Free Size Matters (Handcuffs and Happily Ever Afters) by Robyn Peterman Page A

I’ll call her back in a minute.”
    “How was your day?” she asked, unearthing some vanilla pudding from the salad crisper.
    “Sucked. What’s the date on that stuff?” I asked, digging my own pudding cup out of the drawer.
    “I can’t make it out.”
    “I didn’t buy this crap. Do you remember buying it?” I asked, searching the little container frantically. I realized I was starving. In the midst of my hellacious day, I’d forgotten to eat.
    “I never buy shit like this.”
    “Well, we don’t have a pudding fairy as far as I know,” I snapped, still searching for an expiration date.
    “Relax your crack,” Rena laughed. “Jack loves this stuff and the only time he ever grocery shopped for us was a week ago, so knock yourself out.”
    I did and it was amazing. “God, we should buy this all the time,” I said grabbing another pudding out of the veggie drawer.
    “You know what?” Rena said, stopping mid-pudding-shovel. “I think that wanker hid these. He thought if he put dessert in the veggie bin, we’d never find it.”
    “What else do you think that rat bastard hid?” I asked, giving the crisper another search.
    “I don’t know, but I’m going to find out.”
    Ten minutes later we were settled on the couch with chips and salsa we’d found in the laundry room, cheese puffs we’d found under the bathroom sink, and beer we’d found on the top shelf of Rena’s closet.
    “Jack’s a dick,” I said, enjoying the fruits of our hunt.
    “Totally,” Rena agreed. “I think I’ll withhold sex for a week.”
    I almost choked on a puff ball I laughed so hard.
    “What?” she yelled. “You don’t think I’m capable of keeping my legs closed?”
    “Nope.” I took a swig of warm beer to wash down the cheese ball that almost ended my life.
    “You’re right, I’m not. Not where Jack’s concerned.” She rolled her eyes and laughed. “Speaking of not keeping your legs closed . . . Mitch is staying in Jack’s apartment.”
    “First of all, that made no sense and second, why do you even call it Jack’s apartment when he’s completely taken over this one?”
    “He has, hasn’t he?” she giggled, looking like a lovesick teenager. “All I’m saying is that Mitch thinks you’re a total babe and you need to have sex . . . like yesterday.”
    “That’s just lovely,” I huffed. “I don’t know how to make it any more clear . . . I am done with cops. I will not poke the po-po or pork the pig. Ever.”
    “Okay, that’s just disgusting and I’m the queen of inappropriate and gross.”
    “You’re right,” I muttered. “Sorry.”
    “Kristy, if you really like the guy, I’ll drop the bet.”
    “You will?” I was shocked. Rena never backs off of anything. Especially something that would cause me massive embarrassment and involve Bigfoot or lesbians. To be fair, I’d do the same thing to her, only never on such a grand scale.
    “No fucking way,” she yelled, laughing. “Although I would be really happy for you if you got laid by the fine specimen living downstairs.”
    “Not to mention the inordinate amount of time I’d be spending with Edith and Mrs. C.”
    “That’s just an added bonus,” she said gleefully.
    Before I could call her a fucktard and fail yet again at having a curse-word-free existence, the phone rang and saved me from myself. “I’ll get it.”
    I sat in shocked silence for six minutes and forty seconds while I listened to Aunt Moon-Unit’s dilemma. Pale, pissed, and confused, I told her I’d be there in a half an hour.
    “What in the hell was that about?”
    “Apparently an emergency Bigfoot meeting has been called for tonight and the trolls and fairies have told Aunt Moon-Unit if she doesn’t go, either the world will end or Jeopardy! will be cancelled. I’m not sure. I kind of zoned out after she said she knew something was wrong when she caught the cyborgs trying to copulate with your dead uncle Carlton.”
    “Oh my God,” Rena groaned. “I’m