Total pages in book: 90
Estimated words: 88317 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 442(@200wpm)___ 353(@250wpm)___ 294(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 88317 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 442(@200wpm)___ 353(@250wpm)___ 294(@300wpm)
“Does it matter? Neither one of us has ever made this extra-ass chicken before. We’ll just follow the directions. It’ll be fine.”
“Okay.” I licked my lips. “Yeah…um, I’ll get the oil started. Why don’t you wash the chicken and pound the breasts for me.” I immediately blushed. That sounded so wrong.
He smirked. “I’ve been known to give a good pounding in my lifetime.”
“That was lame.”
“But you’re smiling. And you were blushing way before I even said it, so you’re the one with the dirty fucking mind, Pumpkin.”
“Please don’t tell me you’re going to call me that?”
“Does it bother you?”
“Yes.”
“Then, yes. That’s your nickname.” He winked. “It’s either that or Lemon Pits. You choose.”
“I’ll take Pumpkin.” I rolled my eyes and grabbed the large fry pan from under the counter.
Scottie played on his device in the living room, seemingly oblivious to the fact that Josh and I were probably about to destroy his dinner.
But surprisingly, we developed a groove: Josh washed and pounded the chicken while I dipped each breast in egg, flour, and Italian bread crumbs, then dropped it into the hot oil.
Look at us working together. If we weren’t currently the epitome of a domesticated-yet-dysfunctional family, I didn’t know what was.
Everything went smoothly until Scottie entered the kitchen with his tablet up to his ear and got a look at what we were up to.
Josh turned to him. “Hey, buddy. We’re making your extra-ass chicken. You excited?”
Scottie bounced back and forth on his feet as he observed the flour-covered counter with vested interest. He then left the kitchen and headed straight for my bedroom.
I cringed, hoping I hadn’t left anything out that he could get into. Then I remembered the clothes. “Crap. I have some laundry in there that I folded earlier. He’s gonna jump on the bed and mess it all up.”
“We both have chicken on our hands, so let him be,” Josh said. “I’ll refold it later.”
Just when my nerves about Scottie rummaging through my room calmed down, he reentered the kitchen. The next thing I knew, something flew into my pan of oil. Josh and I jumped back simultaneously.
What the?
I blinked rapidly, glad I hadn’t gotten hot oil on me. Scottie had thrown something into the pan before running off.
Josh grabbed the tongs and lifted it out of the sizzling grease before it could disintegrate. “What the fuck is this?” he yelled.
Horrified, I froze.
Josh held it toward me. “It looks like a piece of rubber chicken.”
I shook my head. “It’s not a piece of chicken.”
“What the hell is it then?”
I want to die. “It’s one of my silicone breast inserts. He must have gone through my things in there and thought it should be added to our batch.” The insert was nude-colored and looked exactly like a chicken breast.
Josh’s expression morphed from shock to pure amusement. His shoulders shook as he set the insert down on a paper towel. He leaned against the counter. “It does look like fucking chicken.” He held onto his stomach as he barely got the words out through his laughter. “He was just trying to help.”
The laughter spread like wildfire, erupting in me as well. We were both practically crying.
I wiped my eyes. “I’m gonna have to get a lock for that door.”
Scottie scurried back into the kitchen.
“Scottie, no going in my room!” I told him.
“Yeah. That’s gonna work,” Josh declared sarcastically. “You can go into any room you want, buddy. Tell her to calm her chicken tits.”
I elbowed him. “Very funny.”
“You’re right. My humor is kind of…flat.”
Grabbing a dishtowel, I whipped it at him.
“Chicken Tits!” He snorted as he swung the rag over his shoulder. “That’s even better than Lemon Pits!”
***
The silicone-tit incident seemed to be a turning point in our dysfunctional situation, because by some miracle, later that evening, the three of us managed to sit down to a fairly nice and normal dinner. There was no arguing. No Scottie tantrums. No Josh and Carly tantrums, either.
Even though gluten could make me sick, I was too lazy to make a separate meal, so I sucked it up for one night and ate the same chicken as everyone else. We’d made a big enough batch to go round and last Scottie for a few days after. I’d also put together a salad and roasted sweet potatoes in the oven for Josh and me.
I spoke with my mouth full. “These cutlets are pretty good. It’s no wonder he likes them.”
“Really? All I taste is silicone.” Josh winked as he chewed. “I must have gotten the bad one.”
I gestured with my fork. “Not sure I’ll ever be able to live that down.”
He chuckled. “You know who would’ve loved that whole thing?”
I stopped chewing and whispered, “Brad.”
Josh seemed lost in thought for a moment. “He would’ve figured out a way to write it into one of his scripts, you know? He was always on the lookout for material. Any time something crazy happened when we were out together, he’d call me later and say ‘guess what made it into the show?’”