“If I… okay… I mean…reallyserious, get me?”
“I’m going to give you the most serious answer for the most serious question.”
Smiling at him, I tap my finger against him. “Perfect. So if I got bitten by Sasquatch and became a wereSasquatch which turned me into a Sasquatch on the full moon… would you have sex with Sasquatch me?”
“I would spread those hairy cheeks without hesitation,” Jackson assures me.
I nod approvingly. “This is why I know we are meant to be.”
“I’m glad it’s that and not like… risking my life, confessing my love, or marrying you.”
“Nope. It’s the Sasquatch bit.”
“Wonderful.”
I beam at him. “Youare wonderful.”
I kiss his face all over, which really should cement how happy I am that he’s agreed to be my lover through thick and thin. Hairless and hairy.
My phone beeps, and I look over at it and see that it’s from Waylon.
Waylon: Thought it might have been too long since you got a cat picture, so here are seven more.
“At what point do we decide this is payback for me making him look at The Fence?” I grumble. “And he still hasn’t named the thing? What is he waiting for?”
“There was a while there that you were sending him fence pictures on the daily.”
“Oh… was I supposed to stop that?” I ask.
“How many pictures of that stupid fence could you even have?”
“Four hundred and seventy-two.”
“There is absolutely no way you only have four hundred pictures of that fence. Let me see your phone.”
I pin my phone to my chest, prepared to protect it at all costs. “No, Jackson. Unless you want to sign up for The Fence Daily subscription, you are not allowed to see these pictures.”
Jackson huffs. “I don’t want to see the pictures, I want to see how many you have—which is certainly far too many—and that’s why you’re refusing to show me!”
I simply beam at him and decide I’ll include him in my daily Fence photographs; I’d hate for him to be jealous.
I get up and head toward the door, and Jackson follows me. He loops his arms around me and pulls me back for one last kiss before we step out of the bedroom and nearly run into Waylon.
“You name that cat yet?” I ask.
“I was thinking… what if I name him Fence, and then every time anyone says anything about The Fence, we’ll all look at my cat instead of that chunk of wood,” Waylon replies.
“When did our son become so devious?” I ask.
“I love that idea,” Jackson the Traitor says.
“Absolutely not. Find something else. You hungry? I’m hungry,” I ask as I pull him in close.
“Sure?” Waylon says, already looking skeptical. How can he be skeptical of my loving hug?
“Waylon, while we were gone, we ended up at a birthday party.”
He eyes me warily. “Yeah? And what were you doing at the birthday party?”
