I know! It’s been a while! Refresh your memory here!
“Pumpkin?” David said, surprised, when he opened the door to find me standing there.
“Hey Cupcake,” I said, smiling and trying my best to pretend like I didn’t hate those nicknames with every fiber of my being.
“What are you doing standing on my doorstep looking the way you do?” he asked, leaning against the splintered doorframe. He’d put on more then a little weight since I’d last seen him, and the flab of skin hanging out from under his faded Wayne’s World t-shirt was less then cute. Still, I put my game face on and smiled my best come hither smile.
“I miss you, David,” I said, stepping forward and putting my hand on his shoulder. His shirt was slightly moist to the tough. Ugh.
David stepped back, puzzled.
“Oh?” he replied, “That’s funny, because the last time I saw you, you told me that if you ever saw me again you’d get a restraining order and a gun.”
In my periphery, I saw Casandra-3 make a sneaky dash from the back of the house next door to the side of 31 Throuse, holding a large purple stick. She’d told me she needed to to get close enough to touch him with her technical sounding word thingy and that my job was to distract him with my – well sexiness wasn’t the word she used, but it was the word I was going to use.
Clearly, the sexy was not working.
“Did I say that?” I laughed. God, this is why I was still single.
“You did,” David affirmed, scratching his belly with right hand.
“Well, I said a lot of rash things. I’ve been doing a lot of thinking, Cupcake, and I need you back in my life.”
Casandra-3, crouched low on the side of the building, made a rude gesture which I ignored.
“Boo bear?” a voice called from inside of the house, “who are you talking to?” The sound of approaching footsteps made me involuntary step back.
“Who’s that?” I asked, upset in spite of myself.
David glanced guiltily behind him as a lean, booby redhead appeared in one of his t-shirts and nothing else.
At that moment, Casandra-3 lunged.
“Phkow!” she screamed unnecessarily. David flinched, but my alter-ego made contact with the long purple baton, and they both disappeared in a crackle of energy that smelled vaguely of burnt toast.
The redhead and I were left staring at each other, dazed.
“What the fuck?” she said.
“Are you interested in the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints?” I stammered, before turning and sprinting down the block.
to be continued.