Blow by Blow

There is nothing better than waking up from a sex-filled night to a bright and early sun. You feel refreshed. You feel like you want to go out and tackle the day’s events. You feel like you want to conquer the world.

Fuck that. I want to go back to sleep.

So after the night filled with fucking, Ran-asshole to my left here decided to keep my ass up another way—with his goddamn snoring all motherfucking night. Now I know there are breathing strips and all sorts of other shit available. Please tell me why this motherfucker hasn’t invested in any of the shit? Huh? Why?

Not only that, but he likes to wrap his arms around me and give me a fucking bear hug like I’m about to escape from prison or some shit. Motherfucker, I can’t breathe! This asshole is clingier than goddamn Reynolds Wrap. It’s a good thing he’s fine and has a big dick. How Sam tolerated that shit, I don’t know.

“Whatcha writing?” He asks.

My fingernail clacking on my keyboard woke up Snore Bear. I quickly close it and smile at him. He does look pretty cute I have to admit. His bed hair is all twisted and messed up. There’s a bit of crust between in his eyes and his he has pillow marks indented in his cheeks. Awe. How adorable.

“I’m writing in my journal.”

He yawns and stretches out on the bed. “About me?”

Damn skippy it’s about you. I have about a good 5 Federalist Papers-length entries just on your ass alone, dickwad “About anything, really.”

“Can I read it?”

I smile at him lovingly. “Hell no.”

“At least you’re honest,” he shrugs.

“You can never say I wasn’t.”

Randy pats the bed, beckoning me to come back. I set my computer aside and climb inside. We snuggle and he kisses my nose. “What’s on your mind?”

Gee, where do I start? Let’s talk about what the fuck happened last night, Randy? Let’s chat about your undying love and devotion to me, Randy? Let’s talk about your psycho ex-girlfriend, Randy. There are so many things I want to talk about and need to be addressed now. But I don’t want to ruin the moment for some “What are we?” bullshit talk. So I just answer as honestly as I can.

“Nothing.”

Liar, liar, pants on fire.

-------------------------------------------

The one thing I love about Glen is that no matter what happens in my fucked-up life, I can always count on him to lift my spirits. All he has to do is say just one word and voila, my worries are washed away:

“Neiman Marcus, baby.”

Okay, so that was three words but you get my drift. An hour later, we’re walking throughout the store. MAC counter to my right. Bobbi Brown to my left. Chanel boutique diagonally across. Miu Miu section at 3 o’clock. Versace at 7 o’clock. Heaven is a good sale at Neiman Marcus.

As standard, Glen plays the role of my pretend-boyfriend so no other man tries to get with me. A few giggles, a couple of hugs, and lots of hand holding. You’ll be amazed at how many guys try to hate on him. They give him looks as if they’re saying, ‘How in the fuck is he with her?’

Cute.

So we’re over by my favorite part of the store—the handbag section. This is the section that you better not even try to guess how much something costs or if you can afford it. If you can’t afford the shit, your ass shouldn’t be in Neiman Marcus. It’s not the place that bitches go “just to look.” You buy and then get out.

But the handbags…Lord have mercy…so many to choose from and not enough time to decide. Ladies, you can relate, right? You see something that begs you to purchase it no matter the cost. Yeah, that’s what I’m feeling right about now. I’m feeling that itch to drop $1600 on a Chloe right now.

That’s right. I know you hate me. If I were you, I would hate me, too.

Purchasing a beyond expensive handbag isn’t my concern, however. While I had some mind-blowing-without-the-dick-slapping sex last night, I feel a little funny. No, not walking like I just got off a bronco funny but funny as in I’m not sure how I should feel. Ran-asshole professed his love to me. And I didn’t say shit back.

See? A little funny.

Now, don’t get me wrong. Randy is the guy who I’ve craved—okay, my pussy has craved—forever. Yet, this is the second time he’s said those three little words and I was like *crickets chirping*

What the fuck is wrong with me?

“You look preoccupied,” Glen interrupts my thought.

“I have a lot on my mind.” Shit, was I that obvious?

“Something tells me you’re not deciding which Chloe you should choose from.”

I sigh. “If only my life was that easy.”

“Wanna talk about it, princess?”

I nudge Glen to two waiting chairs and we sit down. I take a couple of deep breaths but I’m still trying to figure out what the hell just happened. Even 12 hours later and I’m still in shock. “He told me last night he loved me.”

Glen listens intently and nods as if he’s saying he understands the seriousness of the situation and how I could really fuck it up. “I take it you didn’t return the favor?”

“He wouldn’t let me.”

“So…” he begins, “do you?”

If that’s not the Million-Dollar question, I don’t know what is. But what’s even more fucked up is I don’t know the answer.