Size Matters (Handcuffs and Happily Ever Afters) Read Online Free PDF Page B

the shelter?”
    “Um, no . . . that’s okay,” I stammered, jumping to my feet and putting some distance between us. I had a very real fear of grabbing his ass. “It’s all good. You must be really busy with all that hair and those eyes.” Motherhumpin’ assclowns, what in the hell was I saying? “I’m just going to look around and then call all my husbands to help me clean up this mess.” I smiled and started backing into my office.
    “Ookay,” Jack said, enjoying himself immensely. “There are a couple of problems with that.”
    “Really?” I hissed at Jack through clenched teeth.
    “Yep.” He grinned. “First of all, I didn’t realize your office was in the men’s bathroom and unless you did it this morning, I’m pretty sure you’re not married or Mormon.”
    “Did I say husbands ?” I laughed heartily at my mistake. “I meant my band . . . my folk-rock, um . . . thrash, you know . . .” I was dying here. “Punk band.”
    They both stared at me in bemused silence. I gave Jack a death stare, daring him to dispute the crap that had just flown out of my mouth. He didn’t.
    “So, it was nice meeting you, Mitch. I’m absolutely sure I will never see you again. So have a nice butt, shit, I mean life.”
    I literally ran to my office, trying to escape before anything more appalling could pass my lips . . .
    “Hey, Kristy,” Jack said as I sprinted across the lobby, “maybe I can bring Mitch to one of your gigs.”
    I had quite the hate-on for Jack right now. He was going to suffer for this. “Oh, well, we’re not playing right now because, um . . . twelve of my band members died in a bizarre gardening . . . accident with weed whackers and . . .” I started out strong but ended in a whisper. Even if I was free to pursue Mitch, the hottest guy I’d ever laid eyes on, I’d blown it. No one in their right mind wants to marry, date, or travel south of the belly button with a certifiable nutbag.
    Thankfully, before I shut and locked the office door I spied Louise, her husband (not her band), and her four teenage sons arriving. They would start the cleanup, and as soon as the police left, I would come out of my hidey-hole and help.
    As I sank down to the floor, I wondered how much more karmic poop was going to land on my head before I was permanently buried? God knows it wouldn’t take much.

Chapter 5
    “I ’d like you to call me Aunt Moon-Unit from now on,” Aunt Phyllis said, offering me some Crock-Pot Reuben dip.
    After hiding in my office from Jack and Mitch for one hour and thirty-seven minutes, I’d helped Louise and her family clean up the shelter. Then, thanking them profusely, I went home, showered off my day, and drove over to Aunt Phyllis’s house to pick her up for the dreaded Bigfoot meeting.
    “Are you a Frank Zappa fan?” I asked, trying to figure out why her Crock-Pot creation smelled so weird.
    “Who’s that, dear?” she asked as she heaped a large lump of the odd-smelling goo onto a plate for me. “Is he a friend of yours?”
    “Um, no, he’s a singer who named his daughter Moon Unit,” I muttered, examining the bright orange pile on my plate. “I thought maybe that’s where you got the name.”
    “Oh, sweet baby Jesus, no,” she giggled. “It came to me in a vision from the aliens.”
    Rena’s aunt Phyllis, I mean, aunt Moon-Unit, is one of the kookiest people I know. She’s also one of the most generous and loving, but she was best in small doses.
    “Is everything all right at the shelter? I was listening to my police scanner and heard all about the break-in,” Aunt Moon-Unit said, handing me a pile of Ritz Crackers to scoop up the dip.
    “Yep,” I said, not a bit surprised that she owned a scanner. “It was some kids looking for drug money. One of my gals beat the hell out of them. Um, Aunt Phyl-Moon-Unit, is this dip supposed to be orange?”
    “Oh yes,” she informed me, filling four more plates with the offending dip. Was she expecting company?