What the hell?
“Shit,” Jax hisses under his breath.
“Wait”—Kali looks as if she’s about to be sick—“Slumber party? Pancake breakfast? Are you sleeping with my brother? I thought we were like, related!”
Crap. “Technically, we’re not related. It only feels that way. And why would you call me a ho if you didn’t think I was sleeping with him?”
Jax knocks his knee into mine. I’m pretty sure he’s not finding the ho banter I’m currently engaged in with his sister all too comical. It’s more of a don’t-entertain-crazy knock to the knee. No offense to Kali, but she is going off the rails a bit. I glance over to Deb because clearly the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree.
Kali scoffs as if the answer were clear. “Because that’s a loving term of endearment for all of my brother’s one-hit wonders—you told me so yourself.”
So she does remember me. I offer a tight smile her way. Who knew words spoken half a decade ago would come back to bite me in the ass?
Jax cuts his sister a quick look. “Drop it, Kal. Poppy is our guest, and we should treat her with the utmost respect.”
“Yeah,” Jules quips. “You wait until she leaves the room before you start calling her names.” She gives a greasy wink my way, and just like that, my appetite for the gargantuan portion of salad I just heaped onto my plate up and disappears.
“Jules,” Jax reprimands, low and tired. “Poppy is a top designer back in L.A. Maybe she can help you with the guesthouse?”
“I’d love to!” I straighten with a touch of pride. I’m not even close to being a top designer, but I like that Jax knows which side his titillating toast is buttered on. “In fact, I can drop by anytime this week. We can come up with an entire theme for the guesthouse, and, of course, I’d love to do Jensen’s room as well. Free of charge!”
Every Stade in the house looks at me as if I’ve just emitted a foul odor. It’s easy to forget that the Stades can afford the best that their billions can buy. Even so, they’re awfully convincing with theirjust like uspersona.
“We shall see.” Jules tips her glass to me with a threat in her eyes.
Holy mother-loving terror. You’d think I knifed her puppy in the night the way she’s acting.
I look to Jax, but he’s pretty oblivious to the crap attack his sister is shooting my way.
“So, Poppy”—Jules pushes out a manufactured smile—“a little birdie told me, you’ll be hopping back on your broomstick and heading back to your coven at the end of the week.”
I’m really starting to hate that damn little birdie.
“Shit, Jules.” Jax tosses his utensils to his plate with a rattle—like a man, might I add—good and pissed just for me. “Do you mind? Maybeyoushould hop back on your broomstick and hightail it back to the guesthouse. What in the hell do you have against her, anyway?”
Just as I’m about to knock my knee into Jaxson’s in a show of my appreciation, a roll flies by and pings Jaxson in the forehead. Deb sits at the other end of the table rather proud of her middle school lunch period antic, and I’m frozen with shock at what’s just transpired. I’ll bet all of the meager money I have that my mother doesn’t know Deb partakes in the tossing of the buns at dinner. Food is practically sacred in my house, and here it’s used for communication purposes.
“I won’t have foul language in this house.” She nods as she indulges in a bite of the food on her plate that she’s yet to toss at her son.
Kali chucks her dinner roll in her brother’s direction, but this time he catches it midflight.
Dear God, is this what’s been taking place at the Stade’s house all these years? Maybe they’re notjust like usafter all. The large majority of us still prefer to masticate our food rather than utilize it as a missile.
“I agree with non-use of foul language.” Jax glowers at his sisters. “Now, if either of you can’t find something nice to say, then please don’t say anything at all.”
“Fine.” Jules reaches over and cuts Jensen’s food into microscopic pieces. “I’d love to engage in light dinner conversation, but I can’t say a word,” she spits it out like rusted nails.
“Oh, for fuck’s sake.” The words tumble out of me without meaning to, and I slap my hand over my mouth.
“For fuck’s sake!” Jensen shouts and laughs his hardest.
“Oh no!” My adrenaline spikes. Who knew Jensen was a parrot in training?
Deb groans and waves her hands as if she’s trying to land a seven forty-seven, and Jules lets out a wild cry of a scream with a look that saysI’ll skin you alive with your splintered broomstick.
“I’m done.” She bolts up and plucks her tiny son out of his high chair.
“For fuck’s sake!” He giggles up a storm, and I shrink in my seat because I’m pretty sure that little phrase is going to be a problem tomorrow in daycare.
