Page 34 of Man Cuffed
“It’s a shower game!” Aubrey says cheerfully. “We’re playing Penis Ring Toss! The head-to-head version.”
I scream with laughter. “You just described my college years.” I giggle. Not that anyone can understand me. I can’t even breathe, I’m laughing so hard. The sight of Maguire with a giant penis projecting from his face is just too much to bear.
As I continue to howl, he drops his chin and glares at me. But that just makes the penis bob up and down.
I fall to the grass, laughing.
Maguire removes the XXL dick from his lips and closes the valve. “And I’m out of here. As much as I love amusing all of you with an inflated willy, I’ve got to get Meg home. We have a tire to change.”
“I wish someone would change my tire,” Aubrey sighs.
“Damn,” Maguire says. “It’s literally a tire. Can’t anything be exactly what it looks like?”
“Apparently not,” Rosie says cheerfully.
I reach out my hand. “Time to go, Copper,” I say.
He reaches for me and our hands clasp. He pulls me to my feet. But laughter makes a girl clumsy, so I repay this bit of chivalry by bumping into him.
But he reacts in the sweetest way—by giving me a quick peck on the lips. I feel myself smile.
Rosie and her mother both sigh.
“So nice to meet you all,” I say, and realize I’m not lying. His family is sweet and quirky and warm. I can’t imagine why Maguire is so eager to trick them. But I look forward to finding out. I wouldn’t mind knowing them all a little better.
Just maybe not his mother. At least not alone.
We leave the way we came in, with a flurry of squeals and well wishes.
But we also leave without the rest of the lemon bundt cake, and I have to admit, I’m a little disappointed about that.
9No Cake This Time
Maguire
It’s the weekend again, and I’m baking. No cake this time, though. Today I’m kneading pizza dough. A good bread dough is a simple thing. So long as you have flour, yeast, and salt, you can make pizza dough.
Now, my grandma taught me to add a little olive oil and a little honey. The oil improves the texture, and the honey aids in browning. But you don’tneedthose extras.
In other words, I can’t think of a single reason why I’d have to knock on Meg’s door today. The fact that I’m disappointed is something I’m trying hard not to analyze.
She made a bridal shower fun. How is that even possible?
Of course, if she was sitting on my lap, she could probably make anything fun.
I try not to think about that, either.
So it’s back to shaping the dough, which is very therapeutic. I sprinkle a little more flour on the countertop, then fold the dough in half. Then I give it a satisfying little punch. The dough needs ten more minutes of kneading, which means I have lots of punches to dole out, and lots of time to think about all the crap in my life that needs attention.
For example, this morning my mother called to remind me to go get fitted for a tuxedo.
I give the dough an extra firm punch every time I think about the goddamn wedding. Wearing a tux is just an added punishment. My sister knows better than to put me in the wedding party. But I’m still an usher.
The lump of dough gets another smack.
After the kneading is done, the dough has to rise for a few hours. Later I’ll fashion my dough into calzones. Calzones are great patrol food. You need something that can hold its shape for a few hours before I’m ready for my lunch break.
Once I made mini quiches, but my partner Lance found them funny. He laughed so hard he choked on his peanut butter and jelly sandwich. I don’t see what’s so funny about a quiche, but I almost had to give the man the hug of life. So quiches are out.
