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“Lacking in the brains department?” Zorro wanted to know.
“No.”
“Bad table manners?” Zorro tried again.
“No.”
“Small junk?” Dwayne asked.
“Not at all,” I replied.
“Sex was blah?” Zorro questioned.
“Wouldn’t know,” I told him. “Didn’t get that far.” I refused to add that the kisses had been toe-tingling, and hotly intimate, which is why I knew his package had been ample in size.
Dwayne was on my side always. “Well, he probably would have sucked in the sack.”
That was probably incorrect. Kurt had made me shiver all over, which freaked me out. His confidence and charm had been on high beam all the time.
“What was the deciding factor for ghosting the fabulous man who shall forever remain nameless?” Zorro asked.
“He insisted on paying for dinner,” I said, then wanted to swallow my words. Shaking my head, I sighed dramatically. The definition of idiot should have my name next to it in the dictionary.
“That was a problem?” Dwayne asked, perplexed.
“Seemed like it at the time,” I muttered. “Now, it sounds rather pathetic.”
“Your self-worth is in the crapper,” Zorro commented.
“Thank you,” I replied.
“Not a compliment, guuurlfriend.”
“Unacceptable,” Dwayne bellowed, pulling a mirror off the wall and holding it up to me. “What do you see, Johnson?”
“A bald, lonely, gay wizard who lives in New Jersey,” I replied truthfully.
“NO,” Zorro shouted, getting worked up. I was worried he might pass out. “Who turned a pack of stanky skunk shifters into lovely orchid-scented candles when they tried to shame me for being a goat during karaoke night at Flaming Manhole?”
“I did,” I replied sheepishly. “They were just horrid.”
“Correct,” Dwayne bellowed. “And by the way, Zorro, your stellar rendition of ‘A Coat of Many Colors’ still lives fondly in my memory. However, that’s not the point of the Johnson intervention! You’re brave and wildly creative, my friend. Who stepped in front of me and took the hit when we were playing ding-dong ditch with the local coven of batshit-crazy witches in your neighborhood?”
“I did,” I said, feeling a bit better about myself.
Dwayne pointed at me. “Loyal. And… who won the drag show contest at the Flaming Manhole because of his killer legs and his to-die-for performance of Cher’s, ‘Gypsys, Tramps and Thieves’?”
“I did!” I said, sitting a little taller. “My wig was fabu!”
“Darn tootin’!” Zorro squealed. “Who has a graduate degree in Horticulture?”
I was a tad confused. “Not me,” I replied.
Zorro slapped himself in the head. “Shit. My bad. I meant Ethical Hacking.”
“Again, not me.”
“That’s me,” Dwayne volunteered. “Johnson has a degree in Theme Park Technology.”
