“Wesmellthirteen?” the smaller one says.
I nod. “It’s a very distinct smell. Like day-old pizza, dirty socks, and boundary-pushing.”
Simon beams at me. “Thatdoesdescribe the smell quite well.”
“Griff was thirteen when he became my responsibility. I’ve done thirteen-year-old boys twice. They all smell the same.”
“Nevertheless, would you like to join us as the boys attempt to win every stuffed animal and a multitude of pastries here at this carnival today?”
Is he for real?
The man who last night told me he doesn’t like me because I didn’t tell him I was trolling my ex with our date now wants me to walk all around the carnival with him?
I like that he seems to like me today, but I’m also wary.
Happens when you’re in one too many relationships where you realize you’ve been used.
What does Simonactuallywant?
“If you aren’t needed back at work,” he adds hastily.
Almost awkwardly, in fact.
I glance around.
As expected, several groups of people sitting on the grass around us are blatantly watching us.
No doubt listening in.
Daphne’s also mentioned a few times how being in the spotlight got old. That if she’d been born into a normal family, no one would’ve cared if she’d attended protests and talked about her favorite causes while she was at parties. Or wore a T-shirt supporting a band she didn’t know was problematic until after the fact.
She would’ve been one more face in the crowd known as the overall population on Earth.
But she wasn’t one more face in the crowd, and she knew she could use the attention to her advantage, no matter how she felt about the lack of privacy.
Ironically enough, embracing the spotlight to take advantage of her family’s name to bring attention to injustices toward the world’s animals is what eventually got her disinherited.
She was a blemish on her family’s reputation.
I don’t know how much Simon cares about his reputation, but I’m sure he cares about his sons’ privacy.
So I tread lightly with my answer. “Are you sure you wantmeto come with you?”
He smiles at me as he munches on the last of the fries. “Why not? You’re a marvelous conversationalist, you know all there is to know about this town, and I daresay you could teach me a thing or two about keeping thirteen-year-old boys on their best behavior.”
This isn’t adding up with the things he said about not liking me while he was tipsy last night. But again, I don’t want to call him on it while we have an audience. “At this stage in my life, I’d rather teach teenagers all the ways to annoy their parents since I don’t have to live with them anymore.”
He tips his head back and laughs, which draws even more attention.
But then he clutches it with both hands and draws it back to center.
And I crack up.
I can’t help it.
“You arereallyhungover, aren’t you?”
“So very, very much so.”
