Free Tastes Like Chocolate: A Red Hot Valentine Story by Graylin Rane

Chapter One
     
     
    “ Don’t worry about my ex.
Her relationship is with that statue.”
    My ex-fiancé’s voice trailed off as he and
his latest mark left my store. Taking a deep breath, the twinge of
pain at his betrayal nipped at my heart. Less than before; now it
bubbled, surrounded by relief.
    At least my Adonis statue didn’t sleep with
all but one of my friends.
    Angie cursed behind me. “Vivi, I can still
shoot him for you. Just because you used years of sculpting
education and experience to etch the most perfect body ever,
doesn’t mean your pudgy ex has to take it personally.” She laughed
while pacing with anger.
    I checked myself in the mirror. I’d pulled
my shoulder-length brown hair back in a sloppy ponytail and slipped
my size fourteen body into baggy jeans and a smock. The streaks of
chocolate on my clothes made me look dirty. I didn’t care,
much.
    I’d long grown used to the strange looks.
I’m large in the Midwest. In South Florida, I’m a whale in need of
a good strip mall doctor visit. Moving here after my thirtieth
birthday meant I’d decided who I was, liked her, and wasn’t going
to change to fit the surroundings. That doesn’t mean I didn’t have
days where I envied the women on the beach. The ones whose boobs
and ass didn’t care how powerful gravity was; they always pointed
to the sky!
    “ I did make him perfect.”
I’d gotten an A in penises during anatomy class.
    “ Everywhere.” Angie licked
her lips while looking at his crotch. “For him, I’d give a blowjob
a week.”
    Her husband was limited to four a year: his
birthday, New Year’s Eve, their anniversary, and one random day of
his choice.
    She stroked the statue’s perfect ass. “I
would even leave George for a Greek god.”
    I doubted it. Angie and George met in high
school. We got stuck in the most boring history class ever. The
three of us sat in the back trying to stay awake. It was the 90’s.
Life was different. We wore gobs of eye shadow, hair spray that
could protect you from head injury, and music that made white
people think they could dance, me included.
    Adonis was the god of life, death, and
rebirth. I needed a do over. So I made him.
    At thirty-four years old, I was single
again. My fiancé, Rick, slept with the entire wedding party in a
week and then kept coming around to rub his latest conquest in my
face.
    At the second to last fitting for my dress,
one of my bridesmaids, still drunk from the night before, blurted
out my fiancé hated the pictures of my dress she’d shown him. I
wished I’d had lasers for eyes; they would’ve bounced off the
mirrors, striking her dead where she wobbled.
    The silence in the room shattered when the
dress fitter, a friend of mine, yelled, “You fucking bitch!” while
throwing sewing needles at her.
    The rest of the day became a blur. I called
him. He didn’t deny it. Angie took care of the rest. She even
intercepted wedding gifts, sending them back without my knowledge.
My great aunt told me when hers arrived with “Groom screwed the
bridesmaids. Thank you for your generosity” written across it in
red pen.
    That was a month ago. A week before the
life-sized chocolate block showed up. This client wanted one thing.
“Please sculpt a man. He needs to be well endowed with chiseled abs
and a nice ass.”
    That was it. The block was delivered frozen
and I had to sculpt it that way to keep him from melting all over
the front of the store. I’d had a refrigerated area in the back
installed years ago. Must’ve eaten a good two to three pounds of
shavings; my bonus for the work.
    Angie’s breathing filled the room. She stood
in front of him licking her lips.
    “ Okay, you have to go
before you bite it off.”
    “ You have to taste it. One
lick. So you can say you did it. You can fix it later.” Her words
lingered behind her as she left.
    The gallery door jingled open and voices
drifted back to me. Focusing on the work, I couldn’t pull my eyes
off the body in