“Thirty-three.”
“Do you have children? If not, you’d better…”
That’s it. No more. She was about to tell him he’d better get on it if he wants kids. But that’s not going to happen. Not on my watch. “Mom.” I snap. “You’re getting awfully personal.”
“Oh, pish-posh. You don’t mind, do you, Sam?”
“Um…” He pauses then looks down at me. Using his thumb, he points to his side of the house. “I think the kid went back into my place.”
Shit. He’s right.
“That little rascal,” Candy says with a titter.
“I’ll get him.” I slap my palms on my bare knees and sigh as I push myself up, muttering, “He’s a handful.”
“Sam. Sweetheart.” Mom pats the seat I just vacated. “Come sit. Eat.”
Oh, God. I’m going to have to warn him off the meat…
“I don’t want to impose.”
“There’s no such thing as imposing. Everyone is welcome to the Munsel Family Sunday Funday.”
As I pass him, we glance at one another. He shrugs. “I could eat.”
“I could eathim,” Candy says, following me across the lawn. She’s got the same inability to whisper as my mom does.Please, don’t let it be hereditary.
“Shh,” I hiss with a snicker. “You’re so loud.”
“Mom’s talking his ear off. He can’t hear me.”
And that’s when we hear, “So, Samuel. Tell me––are you single?”
“Oh, fuck,” I hiss quietly. Much quieter than either Candy or mom. “She didn’t.”
“She did and there’s nothing you can do about it now.” Grabbing my hand, Candy tugs me along to Sam’s place. “I’ll help you get the little shit.” In a low voice, Candy leans in so she can actually whisper, “They have got to do something about this kid. I swear, I’m sick and tired of dealing with that brat. If he were my grandkid, this shit wouldneverhappen.”
I’m stunned at her words. Especially since her children were always hellions. I still have a scar on my right leg from her son, Kevin, stabbing me with a number two pencil, for which he got no punishment because it was “just an accident.” Well, if she’d seen the gleam in his eye as he raised his tiny fist wielding that pencil, she’d have sung another tune.
Or maybe not. Her children have always been perfect in her eyes.
And Dash is nothing like Kevin. He’s an active child for sure, but he’s not a brat. He’s a sweetheart. He’s only four, for crying out loud. “He’ll grow out of it.”
“Brittney and Mark need to do something.” Candy glances back at the group in my backyard. “They need to get off their asses. Why are we going to get him?”
“I don’t mind.” I really don’t mind.
“Of course you don’t.” Candy’s voice sounds harsh.
Ignoring her, I push open Sam’s sliding door, poke my head in, and say, “Dash?” There’s no reply, which is not a good thing with Dash. Stepping inside, I take a moment to check out the place. I didn’t get the chance the last time I entered his kitchen, due to the fact I was retrieving Henry Miller and the big man himself was standing there. This time, I can take a moment and see how this guy lives.
Everything is twice as big as on my side. His kitchen has a ton more counter space, plus it’s been updated. Same is true with his dining area and living room. Double the size of mine. Probably good, since he’s got ginormous furniture. The walls are painted a light gray, which looks nice with his very masculine furniture—like I imagined, he’s got a black leather sectional that takes up half the living room. It makes sense that a guy his size would have big furniture. I pause and gaze at the couch. I can just about picture us, er, I mean him lying there watching a game. I bet he looks nice sprawled out on that thing…
“Hello? Earth to Colette…”
Crap. I must have been off in my own little world.
“Now if you rentedthisside of the house, maybe we’d all see you as a grown-up.”
