Jesus.
Could I have picked anything more likely to spark bad memories?
Pop scratches his pirate hat. “Grady? Probably home sleeping. Or watching that cute little baby so Annika can sleep.”
The freaking Chipmunks are still singing that Christmas song inside the house.
It’sthe first of July.
I grin back at my grandfather like my balls aren’t sweating at the wrong turns my date with Waverly has taken, which is fully and completely my fault, because I’m me and I got a big idea I had to run with before stopping to ask if it was a good idea or a bad idea or analready doneidea.
“You know how to shut off the music, Pop? It’s scaring the real chipmunks.”
One of Waverly’s security team comes running. “Mr. Rock—”
“He’s harmless,” I say at the same time Pop turns and says, “That’s Mr. Pirate Rock to you, sonny.”
The man looks between us.
“He’s my grandfather,” I add.
“Who’re you?” Pop asks.
“Rawk! Who the fuck are you?” his parrot, Long Beak Silver, echoes.
Yeah.
Pop takes the pirate ancestor thing seriously. I normally do too, but not when I have a pop star and her bodyguards around.
Huh. Should’ve set up a private pirate party. Bet she’s never had one of those before.
Or maybe she has.
Google it first this time, nincompoop.
“He’s a friend, Pop. Nana know you’re up on the mountain this hour of the night?”
“Shoot, she’s with me. We know how you get when your game’s in the crapper, and we wanted to surprise you.”
I’m not a guy prone to having his eyelid twitch. I’m the guy who’s usually making other people’s eyelids twitch.
Guess my medicine time came due. “GradyandNana are with you?”
He grins bigger. “What? Grady’s not with me.”
I hook a thumb back toward my house and the awful music. “C’mon, Pop. You’re good, but the last time you tried to work my sound system, you gave yourself a bruise on your finger from hitting the control panel too hard.” I wink at him. “Who’s making the Chipmunks sing? Promise I won’t tell you told me.”
He chortles, gets ahold of himself, starts to chortle again, and then finally succeeds in straight-facing me. “Whoever stuck their hand up the chipmunks’ butts, I suppose. Chipmunks are puppets, aren’t they? Oh, hey, did I tell you that Neveah’s back in town? Bet she could help you with your game.”
He winks right back and adds a nudge to my arm.
And I realize Waverly’s all alone inside, Pop could’ve brought a dozen of my relatives, and I’m enough of a fun guy—I refuse to call myself aproblem—that there’s a high likelihood they’re approaching on more fronts than Waverly’s people would’ve expected.
A Rock family intrusion wasn’t on my radar for tonight.
Shit.
I fling open the door and head back inside, rip the damn sound system controller off the wall, which finally stops the music, and catch my sister about to lean down and look under the refreshments table, where I can also see Waverly’s heel-clad feet huddling as far back as they’ll go behind the tablecloth.
