Disclaimer: If this was mine I never would have killed Karl off. He's way too much fun to write.

A/n: Thanks for the reviews! I hope you continue to enjoy this story. I really just wanted to write something fun and this is certainly fitting the bill for me; I hope it is for you too!

As Easy as Pie

A story by Ryeloza

Part Two: The Bet

Chapter Two: Day One

Paul finished setting the poker chips in the lined case that he'd gotten Mary Alice for her birthday. She'd been so excited when she unwrapped it; eager to take it to her next poker game and show it off to the other girls. That night they'd had some rather perfunctory sex that Paul hadn't been thrilled about at the time, but that now he'd take in a heartbeat if Mary Alice just said the word. Even if it meant that he'd lose the bet.

Of course, she wouldn't and he was definitely going to win, but he could always dream.

He heard the door open and abandoned his cleaning to go help Mary Alice with the groceries, greeting her with a chaste kiss and a smile that she happily returned. "Well?" she asked while he took some of the bags from her arms. "How was it?"

"It was fine."

"My man of few words. Seriously, Paul, how did it go?"

Paul repressed a sigh. He knew that Mary Alice worried about him. She worried about everything and everybody—it was part of the reason she was in therapy. Last month she'd nearly hyperventilated after Zach got into a fight during gym class. Anxiety attacks, the therapist called them. He had her on some kind of medicine now, but Paul wasn't sure if it was really helping.

"We had a great time," he said. He set the groceries on the kitchen table and briefly kissed her forehead. "I ended up breaking even."

"Well, that's better than losing." Mary Alice gave him a wary look—like she so much wanted to believe him but just couldn't quite get there.

"Maybe we'll do it again sometime," he added, pleased to see that it sparked a genuine look of pleasure in Mary Alice's eyes.

"That's great! You'll see, Paul. Just hanging out with other people will help a lot."

Paul nodded just for the sake of appeasing her. Honestly, he had no idea how Mary Alice thought it was going to help, but he did know one thing: it wouldn't be improving his sex life.


Carlos entered his house with a spring in his step, whistling a little as he came into the living room. Gaby, who sat on the couch painting her toenails, gave him a questioning look. "What's with you?" she asked as he sat down in a chair and picked up a magazine. "Don't tell me you had fun?"

"It was okay," he said truthfully, not able to tell her that he was only happy because he'd soon be four hundred bucks richer. His wife was only just beginning to garner friendships with the women on the street and now that he'd spent time with their husbands he could see why Gaby had gotten off to a rough start. "Karl's a pretty funny guy."

"Mary Alice is convinced he's cheating on Susan. She heard from Ida Greenberg who heard from Karen McCluskey who heard from Martha Huber who heard from Lisa Henderson that Karl was making out with Edie Britt at the Hendersons' Christmas party a couple weeks ago."

"Yeah," said Carlos slowly. "I didn't follow any of that, but okay."

Gaby rolled her eyes. "What's Tom Scavo like? He's the only one I haven't met. Mary Alice said he's sweet, but clueless."

"It sounds like Mary Alice has a big mouth." Carlos turned a page in the magazine; he wasn't really reading it, but he didn't really want to continue to engage in idle gossip about the neighbors either.

"Yeah? So? Spill."

"Gaby!"

Screwing the cap back on her nail polish, Gaby just shrugged. "Fine. I'll just find out myself. Lynette invited us over to dinner on Thursday."

Carlos groaned. "Do we have to?"

"Yes,' said Gaby as she stood and started to awkwardly walk toward the kitchen. "And don't try to get out of it by working late or I'll make sure that the most action you see for the next month is from your hand."

"You promise?" Carlos called out, a grin playing on his face.


The Van de Kamps' kitchen was spotless as usual, but when Rex walked in Bree was nowhere in sight. That in it of itself wasn't too concerning; what made Rex pause was that there wasn't one sign that she'd made dinner, let alone kept something warm for him. Nothing short of a scheduled meal out of the home kept Bree from making dinner. Nothing.

"Bree?" he called, wandering into the living room and then, when he didn't find her, heading upstairs. "Are you home?"

From Andrew's room he heard the sound of car tires screeching—the cacophony of some idiotic video game—and he walked in uninvited. His son was sitting on his bed with his eyes glued to the game; it was the most interest Rex had seen him take in anything in months. "Andrew," he said, eyes flickering from the game to his son. "Where's your mother?"

"Yeah, hang on a second, Dad."

"Andrew."

Andrew continued to ignore him, his fingers flying over the buttons a mile a minute, and Rex rolled his eyes. Annoyed, he picked up the television remote from the nightstand and turned off the TV.

"Dad! What the hell?"

Rex lightly smacked Andrew's shoulder. "Watch your mouth."

With a glare, Andrew lay back on the bed and crossed his arms. "What do you want?"

"Where's your mom?" he asked, purposely ignoring Andrew's sullen tone. Bree wouldn't have been happy to know that he was tolerating the disrespect, but she wasn't here and he didn't feel like fighting.

"She took Danielle to her hair stylist."

"What? Why?"

Andrew smirked. "Dopey dyed her hair and Mom wigged out. She dragged Danielle out to try to get her an emergency appointment."

Rex sighed. In his mind, he could already hear Danielle's petulant whining, Bree's inevitable rant, and the argument that would result between him and his wife when he didn't show the proper amount of horror. The entire thing would be exhausting and trying to his patience and in the end he'd still have to wait at least a couple hours before dinner. The worst part was that this was par for the course lately: Bree resenting him for not caring enough and him resenting her for getting too worked up. He just couldn't stand living like every little problem was a crisis and Bree, more and more, seemed to be convinced that everything was. The antipathy was slowly infecting every part of their marriage—including their sex life—and Rex honestly wasn't sure how to fix it or if he even could.

Or, if he was completely truthful, if he even wanted to.


Tom was fairly certain he was in trouble; first and foremost because he had no willpower. This morning, Lynette had woken him up early, mumbled, "We have a half hour tops before the boys wake up," and he'd been on top of her in a matter of seconds. It was almost pathetic. No matter how starved he was for sex—which at least wasn't as much as Rex or Paul, thank God—the second Lynette gave him the go ahead he whipped it out faster than he could think the word "sex." But between the kids and work and all the traveling he had to do, he took whatever he could get. Not to mention that Lynette always knew when he was lying; even when he had a believable story. And short of his dick actually falling off, there was no way in hell that she would ever believe that he didn't want to have sex.

He was so screwed.

He really wanted to ask the other guys how they planned to get away with this for an indefinite length of time, but he could already hear the jokes about how whipped he was echoing through his mind. Normally it didn't bother him; Lynette's ability to make decisions and get things done was one of the advantages to being married to her. But some part of him—as juvenile and immature as it might have been—couldn't stand the idea that people might think he couldn't take charge in the bedroom.

Maybe he should just concentrate on figuring out how to explain away a missing hundred dollars from their bank account instead.

With that troubling though, Tom opened the front door and walked into the house. As usual, his presence went unnoticed for approximately five seconds.

"Thank God you're home," called Lynette from the kitchen, not bothering to look up as he approached. "I was just about to call."

Tom frowned at the sight of her on her hands and knees scrubbing the floor. "What's going on?"

"The twins are sick. Some kind of flu. Preston threw up all over the kitchen floor."

"Where are they now?"

"In bed. Parker's in the other room playing. Can you get out his sleeping bag and make it up on our bedroom floor?"

Tom furrowed his brow. "What? Why?"

"Because I don't want him in the same room as the twins. If we can prevent him getting sick too then all the better."

"What's wrong with the guest bedroom?" Tom asked, stupidly regretting the words as soon as they were out of his mouth. What better deterrent from sex was there than a three-year-old in their bed?—and make no mistake, even if Parker started out on the floor, he'd end up in their bed eventually. "Never mind," he mumbled, startled by his brilliant realization. Lynette didn't even bat an eye.


"Hey Susie Q," said Karl. His wife was bent over the oven peering inside at whatever horrible concoction she was attempting to make for dinner. The sight of her tight ass made Karl sigh in resignation of what he'd be missing out on for the next couple of weeks, and he took a moment to fully admire her assets before taking the plunge.

"Jeez, Susan," he said, making sure to ham it up. "Those pants make your ass look huge."

Susan stood up and turned around to glare at him. Fortunately all she had in her hand was an oven mitt, so it didn't hurt when she chucked it at him. "You're a real jerk sometimes, Karl!" she snapped before storming out of the room.

Karl just smiled. That was at least three days without sex and he'd barely lifted a finger.

Those other guys didn't stand a chance.