Page 7 of A Cock and Bull Story
“Definitely a cat shifter,” she laughs.
“If that’s British for alluding to my shaved cat, then I dig it.”
“Shaved, you say?” Arthur, my favorite horny toad, asks.
“Yeah, it’s sexier that way,” I wink at him. “But, sometimes, I leave a patch of hair.”
Arthur and Jude visibly blanch at my words. I expect someone who’s only into chafing cocks to not enjoy vag, but Arthur’s reaction surprises me.Maybe he only digs 1980s’ pussy?Well, I can certainly let my thatched roof grow back over my clam cottage if that’s what he’s into.
“I brought tacos!” I announce, turning the subject.
From this point on—no more innuendos. . .
But,it’s so fucking hard.
Also, that’s what she said, bahahahaha.
Sorry, I swear that I’m twenty-nine and not twelve.
Would a twelve year old even get that joke?
“Tacos?” Jack says with his bushy brows raised.
I notice that they, too, are tinted gray. This guy isdedicated.
“Yeah, I love tacos,” I say with an eyebrow waggle at Elise and Sian.
Shit—was that an innuendo if I actually really do love tacos?
Correcting my errant possible sexual thoughts is fricking exhausting.
“That’s not veryAmerican,” Jack observes, and I stick my tongue out at him.
“It’s the best that I could do—did you want hamburgers from McDonalds?” I sneer, but Jack just laughs.
“That’s what I was counting on you to bring, love,” he counters, and I roll my eyes.
“Don’t be an ungrateful ass—it’stacos. Who says no to a good taco? I sure as fuck don’t.”
Everyone laughs.
“What did you bring?” I demand to the gray and brown haired man.
“Toad in a hole—a perfectly British dish.”
“Sounds delightful,” I lie since I have no idea what Toad in a hole is. . . hopefully,notlike it sounds.
“I brought haggis,” Arthur the Horny Toad declares.
“Isn’t that like sheep’s balls?”
“Sheep’s pluck, actually—the liver, heart, and lungs wrapped in their stomach casing,” Arthur corrects.
I grimace.
“Balls would have been a better choice—we could have dipped them in BBQ or some shit, but good job with choosing a non-suggestive food,” I commend.
The others tell me of their food choices, and I struggle to keep my face straight. What kind of potluck is this? More like a potfuck—actually, that just sounds like a leprechaun orgy waiting to happen. . .and, now, I’m thinking of mythical creatures boning. That’s just great. Although, for argument’s sake, I feel like the ‘Chauns are probably packing some serious gold coinage, if you know what I mean.
