Passion & Ponies
Page 12
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I hang up with my mom and scroll through all of the text messages from Tyler. He’s been sending them to me non-stop for five days. Five days since he violated my ass. Okay, fine, it was an accident. I know he really didn’t do it on purpose; he’s not that kind of guy. He wouldn’t just try to sneak his dick in there and figure I wouldn’t notice.
Okay, he probably would, but he would be honest about doing it once I called him on it. He was adamant that it was a mistake and I’m pissed off that I believe him. I’m even more pissed off that, after the initial shock wore off, I was sorely tempted to demand he grab some lube and keep going.
As I read each message, I’m ashamed at myself for cracking a tiny smile.
I need to ASS you a question. Are you still mad at me?
Dear Ava’s Ass: I’m sorry. Please forgive me. Love, Tyler’s Ginormous Dick.
I bought a butt plug. You’re right. This isn’t very comfortable.
Never mind. This isn’t so bad.
“I’m in love (with your ass), I’m in love (with your ass). Come on, come on, spin a little tighter” Wow, these lyrics are spot on. I think I found our new theme song. Check your voice mail.
With a growl, I wipe the smile off of my face and finally reply to all of Tyler’s nonsense.
STOP TEXTING ME AND FOR FUCK’S SAKE, STOP TEXTING AND CALLING MY MOM!
He replies immediately, asking me if I’ve forgiven him yet and it makes me wonder if he’s been sitting there for five days with his phone in his hand waiting for me to respond. This just makes me angrier because I kind of like the idea of a guy waiting around for me. I just don’t like the idea that it’s Tyler doing the waiting. He needs to go away.
Tossing my phone on my bed, I abandon my blog post, no longer as excited about it as I was, and make my way into the kitchen. Even though I’m not keen on being a part of the family business, I still like the things that are part of that business, namely, baking. I pull out all of the ingredients I need and get busy making some cupcakes. They say the way to a man’s heart is through his stomach. I certainly don’t want anywhere near Tyler’s heart, but maybe a few dozen cupcakes dusted with rat poison will finally make him realize I don’t want him.
The first batch of cupcakes is on a rack cooling and I’m whipping up some frosting, when I hear the front door open. Glancing up from the mixing bowl, I see my Aunt Claire walk into the room.
“I smelled baked goods as soon as I pulled in the driveway. Ooooh, cupcakes. What kind?” she asks, coming around the counter and bending down to look in the oven.
My Aunt Claire isn’t really my aunt, just my mom’s long-time best friend and business partner. She’s the one who runs the sweet side of Seduction and Snacks and she taught me everything I know about baking.
“Chocolate chip cookie dough cupcakes with chocolate ganache icing,” I tell her as I turn off the mixer and grab a spatula.
“Alright, out with it,” Aunt Claire tells me as she turns around and perches on one of the bar stools across the counter from me.
“Out with what?” I ask her innocently, making sure not to make eye contact.
“You only bake when someone pisses you off or you’re upset about something, so spill. Who pissed in your Cheerios?”
I should have known that Aunt Claire would realize something was wrong as soon as she walked in the door. She practically raised me and can read me like a book.
“Several people have pissed me off lately. My ‘People to Kill’ list has grown by leaps and bounds in the past few weeks,” I admit.
“Well, that’s nothing new. You hate people. Be more specific,” she tells me, swiping her finger into the bowl of frosting and bringing it to her mouth. “Add a teaspoon of almond extract to that.”
Turning away from her, I reach into the spice cabinet above the stove and grab the almond. I’m not really ready to discuss how disappointed I am in my mom for not understanding my future career choices with anyone, but especially not my mom’s best friend. If I asked her to, she would keep my secret, but I don’t want to have to put her in the position of keeping something from her best friend, so I go with the easier target.
“Tyler. He’s gotten a little taste of the Amazing Ava and now he won’t go away,” I joke, adding the almond to the frosting and mixing it in.
“I’m assuming that’s why you have six boxes of chocolate-flavored laxatives sitting here next to the container of sugar?” Aunt Claire asks, lifting up one of the boxes and raising her eyebrows at me.
I shrug. “We didn’t have any rat poison. I figure if he’s shitting his brains out he’ll be too busy to bug me.”
Aunt Claire gets up from the stool and starts rummaging through the pantry until she finds what she needs. With her arms full of pastry bags, decorator tips and pre-made frosting, she comes back to the counter and dumps everything on top.
“I’m going to kick your mom’s ass for buying this shit frosting in a tub, but it will save us some time,” Aunt Claire tells me as she scoops some of the vanilla frosting from the tub into a pastry bag and adds the standard round tip to the end of it.
“Let’s give Tyler’s ass a break and do something a lot more fun,” Aunt Claire tells me.
I start to say something about how he didn’t give my ass a break, but I’m not ready to get into that with her, either. I watch over her shoulder as she begins piping words onto the cupcakes. Her handwriting with frosting is flawless and beautiful, even with the words she’s chosen to adorn the top of the cupcakes.
Okay, he probably would, but he would be honest about doing it once I called him on it. He was adamant that it was a mistake and I’m pissed off that I believe him. I’m even more pissed off that, after the initial shock wore off, I was sorely tempted to demand he grab some lube and keep going.
As I read each message, I’m ashamed at myself for cracking a tiny smile.
I need to ASS you a question. Are you still mad at me?
Dear Ava’s Ass: I’m sorry. Please forgive me. Love, Tyler’s Ginormous Dick.
I bought a butt plug. You’re right. This isn’t very comfortable.
Never mind. This isn’t so bad.
“I’m in love (with your ass), I’m in love (with your ass). Come on, come on, spin a little tighter” Wow, these lyrics are spot on. I think I found our new theme song. Check your voice mail.
With a growl, I wipe the smile off of my face and finally reply to all of Tyler’s nonsense.
STOP TEXTING ME AND FOR FUCK’S SAKE, STOP TEXTING AND CALLING MY MOM!
He replies immediately, asking me if I’ve forgiven him yet and it makes me wonder if he’s been sitting there for five days with his phone in his hand waiting for me to respond. This just makes me angrier because I kind of like the idea of a guy waiting around for me. I just don’t like the idea that it’s Tyler doing the waiting. He needs to go away.
Tossing my phone on my bed, I abandon my blog post, no longer as excited about it as I was, and make my way into the kitchen. Even though I’m not keen on being a part of the family business, I still like the things that are part of that business, namely, baking. I pull out all of the ingredients I need and get busy making some cupcakes. They say the way to a man’s heart is through his stomach. I certainly don’t want anywhere near Tyler’s heart, but maybe a few dozen cupcakes dusted with rat poison will finally make him realize I don’t want him.
The first batch of cupcakes is on a rack cooling and I’m whipping up some frosting, when I hear the front door open. Glancing up from the mixing bowl, I see my Aunt Claire walk into the room.
“I smelled baked goods as soon as I pulled in the driveway. Ooooh, cupcakes. What kind?” she asks, coming around the counter and bending down to look in the oven.
My Aunt Claire isn’t really my aunt, just my mom’s long-time best friend and business partner. She’s the one who runs the sweet side of Seduction and Snacks and she taught me everything I know about baking.
“Chocolate chip cookie dough cupcakes with chocolate ganache icing,” I tell her as I turn off the mixer and grab a spatula.
“Alright, out with it,” Aunt Claire tells me as she turns around and perches on one of the bar stools across the counter from me.
“Out with what?” I ask her innocently, making sure not to make eye contact.
“You only bake when someone pisses you off or you’re upset about something, so spill. Who pissed in your Cheerios?”
I should have known that Aunt Claire would realize something was wrong as soon as she walked in the door. She practically raised me and can read me like a book.
“Several people have pissed me off lately. My ‘People to Kill’ list has grown by leaps and bounds in the past few weeks,” I admit.
“Well, that’s nothing new. You hate people. Be more specific,” she tells me, swiping her finger into the bowl of frosting and bringing it to her mouth. “Add a teaspoon of almond extract to that.”
Turning away from her, I reach into the spice cabinet above the stove and grab the almond. I’m not really ready to discuss how disappointed I am in my mom for not understanding my future career choices with anyone, but especially not my mom’s best friend. If I asked her to, she would keep my secret, but I don’t want to have to put her in the position of keeping something from her best friend, so I go with the easier target.
“Tyler. He’s gotten a little taste of the Amazing Ava and now he won’t go away,” I joke, adding the almond to the frosting and mixing it in.
“I’m assuming that’s why you have six boxes of chocolate-flavored laxatives sitting here next to the container of sugar?” Aunt Claire asks, lifting up one of the boxes and raising her eyebrows at me.
I shrug. “We didn’t have any rat poison. I figure if he’s shitting his brains out he’ll be too busy to bug me.”
Aunt Claire gets up from the stool and starts rummaging through the pantry until she finds what she needs. With her arms full of pastry bags, decorator tips and pre-made frosting, she comes back to the counter and dumps everything on top.
“I’m going to kick your mom’s ass for buying this shit frosting in a tub, but it will save us some time,” Aunt Claire tells me as she scoops some of the vanilla frosting from the tub into a pastry bag and adds the standard round tip to the end of it.
“Let’s give Tyler’s ass a break and do something a lot more fun,” Aunt Claire tells me.
I start to say something about how he didn’t give my ass a break, but I’m not ready to get into that with her, either. I watch over her shoulder as she begins piping words onto the cupcakes. Her handwriting with frosting is flawless and beautiful, even with the words she’s chosen to adorn the top of the cupcakes.
