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

worried if other people hear her talk, she’ll get institutionalized. Look, this is above and beyond the terms of the bet. I’ll take her.”
    “No,” I sighed. “She said she’d rather I take her. The trolls said I was the one to solve the riddle of injustice, whatever the hell that means, and Moon-Unit said all you do is laugh and make fun of everybody.”
    “Oh shit, I didn’t think she noticed that the last time I went with her.”
    “Apparently everyone did.”
    I went quickly to my room and changed into a cute sundress and sparkly flip-flops. Could this day be any longer? I was so looking forward to cheese balls and Toddlers & Tiaras . . . and all because of that jack-off Baywatch star, I was going to hang out with Yeti lovers.
    “I just have one thing to say,” I told Rena as she finished off her beer, looking contrite about my evening. “David Hasselhoff is a fucktard.”

Chapter 9
    “W here is everybody?” I asked Aunt Moon-Unit as we made our way to the front of the practically empty room. Being back at the library reminded me of kissing Mitch. I firmly put him out of my mind and glanced around. There were literally six people there, including us. Something was off.
    “I have no idea. It was last minute . . . maybe everyone is busy or under the influence of government voodoo,” she said.
    Staying silent was the best response I had to most of the things Aunt Moon-Unit said, so I did. Kim and Hugh were in the corner of the room deep in discussion with two very short men who were definitely not from Minnesota. Overly tan and slick, they wore skinny jeans and silky shirts. They seemed bored with the mounds of information that Kim was throwing at them and slightly disturbed at the garbled sound track coming from an overexcited Hugh.
    “Aunt Moon-Unit,” I whispered. “Who are Kim and Hugh talking to?”
    “Oooo, those must be the L.A. producers,” she said. “This is big, Kristy. Mark my words. This. Is. Big.”
    A strange surge of panic washed through me. I actually breathed a sigh of relief when I saw Mariah Carey and her odd, shapeshifter-loving sister Boo walk in the room. They were followed by a huge guy that I didn’t remember from the last meeting . . . and I would have remembered him. Bless his heart, he was shaped like a pear, his teeth were something to behold, and the curly black hair on his head resembled pubes. He was dressed in a light blue muumuu type of shirt and sweatpants. Looking at him from where I stood, I wondered if he might be mentally challenged.
    I took a seat next to Moon-Unit and prayed this would go quickly. Lost in my own world, fantasizing about a DEA agent that I should have nothing to do with, I was startled when the big, unfortunate-looking guy sat down next to me. Hell, practically every seat in the room was available . . . did he really have to sit right next to me? I glanced over and realized he also had man-boobs. Everything about him was so wrong, I knew I had to be nice.
    “Hi, I’m Kristy,” I said, offering him my hand. This poor guy had been smacked hard with the ugly stick. On top of all his challenges, he had one green eye and one brown. I imagined growing up had been difficult.
    “Rich,” he said in an accent I couldn’t quite identify. British? That would explain the teeth . . .
    “So, you, ah, believe in Bigfoot?” I said, trying to make conversation.
    “Oh yes. Don’t you?” he asked in an accent I now thought might be Australian . . . or possibly Scottish.
    “Well,” I hedged, “I’m not against the possibility.”
    Crap, I didn’t want to pull a “Rena” and make fun of these people, but pretending to worship Sasquatch was not gonna happen. Again, I cursed David Hasselhoff. I wanted to get this show on the road. Small talk with man-boob Rich was not very appealing and Mariah and Boo were all the way on the other side of the room. I turned to Aunt Moon-Unit to avoid my new large buddy, but she was in some bizarre meditative state,