Page 37 of Alonzo

“You know what? Nope. My day was just fine. Tell me about yours.”

Tara sighs on the other end of the phone and I flop down onto my couch, so ready for my date. Jesse Boston can go to hell. I have a girl. A really sweet girl. I do not need love lessons.

“Well, for starters, we’re having a blizzard. I just had to walk home in ten inches of snow in my inappropriate fashion boots.”

I picture her in her fancy outfit trying to walk through snow in her fashion boots. “It’s eighty degrees here. I’m sweating like a fuckin’ fisherman.”

“Lucky you.”

“What else happened? Hmm? Everything OK at work?”

“Work?” She sighs again. “It’s not work. Well, it’s kind of work. But not work.”

“OK.”

“It’s this guy.”

“What guy? Is some guy bothering you?”

“No. Well, yes. But not like that. He’s not… into me. He’s just looking into me. And…” She sighs a third time. But now it’s got a whole lot of frustration attached to it. “You know what?”

“What?”

“Can you call me right back?”

I smile. “Sure thing, sunshine.” I hang up, wait five seconds so she can pull herself together, then press her contact.

“Madam Tara’s Psychic Hotline, what does Lonnie need today?”

“You’re the psychic, Madam Tara. You tell me.”

“Lonnie needs Madam Tara.”

“God, that’s the fucking truth.”

“He needs handholding.”

I chuckle. “Ya know, I wouldn’t mind a little handholding. If you were here, I’d hold the fuck out of your hand.”

She’s silent.

Hmm. Did I get too serious? Maybe. This whole Jesse thing has me a little off my game. But I can fix that. I’m the love lesson professional, not my dick-face brother-in-law. “I mean… I’d take your hand and wrap it around my cock. And you’d squeeze it. And start pumping me up and down—”

“Lonnie?”

“—eyes looking up at me with a hunger in them. Like you’re starving. Your thumb caressing the top of my head on the upward stroke and—”

“Lonnie?”

“—then I’d reach down with my hand. Slip my fingers between your legs and begin to play with your sweet little pleasure nub.”

“Lonnie!”

“It was pleasure nub, right? Too much?”

“No. I like pleasure nub. It’s cute.”

“Cute?”