Her smile widened. “The murder squirrel one was inspired by a friend. She said something similar to her sister-in-law a few years ago before Thanksgiving. Their family is divided down the middle, politically, and there are several loudmouths on each side that like to ruingatherings by spewing their opinions all over everyone else. I think her exact words were,I will kill you if you don’t show up this year, and I took that and ran with it.”
“Well, you nailed it. I don’t think a greeting card has ever made me laugh that hard.”
Her expression turned serious. “Ben, if you and your parents don’t stop inflating my ego like this, I won’t be able to get my swollen head through doorways.”
“Too bad. You’re really good at what you do, and I’m not going to stop telling you that.”
She looked back at her cards, cheeks coloring. “Thanks.”
Half an hour later, I found out what the skunk mark meant. If you lost a game, like I just did, and your pegs didn’t pass that mark, your opponent will jump up from their seat, nearly upending the board in their excitement, and perform an elaborate dance routine in your living room, their arms akimbo as they hop back and forth while singing, “Iiiiiiiiit’s skunkarooney time, it’s skunarooney time, with Uncle Frankenstein, it’s skunkarooney time!”
Behind her, the dogs lifted their muzzles and howled along with her painfully off-key singing, creating a chorus that made me want to cover my ears.
The display was the most ridiculous thing I’d seen a grown woman do in person. She looked like a demented scarecrow. Like some sort of marionette whose manipulator had gotten into a bad batch of moonshine. Topping it off was the triumphant, gleefully deranged expression on her face that I wished I could unsee.
It was amazing.
My sides hurt from laughing by the time I was finally able to ask, “What the fuck is happening right now?”
“Ow,” she said. She fell back into her seat and clutched her hamstring. “I honestly don’t know. It’s this dance my dad used to do whenever he skunked us, and it somehow turned into another Jones family tradition. Even Jacob does it.”
“I hope you don’t expect me to.”
She levelled her gaze at me. “Of course not. You’d have to skunk me first, Ben.”
Was that a challenge?
I narrowed my eyes and stared her down.
She looked away first this time, wincing. “Owww. Totally worth it, but ow,” she said, stretching out her leg.
“I have a heating pad for that.”
“Bless your heart,” she said, and then cackled in a way that reminded me of when Jack said he missed half the jokes she made.
Looked like I’d be joining him.
I grabbed the heating pad from upstairs. Not wanting her to get up, I plugged it in for her, set it to medium, and handed it over.
She wrapped it around her thigh. Her eyes fluttered shut and she leaned way back in her seat, exposing the long line of her neck. A soft moan slipped through her lips.
And there went my mind, straight into the fucking gutter.
So much for not having to police my thoughts.
Chapter 9: Ella
Iwoke to the dogs whining. It was probably time for them to go out, but I was just so tired. And so warm. But not all that comfortable, I realized. There was a crick in my neck. The right side of my face felt like I was lying on a rack of pork ribs. What the hell was this pillow made of, rocks? I punched it to try to smooth it out, and itmovedin response, flinching away from me like it was alive.
I jerked upright, suddenly wide awake. A heavy blanket fell away to reveal the sight of Ben’s large body spread out beneath me. The flannel shirt he wore was rumpled. His feet hung a foot off the edge of his reclining seat. He cracked his eyes open and rubbed his ribs.
Ribs that I just punched.
We must have fallen asleep watchingA Christmas Story.The last thing I remembered was Ralphie and Randy being bullied by Grover Dill.
I looked up. The TV was off, and the fire had burned down to ashes, but it was still dark outside. Fred and Sam pushed closer to me, sniffing and whining.
One second, boys. Emergency here.
