Jingle Me Balls
Page 9
“Fine,” Renee said, scrubbing her hand over her mouth to hide her grin. “We’ve received a distress call from a Mermaid pod in the Bermuda Triangle. They’re being attacked by Sea Hags.”
I froze for a brief moment. Mermaids were my weakness—well, one Mermaid in particular, but she wanted to off my fine ass. Whatever, I didn’t need that delectable swimming hooker. She’d had her chance. It was completely irrelevant that I’d fucked it up.
“And this is a problem?” I asked, not clear on why anyone would want to save either of those species.
“Yes, it’s a problem,” Renee said. “Mermaids are good and Sea Hags are not.”
“Not sure where you’re getting your Intel, but the last Mermaid I encountered tried to castrate me. Do you have any clue how long it takes to grow back a schlong?”
Again the poor human was rendered mute. I really didn’t know how she ran a business if she couldn’t hold a decent conversation.
“Well, do you?” I demanded.
“No,” she choked out and then narrowed her eyes. “And I can live out the rest of my life without knowing. The mission is to help the Mermaids fight off the Sea Hags. While your intellect is debatable, your skills are unrivaled. This is why I’m offering you the mission. If you can’t do it, fine. We’re done here.”
Renee stood up and offered me her hand. This was not going my way. I hated when things didn’t go my way. I usually threw an epic fit, but somehow didn’t think that would go over too well right now. And I wasn’t quite sure if she’d just insulted me.
What I needed was to get the fucking Gnomes off my arse. So what if I had to help some legless wenches. If I wore a protective codpiece over my Johnson, I would probably be fine. As long as it wasn’t the Mystical Isle Pod… I’d be a dead Pirate walking with those waterlogged, sexy freaks of nature.
“Wait,” I said, ignoring her outstretched hand. “So what you’re saying is that I need to send the Sea Hags to Davy Jones’ locker—or at least make a few Black Spots to scare the heinous scallywags off the water loving, scaly tailed bitches’ arses? However, I’d like to know if hornswoggling is off the table, from what I understand the Sea Hags have impressive booty.”
“Umm… I think so,” Renee said, trying to decipher my statement. “If that means you’ll stop the Sea Hags from killing the Mermaids and stealing their land—then yes. Pretty sure you don’t think the Hags have nice asses, so I’ll assume you’re inquiring if you can loot their treasures?”
I always forgot that most didn’t speak Pirate. However, the human woman was right on the money.
“Yes,” I replied with a grin.
She shook her head and closed her eyes. “If you steal from the Sea Hags, I don’t want to know about it. However, there will be no stealing from the Mermaids.”
“Deal,” I said, taking her small hand in mine and shaking it. “Piece of cake. And what is the pod of man-eating Mermaids called?”
There were hundreds of those tail wagging swimming hookers in the Bermuda Triangle. There was no way in Hell it could be the one pod that wanted me strung up and beheaded.
“It’s the Mystical Isle Pod. Do you know of them?”
It was now my turn to be speechless. The prospect of seeing the one that got away—or rather, the one who tried to castrate me for a slight misunderstanding—was horrifyingly tempting. If I declined the job on the outside chance that I would lose my pecker, I’d have to deal with the Gnomes. The Gnomes could mean actual death for me. Weighing the cost of my dong against the cost of my life took me a few minutes.
I smiled at Renee so she wouldn’t be alerted to my inner terror and turmoil. Deciding to risk my wanker as opposed to my life, I nodded and widened my smile. I prayed to Poseidon that it didn’t resemble a constipated wince.
“I do know of them,” I replied, nodding slowly and slightly bent at the waist already in mourning for my nads. “Haven’t seen those gals in a century. It shall be jolly to get reacquainted.”
“Are you sure?” she asked, eyeing me strangely.
“Positive,” I answered. “Absolutely positive.”
Positive that this was a very bad move on my part. Tallulah, the leader of the vicious Mystical Isle Pod of Mermaids, wasn’t exactly fond of me… and that was putting it mildly. The horrible, sexy, breathtaking woman had been starring in my dreams for too many years to count. Sadly, just when my mind wandered to the really good nookie part, the dream ended with her whacking my Johnson off. I just hoped to Hell and back that the Sea Hags had some outstanding booty. If I was going to have to regrow my tallywhacker, the treasure had better damn well be good.
Robyn’s Book List
(in correct reading order)
HOT DAMNED SERIES
Fashionably Dead
Fashionably Dead Down Under
Hell on Heels
Fashionably Dead in Diapers
A Fashionably Dead Christmas
Fashionably Hotter Than Hell
Fashionably Dead and Wed
Fashionably Fanged
Fashionably Flawed
A Fashionably Dead Diary
Fashionably Forever After
Fashionably Fabulous
A Fashionable Fiasco
Fashionably Fooled
More coming soon…
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SEA SHENANIGANS SERIES
Tallulah’s Temptation
Ariel’s Antics
Misty’s Mayhem
Madison’s Mess
Petunia’s Pandemonium
Jingle Me Balls
* * *
SHIFT HAPPENS SERIES
Ready to Were
Some Were in Time
No Were To Run
Were Me Out
Where We Belong
* * *
MAGIC AND MAYHEM SERIES
Switching Hour
Witch Glitch
A Witch in Time
Magically Delicious
A Tale of Two Witches
Three’s A Charm
Switching Witches
* * *
HANDCUFFS AND HAPPILY EVER AFTERS SERIES
How Hard Can it Be?
Size Matters
Cop a Feel
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If after reading all the above you are still wanting more adventure and zany fun, read Pirate Dave and His Randy Adventures, the romance novel budding novelist Rena was helping wicked Evangeline write in How Hard Can It Be?
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Warning: Pirate Dave Contains Romance Satire, Spoofing, and Pirates with Two Pork Swords.
About Robyn Peterman
Robyn Peterman writes because the people inside her head won’t leave her alone until she gives them life on paper. Her addictions include laughing really hard with friends, shoes (the expensive kind), Target, Coke Zero Cherry with extra ice in a Styrofoam cup, bejeweled reading glasses, her kids, her super-hot hubby and collecting stray animals.
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A former professional actress with Broadway, film and T.V. credits, she now lives in the South with her family and too many animals to count.
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Writing gives her peace and makes her whole, plus having a job where you can work in your underpants works really well for her. You can leave Robyn a message via the Contact Page and she’ll get back to you as soon as her bizarre life permits! She loves to hear from her fans!