Page 21 of Reality Girl, Ep. 3

Chapter Seven

“I saidI wanted to see a bulge. Did you give that to me? A simple bulge? No!” Kelli bellowed. “You gave him a fucking handy at the pool.”

Her shrill voice was worse than nails on a chalkboard. I didn’t know what time it was, but it was far too early in the morning for me to have her screaming at me. I pulled the covers over my head, hoping she’d go away.

“Apparently, he got so horny that he had to get laid,” she sputtered. “Did he fuck you? Hell no, he didn’t. He ended up dicking some random skank that had a twat as big as a bucket.”

The decisions I made while drunk were rarely well thought out. The next day’s aftermath generally took me by surprise, and I needed a few minutes to recall exactly what I had done on the previous night.

I rolled over, wiped my crust from my eyes, and looked toward the commotion. Kelli stood just inside my bedroom door with her hand on her hip. She was wearing designer sweats and a tee shirt, which led me to believe her decision to come see me was abrupt.

I wiped my eyes again and peered over the mound of blankets. “Huh?”

She tossed her hands in the air. “What are you doing in bed? It’s almost 8:30. Get up,” she snarled.

It really didn’t matter what time it was, I felt like shit. I covered my head with the pillow. “Can you come back later? I didn’t get to bed until really late.”

“I know when you got to bed,” she said. “I watched you. Explain to me what in the hell you’re doing here, Lou? Do you think you’re a director? A porn producer?”

I tossed the pillow aside, sat up, and rubbed my eyes again. “No.”

“It sure looks like it. Gay biker on gaffer porn. Gym rat on skank porn. What was that, anyway? Watching it made my eyes itch. Where did that nasty bitch come from?”

She was making me itch. I pressed my tongue to the roof of my mouth and considered responding, but my dry mouth wouldn’t support me.

“Who was she?”

Incapable of responding, I shrugged.

“What?” She lowered her hands and glared. “Did she just come knock on the door? Hi, I’ve got a massive twat. Do you have anyone here that can fill it?”

I wasn’t in the mood to listen to her. I rolled off the edge of the bed and pointed myself toward the bathroom. “I gotta pee.”

She glared. “Make it quick.”

After relieving myself, and taking an inordinate amount of time brushing my teeth, I walked into the bedroom, hoping she’d got sick of waiting for me and left.

I wasn’t so lucky.

With her hip still cocked and her hand resting on her waist, she gave me a side-eyed glare as I walked into the room.

I shot her a look. “What?”

“Don’t what me. You know what.”

I sat on the edge of the bed. “I can’t control who the guys end up with.”

“They’re supposed to be here. With you. That’s the premise of the show. You and six men. One at a time. You date them. You spend quality time with them. You get to know them. And then, you choose. Our viewership doesn’t want to watch Mr. Muscles bang a ninety-pound hooker.”

I lowered my head into my hands. Mentally, I was done with the show. I wanted one man and one man only.

Franky.

Drowning my reality show sorrows in margaritas wasn’t helping matters, but it was the only way I knew how to cope with my problems. My head hurt, my liver was on the verge of a developing a mild case of cirrhosis, and my pussy ached for Franky.

It was time for me to make a few changes.

“I’m not attracted to Eric. At all.”