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I frown, drowning my sorrows in my mug. “Like throwing women out of his house. He seemed experienced in that department. Everything was going great, and then I asked about these pictures he had on his mantle, and he just went psychotic over them.”
“Which tells me that whatever you found is important to him. You struck a nerve, and if he’s that sensitive, you don’t need a man like that. How many losers have you been with in the past year alone?” She doesn’t wait for me to answer because it was a statement, not a question. “At this point, it’s safe to say that most of the men in this damn city have no idea how to treat a woman. But,” she says, slinging her arm around me and pulling me into her side, “you still have me, and what more could you need?”
Finishing up with a goofy smile, she releases me from her grasp and lifts a cookie from the saucer, holding it up to toast me before taking a bite. “Now, get writing.” She speaks with a mouth full of food and shoves the computer into my leg. “I want to hear all about his porn dick and don’t leave out a thing.”
Right. Check my humiliation at the door along with my self-respect just so I can entertain our followers. Since when do I have any shame? I talk about sex on the regular on our blog and with Sydney. Why would talking about sex with Tyler be any different?
After I drink half my coffee, I set it on the table and lift the computer onto my lap. The first thing I find when I open the lid is a porn site with a paused screen, followed by a Word document containing Sydney’s latest naughty manuscript. Unfortunately, this is normal when it comes to Sydney. She says porn helps her write the super smutty stuff that no one dares to write.
Opening a new document, I think of all the things I want to tell our followers, my mind drifting back to when I ran out of Tyler’s house, too prideful to cause a scene or make myself look like more of an ass in front of him. That much I learned from my mother. She would have said a lady holds her head up high and acts accordingly, whatever the fuck that means.
I wanted to scream and yell and tell him he was an asshole, but what good would that have done in the grand scheme of things? It would have served zero purpose other than make me look like a child having a temper tantrum. So, what else can I do now other than taking out my anger on the keyboard and shame that bastard the only way I know will hit him where it hurts?
“To all the tiny sticks I ever sucked before: a hate poem to small sticks,” I say aloud while typing.
Sydney leans over my shoulder and laughs at my title. “Good one, except that is far from true if he’s that big.”
“But our followers don’t know that. For all they know, his dick is the size of my thumb.”
“You’re just trying to get under his skin, aren’t you?”
“Maybe. I doubt Tyler will ever read this anyway. Stop interrupting and let me finish. Then you can read it all you want.”
She sinks back into the couch, sipping her coffee and pretending I am not in the room. I go back to typing fast and furious, imaginary smoke coming off my fingers they move so fast along the keyboard.
Hello, Puck Bunnies! Hope you are having a fabulous day. This week, I decided to conduct a social experiment to see if men are as dumb as we think they are and guess what? It turns out they are even dumber. Shocker, right? Well, no, not really. Going into said experiment, I knew it would work on at least one man, and the man in question just so happens to be famous.
“You cannot write that,” Sydney says, laughing. “Why don’t you write the truth and just leave him out of it? I’m sure knowing he was a project to you will piss him off more than you stick shaming him, and it doesn’t sound like he has anything to be ashamed about.”
“Fine,” I huff, my fingers moving again at a rapid pace.
Fuck. Fuck. Motherfucker!
I hit the keys so hard my hand hurts and glance over at Sydney. “How’s that? Maybe I’ll write him a poem that goes something like, There once was this guy who thought he was the shit—”
“Okay, babe, I think you’ve had enough for the day.” She takes the laptop away from me and sets it on the coffee table, shaking her head. “Maybe writing is not the best therapy for you. We can either talk about it or get drunk. My vote is for filling up our wine bras and walking along the waterfront. What do you say?”
“My wine bra is at home.” I pout and fall back into the couch with a loud sigh.
“I have extras, and they’re all yours so cheer up.”
“I need something stronger than wine to help me forget about Tyler.”
“You like him, huh?” She sounds surprised as if liking Tyler is the worst thing in the world.
I didn’t think so at first, not that I knew him well. Giving into him was one of the dumbest decisions I have ever made.
“I’ll get over it. It was just so humiliating how Tyler threw me out of his house like that after everything went so well. I thought we were hitting it off and then—bam! It’s as if he flipped a switch and went into asshole mode. His attitude change is making me want to find out what he’s hiding.”
She props her left foot up on the coffee table and sips from her mug. “What kind of secrets do you think pretty boy is keeping?”
I sh
rug. “He has at least a dozen pictures of a young boy with blonde hair and blue eyes who is the spitting image of him on his mantle. I asked Tyler if the little boy is his son, and he checked out on me. The next thing I knew he was asking me to leave. I tried to apologize, but there was something about him, a look in his eyes, that I could not place. Guilt, maybe, but I don’t know—”
Sydney shoves her palm out in front of her, cutting me off. “Tyler Kane has a secret love child that no one knows about except for you. Babe, don’t you think you could use this story to help your paper? The media would flip shit over this, and you could be the one to break the story.”
“If he has a son, one of the big news outlets would have discovered it by now.”
