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“Cream cheese?” I question, turning around and reaching for everything he wants from the counter.
“Uh, to dip the pretzels in, obviously,” he scoffs, giving me his back as he opens the fridge door.
“Oh, Jesus, I think I just came again,” I mutter.
He laughs, nodding his head towards the living room.
“Come on, let’s go over to my boat. Derrick needs some love, and I’ve got seven episodes of Tiny House Hunters on the DVR I need to catch up on.”
As soon as he says that, I take all the items in my arms and slam them to the ground.
“Are you fucking kidding me?! You literally just got done talking about not hurting me!” I shout angrily.
Eric whirls around, looking at me, then the stuff on the floor, and back up to me.
“What’s happening right now?”
“What’s happening? WHAT’S HAPPENING?! I’m tiny house angry, Eric, that’s what’s happening. I cannot believe you would betray me this way. Who the fuck are these people that think they can move into a two-hundred-square-foot home with a kitchen that doubles as a living room that doubles as a bathroom?” I complain, throwing my hands up in the air. “Oh, look how hipster and cool we are by downsizing everything! I make clothes for goats and he’s in a mariachi band so we need you to build us a tiny home that will have room for his ninety-five-piece drum set and my six-thousand balls of yarn and seventeen wooden goat models, and also have room to entertain!”
Bending down, I snatch up the cookies, pretzels, and M&M’s and smack them down on the counter one by one.
“I just love that our kitchen table is also the ladder we need to get up to our fucking loft bed and the kids have their own loft bed right across from ours so I can see them all the time!” I say in an infuriated, high-pitched voice. “If you can see them in your fucking tiny house loft, they can also see you, SUSAN. They can see you swallowing Jeremy’s dick after bedtime when they’re supposed to be asleep!”
I can see Eric biting down on his bottom lip trying really hard not to laugh, and it just irritates me even more.
“You think you know a guy and then this happens,” I mutter.
“Is this the typical kind of crazy you warned me about, or have we moved onto the murder-y kind of crazy? Should I hide all the sharp objects?” he chuckles.
“Don’t make me tiny house angry, Eric,” I warn him, turning around, grabbing the junk food and marching across the room and right past him towards the stairs.
“Noted,” he says, following right behind me. “Do you get this angry over any other reality shows I should know about? Are you gonna burn my boat down if I admit I like The Real Housewives of Beverly Hills?”
“Piss off,” I growl, stomping up the stairs.
Eric lets out a full belly laugh behind me, and I sigh.
If he can handle my crazy, looks like this fairy tale bullshit should be a piece of cake.
Chapter 19: I’m Crying in a Goddamn Mall
“Stop standing there looking constipated. Twirl around. We need to see the full effect.”
Crossing my arms in front of me, I glare at Cindy.
“I am not twirling. I do not twirl, asshole,” I say through clenched teeth. “When I called you this morning and said I had something important to tell you and we should go somewhere to celebrate, I didn’t expect you to pick me up and drive me straight to hell.”
As soon as Cindy and Belle picked me up, I announced to them that I spoke to PJ and had him put me on the schedule tonight to dance at Charming’s. I made him swear not to say anything to Cindy or Vincent because I wanted to be the first one to tell her and Belle. I immediately regretted that decision when they both started screaming so loudly in the car, I almost opened the door and jumped out into oncoming traffic. I assumed that by their excitement, they would take me somewhere special. Like a bar so we could day drink. Or maybe the shooting range. You know, something I would actually enjoy that didn’t make me want to shove a rusty fork in my eye.
Cindy shakes her head at me and huffs, getting up from the chair right outside the dressing room I just emerged from to walk over to me.
“The mall is not hell. Everyone loves shopping.”
“Everyone does not love shopping. Especially shopping in a fucking mall. There are too many people and I hate people. Especially people who think all this bright, fluorescent lighting and funhouse mirrors make you look good. And Jesus, this music they’re playing. I feel like I’ve been dragged to a rave against my will,” I complain.
