“Help! Help! My vagina’s fallen on the floor and I can’t pick it up!”
And just like that, the knocking stops.
When I look over at my crazy friend, she busts out in a full cackle.
“Welp, there goes your new neighbor!”
Chapter Two
“C’mon. Let’s go check out Billy the Butcher. I think it’s kinda hot when he packs the sausage in the casings. Something about a man fondling his meat gets me all moist and shit.”
Following behind Sam, I shake my head as she saunters off to watch our newest butcher beat his meat and wonder what it would be like if she were single. Scratch that. I remember what it was like when she was single. I think Trojan was happy with her frequent pusscapades. Okay, our frequent pusscapades, but who’s getting technical?
Sam and I have known each other since we were kids. I’d never met anyone like her. None of my friends from school possessed the same uniqueness that Sam had and still does. And when we first met? Well, now that was an experience.
1989… I think
“Are those your kids?” I twisted my head and was met by a big pair of hazel eyes. They were attached to the face of a girl who was sporting a weird-looking mullet hairdo. “Well?”
If there were ever a time that I’d considered punching someone in the mouth, this would’ve been one of those times. For anyone to think that my brother and sister were my children hit me with the realization that I’d more than likely look ten times older when I reached adulthood.
I took a glance at the girl sitting next to me. She was around my age and she wore an oversized black sweatshirt that looked two sizes too big for her lanky frame. Her complexion was lighter than mine, which made her hazel eyes pop with color. When I finally stopped giving her a thorough once over, I looked back up to her face and her expression was expectant.
“What the hell?” she asked as she leaned in closer to me with her brows bunched together. But it was when the next question bolted from her lips that I swore she could have woken the dead. “ARE YOU DEAF OR SOMETHING? CAN YOU HEAR ME? DO I NEED TO SPELL IT OUT IN BRAILLE? I COULD GO LOOK FOR MY AUNT BABBY! I THINK SHE KINDA KNOWS SIGN LANGUAGE! OR WAS IT THE UNIVERSAL LANGUAGE? WHAT’S IT CALLED WHEN YOU FLIP SOMEONE THE BIRD? OH, NEVERMIND! I COULD ALWAYS GET A PEN AND PAPER AND SPELL IT OUT FOR YOU!”
I toss my hand up in front of her face. “No, I’m not deaf so you can quit screaming in my dang ear. And no, they are not my kids. They’re my brother and sister.”
Without giving her a second thought, I scooted my butt over about two feet away. I thought I had put enough space between us that I was sure she would’ve gotten the hint. She didn’t, and before I was able to stop her, she squished herself right up next to me and stared at me square in the eye as she bit the side of her lip. For a moment, I wondered if there was something seriously wrong with her.
“Cute. You don’t cuss. So, if you’re not deaf, why aren’t you answering me?” Crazy Chick asked. “How. Old. Are. You?”
“I’m eleven. Happy now?”
“I’m twelve, and yes, I am happy now. Hey, do you like heavy metal? I looooove it! The louder the better!” she exclaimed with a big cheesy grin on her face that almost made me giggle, but then I remembered how crazy she was.
“No, I don’t that kind of music.”
And I didn’t. I mean, I’d heard of it before, but never listened to it. The only time my ears and my sanity were subjected to heavy metal was once when my cousin was playing it on his boom box. He cranked the music up so loud I thought my ears were going to bleed as he wildly tossed his head back and forth like he was possessed. My idea of good music was soft rock or country but never, ever heavy metal.
“Humph. Well, what do you listen to?”
I twisted my body so I was facing Crazy Chick. She as she still had that damn cheesy grin on her face and all I could do was shake my head. “I like a lot of music; country and soft rock but right now New Kids are my favorite.”
“Ew! Boy bands. I don’t like ‘em,” she said matter-of-factly. “What’s your name, anyway? Mine’s Samantha. But don’t ever call me that or I’ll punch you in the throat. You may call me Sam.”
My eyes sprang open wider at her threat. None of my friends had ever said anything like that to me before. Most of my friends were a little more reserved. They were the kind of kids that aced their papers and generally had their noses crammed into books.
I felt a sharp pain in my shoulder and immediately realized that Sam had just pinched the hell out of my arm. “So, are you gonna tell me your name or do I have to torture it out of you?”
“Nina,” I replied with my best scowl. “My name is Nina, and I would appreciate it if you never do that again.”
Sam scrunched her nose as if she had just taken a big whiff of a fresh pile of dog crap.
“Your name sounds old, like old lady old or like someone who has a stick shoved up their butthole because they’re super snobby. Kinda like my aunt over there. See that lady right there?” she asked, as she pointed to a mean-looking woman who was sitting next to my mom. “That’s my uncle’s wife. I refuse to call her my aunt. She’s an evil, snobby butthole, but don’t tell anyone I said that because I’ll get into a lot of trouble. Oh, and if you do, I’ll just tell everyone that you made me say it. Anyway, we’ll need to do something about that name of yours.”
“There’s nothing wrong with my name. It was my great-grandmother’s name.”
“Oh, I know! This is gonna be good! I’m so kick-ass it kills me!” Sam slapped her palms against the tops of her thighs. “I’m gonna call you Choopie. Yeah, Sam and Choopie. I like it. It fits. It’s totally us!”
“That makes no sense at all.”
“Yes, it does.”
“No, it doesn’t.”
“It makes total fucking sense,” Sam whisper-yelled while looking around to see if anyone had heard her. “And that’s what I’m calling you.”
All I wanted to do was leave, go home and get away from the crazy chick with the mullet, but I couldn’t. I was stuck at the raceway for another hour, and just as I felt a soft hand touch mine, I nearly jumped clear out of my own skin.
“Look,” Sam said, taking a deep breath and talking low, “… all my other friends at school are assholes and they only think about themselves. I’d also like to punch in them all in the throats. They’re all fake and they don’t get me, so please let me corrupt you. You look corruptible. A little corruption never hurt anyone.”
It took me all of three seconds before I started giggling and ultimately caving to the unlikely.
From then on, we’ve been thick as thieves. She’s my human. My best friend. My person.
I shake my head and smile as I return from my little trip down Memory Lane until a searing pain shoots straight through my ass.
“What in the ever-loving hell!”
My hand immediately latches on to my left butt cheek while the rest of my body bends to the side in a cockeyed, zombie-like fashion from the impact of a grocery cart.
“Hey, buddy, watch where the hell you’re going, will ya?”
I bark out the words, hoping they give off a bit of a sting. I mean, of all the times for an idiot to have grocery store aisle road rage and plow right into me, now is not that time. Aunt Flo decided to visit me a week early and her estrogen riddled ass isn’t having any of this bullshit.
“Sorry about that, ma’am. I didn’t see you there. I was making a beeline for the Ding Dongs and didn’t see you standing there.”
When I swing my body around to see the basket bandit in the flesh, I nearly have a super-sized orgasm. I’ve never been into beards before, but holy hell, I’d sure as shit like to mount this one and take it for a nice little spin down Beaver Boulevard, right along to Pootang Place, around Asshole Avenue, back over to Cooter Corner, and all the way up to Muff Mountain until we reach Vagina Village.
Every other thought takes a backseat when I make eye contact with one of the most gorgeous m
en I’ve ever laid eyes on. His arms. Oh, for fuck's sake. His arms are huge and covered in tattoos. And that ink across his neck? The same sliver of ink is peeking out from just under the collar of his shirt. Yeah, that shit’s sexy as hell. The sudden urge to run my tongue across every inch of his skin and play dot to dot with those tattoos has me squeezing my thighs together. Fuck. I probably look like my kids when they were little as they did the pee-pee dance in the middle of every store we ever went into.
“You okay?”
My gaze zips back up to the basket bandit’s eyes and I slowly come undone. They’re beautiful and penetrating. Shit. SHIT! Penetrating! That one word has my skin buzzing. Oh, fuck the buzzing. That mess just went up in flames.
“Do you need me to get you some help?”
I might. I might actually need mouth-to-mouth in two-point two seconds.
“Um.” Words fail me as the beautiful, rugged-looking Adonis dips his head down and to the side, looking at me with a concerned expression. I swallow hard and reign in my inner idiot and try again. “I’m fine. Thanks.”
I nearly go into full-on fangirl mode when the side of his mouth slowly turns up into a sexy, lopsided grin. Is he trying to kill me with all that goodness? Probably so, and I bet he knows exactly what he’s doing, too. I beat down the gang of bat shit crazy butterflies doing a figure eight in my belly and wrap my fingers tightly around the shopping cart handle as I plan my epic escape.
“See ya.”
The words come out of my mouth in a jumbled mess as heat rises up the back of my neck. Fuck me. But just the mere thought of that man touching me makes my mouth go dry. The last time I’d felt this way I had just rubbed one off until my hand cramped up and a Charlie horse twisted up in my gut. Needless to say, I made sure as hell to never do that again in the middle of the night and only half awake. It’s never a fun situation when you’re running around in a dark room at two in the morning, tripping over your own shoes, because an epic orgasm kicked up a raging Charlie horse.
“Are you sure you’re alright?”
“I’ll survive.”
My voice cracks like a teenage boy who’s just hitting puberty as I take a step in my attempt to get as far away from the basket bandit as humanly possible, but the closer he moves toward me, the more I feel panic crawl up my spine and goosebumps start to prickle my skin.
“Hey, I’m new to the area and Cherry Hill’s a pretty small place. I’d hate to piss off a neighbor or two.” I swallow hard when he reaches out and gently places his hand on my forearm. Another crooked little grin lifts the side of his mouth and I almost lose the ability to breathe. As soon as he sticks out his hand for me to shake, I feel my knees begin to buckle. “Name’s Miles.”
Miles.
“And you are?”
Horny.
I blink a few times as he asks my name not sure if I even want to reveal that bit of information to him. I’m pretty sure as some point during our little encounter I’ll more than likely make a complete baboon’s ass out of myself, so staying semi incognito is probably for the best. But before I can drum up a fake identity, a high-pitched squeal rips from down the aisle.
“Holy shit, Nina!” I whip my head around to see Sam pointing like a complete loon from a few feet away. “It’s your hottie neighbor!”
Once the words leave her mouth, recognition smacks me right in the face. I slowly drag my gaze up to Miles’ deep green eyes and take in each of his features.
“Aw crap.”
I’m not sure how I didn’t realize that he was the same man I nearly drooled over this morning as I peeked through my peephole. But it is, and I’m an idiot.
“Wait a minute.” Miles’ lips stretch into a slow smile, reaching his eyes, as my heart does the Macarena in my chest. “You’re the ‘my vagina fell on the floor’ neighbor’?”
Someone shoot me now. Just take me out of my misery. Scratch that. Sam’s a goner. I’ll claim temporary insanity. I’ll probably only get a few years. Maybe I can serve them out quietly in the loony bin with a nice padded room and a comfy straight jacket.
I try to avoid eye contact with Miles when I see his tongue peek out and slowly slide across his bottom lip, but it’s an epic failure. I can’t do it. The pull is too strong. His arms. Gah! Look at those arms! Strong, thick, and all kinds of muscly, tattooed goodness.
“How’s everything going?”
“So glad ya asked because my bestie’s cock socket needs a little excavating and a heavy-duty shop vac to clear out that gaggle of cobwebs that’s takin’ over her bikini biscuit if ya know what I mean? The words out of Sam’s mouth have just solidified the fact that she will be impaled with my foot when we get out of this store. “So, you up for the job, handsome? Cause’ she’s sure as shit accepting applications. Ain’t that right, bestie?”
My eyes go wide, probably almost comical, as Sam’s word vomit runs completely rampant. The smile on her face is a good indicator that she’s genuinely proud of herself.
I waste no time pulling her by her ponytail and making a mad dash down the aisle, but not before she blurts out the words, “Barbeque. Saturday. Beat your meat! I mean, bring your meat!”
Chapter Three
“Stop pacing, you freak. You’re wearing out the carpet.”
“Shut up. I don’t have carpet, and I hate you.”
Sam’s an asshole, and I must never let her forget it. Ever since her ass decided that it would be a fantastic idea to invite my new neighbor over for a barbecue, I’ve been doing nothing but peeking out of my windows every five minutes to see if I can spot him.
I shouldn’t feel like this. I shouldn’t feel like my heart is going to leap through my chest or that I might throw up all over Sam’s potato salad. Fuck it. I think I might just do it for shits and giggles. It’d serve her right for the stress she’s caused me over the past five days.
“Oh, look. You’re pathetic is showing… again.”
I slowly turn to face my best friend. A wide smile is planted firmly on her face. Smug bitch. She’s loving this shit. I hate her. Okay, I don’t really hate her, but I’m close to disliking her with a severe passion.
“Hey, babe, bring me another beer will ya?”
Sam turns her lip up in disgust. Yanking a beer out of the refrigerator, she walks right up to me with wide eyes. “Listen here, buttercup. Do you hear that mess I’m married to? Well, do you?”
When I open my mouth to speak, she presses her index finger firmly against my lips.
“Shut your face. Just shut your filthy face and listen,” she says with an arch of her brow. “There is no more excitement in my life. Geriatrics has caught up to me. I have gray hairs sprouting on top of my gray hairs, and I even found some just chillin’ on my fucking vagina. My vag is getting old, Nina. Just the other day I thought I saw a few silver hairs sticking out of my left nipple. ‘Bout had a fuckin’ heart attack and nearly peed myself until I realized it was fur from the dog. I was standing in front of the window last night and found several whiskers under my chin. Thought my damn neck was growing bangs! So, do me a favor and let me live vicariously through you. Please and fucking thank you. Now, I need to haul my ass into your living room and give my dipshit of husband his beer while you go upstairs and put something a little sluttier on.”
“You have issues,” I reply. “Big, huge issues.”
“Oh, you have no idea, sister.”
Just as I reach the staircase, another wave of crazy screeches at the top of the landing.
“Call 911!”
Panic crawls up the back of my neck as I take the stairs two at a time.
“This can’t be good.”
As soon as I near the top of the staircase, I’m already a wide-eyed, forehead sweating pile of mom-worry as I search out my children.
“What happened? Who’s bleeding? What’s broken?”
“Nothing happened… yet.” I stop, nearly out of breath, and look up at my daughter as she stands at the top of the landing with a knife in one han
d and a bag full of rubber bands and a roll of duct tape in the other. “I’m just going to castrate my brother and turn his slightly hairy berries into chum because we all know that fool hasn’t reached puberty yet. Shouldn’t hurt a bit.”
“Give me the knife,” I demand, almost certain that I’m about to have a heart attack. “What did Vincent do now?”
“He. Used. My. Towel.”
I close my eyes and pull in a deep breath. “It can be thrown in the washer.”
“Mom, it’s like this,” Ozella replies, her lips pressed in a thin line. “I don’t care if the butt nugget needs to dry off with a sheet or a washcloth. I don’t want his nasty boy gross all over my towel. His twig and berries need to stay away from my stuff. It’s just gross, and now I’m gonna teach him a lesson.”
“And who the hell taught you about castrations?”
My daughter smiles and I’m instantly regretting my question.
“My grandpa. He said it was just like popping a grape right outta the skin. Pretty cool, huh? And now I’m gonna pop that turd’s grapes.”
My dad. The same man that has taught my children everything from car mechanics to running a ranch and apparently how to castrate. I love the old fart. Really, I do. He might be teaching them some things they can use in the future, but when my daughter is hell-bent on eliminating her brother’s giggleberries, my anxiety level is most definitely going to rise.
“First of all, you will not castrate your brother and second,” I reply, putting my hand out. “I think I need to talk to your grandpa. Now, give me the knife.”
“He started it, Mom. I’m just gonna finish it.”
“You will not finish anything but getting ready for dinner. Now hand me the damn knife,” I reply. I swear my child reminds me of the daughter from The Addams Family. “Give it.”
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