That Man 8 - Nelle L'Amour Page 0,1

the bedroom door, but now it was too late. Naked as I was, I mentally donned my red cape. I was That Man, her superhero and protector.

In my head, I formed a plan of attack. The room pitch black, I would sneak up on the perpetrator and before he had a chance to hear or see me, I’d bash him over the head with the bat . . . or take a swing at him if he dared to make a move on me. Either way, knock him out cold, kick in his balls for good measure, and then tie him up, waiting for the police to arrive. Fingers crossed they were already on the way and soon sirens would be wailing in my ears.

Armed with my bat and my plan, I tried to steady my shaky breaths as I stepped foot into the living room. Suddenly, the overhead lights flashed on. I blinked once and let out a startled scream.

And so did she!

Chapter 3

Blake

“Blakela! Vhat are you doing vith that baseball bat?”

“Grandma! What are you doing here?”

“Vhat does it look like? I’m making you and Jennifer a nice Shabbat dinner with the leftovers from your parents’ house. Vhat are you doing home? Your father said you veren’t landing until midnight.”

As she continued to set the table in our dining alcove and dole out hefty portions of the brisket and kugel, I explained to her that Jen and I had managed to catch an earlier non-stop flight out of Edinburgh instead of our later one that connected in London.

“Travel shmavel,” she muttered, transferring the remaining brisket into a Tupperware container. “I’ve also got a beautiful challah and some delicious homemade matzo ball soup in my shopping bag. Vant me to heat it up?”

“No thanks, Grandma,” I muttered, still doing a mental reset. “We’ll have it tomorrow.”

“Vhatever. Just don’t let it go to vaste.” She started putting the food away in the fridge. “So, how vas Scotland?”

“It was great,” I replied, leaving out the details of our many sexcapades, including our kinky kilt sex.

“Kenahora! Did you make me some kindela?” Grandma was obsessed with Jen and me having a baby—and making her a great grandmother. She wasn’t aware of the challenges we faced on account of Jen’s partial hysterectomy.

Evading her question, I told her that we brought back kilts for both her and Luigi, her jovial second husband. My personal tailor, who added crotch room to my trousers. Go figure.

Dropping the sensitive subject to my great relief, she informed me that Luigi was waiting for her downstairs in their car. Then, her eyes roamed down my body, and I suddenly realized I was standing stark naked in front of my eighty-five-year-old grandmother! Mortification raced through me as words failed me.

“Bubula, you should put on some pajamas. Your shmekel is going to catch a cold!”

Hastily, I dashed to the sofa and grabbed the needlepoint pillow that Jen had bought me in Scotland and held it against my groin. I looked down at the words stitched into the canvas: It ain’t easy being king. The words rang true.

“So vhere’s Jennifer?” asked Grandma with a dramatic shrug, lifting her palms up.

On cue, Jennifer appeared, her eyes wide with shock until her face relaxed with a smile of relief. My Swiss Army knife in her hand, she was wearing a pair of my polka dot boxer shorts and a tight little T-shirt that I bought her in Scotland with the words: It’s Scot to be good. Her perfectly pert petite tits grazed the thin cotton fabric. She looked adorable! And so fuckable! I was amazed by how fast I’d gone from murderous thoughts to lustful ones. My sexy wife could do that to me.

“Grandma! What are you doing here?” Sauntering toward us, she dropped her would-be assault weapon on our home bar.

I explained that Grandma had come over to deliver a Shabbat meal, not knowing we’d gotten home earlier than expected. Her eyes flitted to the dining table and her face brightened even more.

“Oh, Grandma, that’s so thoughtful of you! Blake and I thought you were a burglar!”

“Burglar, shmurglar!” With a roll of her eyes, she dismissively flicked a hand. “Eat, bubulas, before everything gets cold!”

Just as we were about to sit down, a loud knock sounded at the door. Rap, rap, rap, rap.

“Police! Open up!”

Crap! I’d totally forgotten that I’d asked my tiger to call 911. In my naked state, I stood frozen as a statue, my feet super-glued to the floor.

“I’ll get it,”