. It just seemed like there was something special there. Something really special, but because I said his FIRST NAME on TV he couldn’t go any further with me.

Uh . . . get over yourself.

Immature response? Maybe, but that’s where I am right now when it comes to Jack. Riding the express train down Immature Lane.

“He wasn’t the one,” I answer vaguely, not wanting to dive into the Jack situation.

“I would say that’s unfortunate since it looked like you really liked him on your show, but now that Beck Wilder is in your life, I mean, did The Suit dry-hump you on a motorcycle?”

“Not even a little.” But we did dance by the water at the beach.

“Then in my opinion”—Lauren puts a hand to her chest, looking like the wiser one—“it’s his loss, your gain. So what’s next with the rebel?”

“Cooking class on Friday and then who knows what.”

“Maybe he’ll take you to a sex club. I’ve always wanted to go to one of those.”

Alex takes that moment to walk through the dining room, wearing an apron with a picture of Chloe on the front, and rubber gloves up to his elbows covering his hands. He stumbles over Lauren’s confession and his jaw drops open.

“Oh hey, sweetie. Looking hot.” Lauren sends him a wink and instead of questioning her confession, he gathers more dishes and quickly retreats into the kitchen.

“I think you just made his penis shrivel.”

Lauren flings her head back and laughs. “Yeah, he’s going to be a little shaken up, nothing a blow job won’t cure.”

“And it’s time for me to go.” I stand from my chair and call out to the family room. “Hey pretty girl. Auntie is leaving, come give me a hug.”

The pitter-patter of Chloe’s bare feet against the hardwood floor grows louder as she approaches. When she makes it to the dining room, she flings her string-bean body against mine and gives me a giant hug.

“Love you, Auntie.”

“Love you, too, sweetie. Be good for your parents, okay?”

Nodding, she takes off toward the family room while yelling Bubble Guppies at the top of her lungs. And that right there is the reason I’m waiting a tad longer to have kids. Maybe until I’m thirty . . . well, thirty and married. I have to get married first. I want to get married first.

The thought of marrying Beck passes through my mind briefly. Is he marrying material? Would he think he’s done the marriage thing and doesn’t want to go there again? He’s humping material, that’s for sure, and for now, that’s good enough. We have plenty of time to dive deeper.

Giving Lauren a hug, I say, “Thanks for dinner.”

“Anytime. Keep me updated on the humper.”

“I will.”

Calling out to the kitchen, I say bye to my brother just as Lauren comes up behind him and grips two handfuls of his ass. He grunts and spins on his heels, capturing her in his wet, gloved hands. Eh, things are about to get a little frisky in there.

“Wait until the kid’s asleep,” I call out, waving a hand behind me.

They may be an “old” married couple, but they’re what I strive to be.

What I want so desperately.

The kind of camaraderie my soul craves. They’re one of the main reasons I’m testing out this Going in Blind program, because whenever I see them, I get jealous.

Being single is fun . . . for a little bit. But I’ve realized that there comes a time in a person’s life when they just want to be able to have a partner in crime, someone you come home to every night, and wake up with every morning. Someone who cheers during your triumphs and carries you when you fall. And when you see that kind of relationship in real life, playing out in front of you? It’s impossible not to want the same thing for yourself.

It’s why, after the debacle with Jack, I pushed forward, well that and pure animosity. But it’s why I will continue to push forward, because right now, I have all the materialistic things people think makes them happy: the house, the car, the successful career. But what I really want, what I truly, desperately want is romance. I want to hold my husband’s hand in a movie or when we walk to the store. I want to yell at him one minute over something stupid, then be making passionate love the next, simply because we can’t stay mad at each other. I want to be cherished, for someone to call me his own. And I want to give myself to that someone for as long as we both shall live.

I want to be in love.