Page 7 of Drilled (Dad Bod Contracting 2)
“I’m sorry I can’t be more help in this situation, Audra.”
I laugh. “Funny thing is, you actually have been helpful. You’ve reminded me why I need to stay away from him.”
“Are you actually going to do that?” she asks. “Stay away from him, I mean?”
I groan, laughing. “Probably not. I’m still pissed at him for vanishing on me. Only I get to pull that move. And yes, I’m fully aware of the hypocrisy of that statement.”
“Well, I’m here if you need me.” A pause. “Actually, why don’t you come over for dinner tonight?”
I consider. “Yeah, maybe that’s a good idea.” I laugh. “Just keep your wine rack stocked, babe, because I foresee this getting interesting.”
“No kidding. It already is, and you’ve only just met him.”
“Exactly.” I park and shut off the car, taking the phone and putting it to my ear. “I have to go, I’ve got a client in twenty minutes and I haven’t had any coffee yet, and I think I got a total of four hours sleep divided into, like, six segments.”
She’s silent a moment. “You were seriously having sex the whole night?”
“Pretty much, yeah. We had some room service and watched an HBO comedy special, but other than that, yeah. The whole night.”
“Can you even walk?”
I burst out laughing. “Not really. Remember that summer we spent riding horses all day every day at your great-uncle’s ranch in Wyoming?”
She cackles. “We were both bowlegged for the first month. We walked like we had a barrel between our legs.”
“That’s pretty much how I’m walking right now.”
“That sore?”
“You have no idea,” I say, getting out of the car and leaning against the driver’s side door. “The man is hung like a goddamn rhinoceros. You could seriously club baby seals with his cock.”
“Too much information, Audra—WAY too much information.”
“Well, you asked.”
“I did not ask for penis dimensions, as a matter of fact.”
“At least eight inches long, almost as thick as my wrist, with just the perfect amount of curve. It’s legitimately the most perfect dick I’ve ever held in my slutty little hands.”
“AUDRA ROSLYN DONOVAN!”
“What? It’s the truth!”
“He’s my boyfriend’s best friend, Audra! I don’t want, need, or care to know the details of what his penis looks like.”
“You should. It’s a unicorn dick.”
“A what?”
“A dick so perfect and rare that it’s a unicorn.”
“Oh.” She sighs. “Audra, can you maybe think beyond his penis for a minute?”
“Can you stop calling it a penis? That’s weird and clinical and icky. Nobody calls it a penis. Do you refer to Jesse’s as a penis?”
“I—no. But that’s different.”
“What do you call it, then? His glorious manhood?”
“Oh my god, Audra! No! That’s so stupid. God, you’re impossible.”
“What do you call it, then?”
“That’s private!”
“Oh, come on, don’t be a prude! It’s not like I’m asking for a picture of it, just what you call it. His magical thunder-hammer? His wee-wee? What?”
“Magical…thunder-hammer? Wee-wee? How do you come up with this crap?” She can’t help laughing, I notice. “We don’t often actually refer to it or talk about it. When we do, we tend to say cock, okay? Does that satisfy your curiosity?”
“So why do you keep saying ‘penis’ with me, then?”
“Because the other term is…” she trails off awkwardly.
“Your version of dirty talk?”
“Yeah, basically.”
I laugh. “Fine, fine. Just stop saying penis, for the love of god. I’d honestly rather you say ding-dong or johnson or willy or something. Anything but penis.” Another trainer was exiting her car nearby, and burst out cackling when she heard my statement; I shot her the finger, and she replied in kind—we were friendly, so this was all meant as joking banter. “Look, I really have to go.”
“What are you going to do, though?”
“I honestly don’t know,” I say. “I’ll probably confront him and yell at him for ditching me.”
“Even though you’re fully aware you were about to do the same thing?”
I push away from my car and head for the gym entrance. “Yep. I’m fine with holding a few double standards.”
“It’s going to backfire on you, Audra,” Imogen says, noisily stirring her coffee. “Consider yourself warned.”
“You know what’s going to backfire, Imogen? All the cream and sugar you put in your coffee. Switch to black. If you want to trim down like you say you do, you have to cut out sugar and carbs.”
“Blah, blah, blah. There’s no sugar in my coffee, just half-and-half, and I only use about a quarter of what I used to use. I’m working my up way to drinking it black.”
“I’m just trying to help you reach your goals,” I say, entering the gym and heading for the employee break room where I know there will be fresh coffee. “What about your sodas and prepackaged carbage snacks?”
“Carbage?” she asks.
“Yeah, you know, garbage carbs—pretty much everything you’d buy from the middle of the grocery store.”
“Oh…um…” I hear her say, around a mouthful of food.
