She pulls away, grabs a pillow from my couch, and hits me in the face with it.
I blink. “Really? You’re challenging me to a pillow fight?”
“What if I am?” She tilts her head to one side, and I struggle to stay sane. She’s never looked more beautiful, or sexy, than she does right now. Hair disheveled, cheeks flushed, and that teasing smile gracing her lips.
Unfortunately, she takes advantage of my moment of weakness, hitting me straight in the face with another pillow, then another one.
Oh, it’s on.
Pillows are scattered all over the living room floor, and Millie is panting for breath next to me. We’re both sprawled on the carpet after she called—no,begged—for a truce, citing the gap in our cardio training.
Fergie went wild during the pillow fight. Although he couldn’t see us from his room upstairs, he was screaming a mix of ‘Millie pretty’ and ‘Callum, you lose’ the entire time. He’s now quieted down, too absorbed by the rap concert that just started on his TV.
Something is poking my neck, and I scratch it, only to discover it’s one of Millie’s flashcards.
“I desperately need your help to save her,”I read aloud. “Seriously? My followers will know it wasn’t me who wrote this.”
“Your followers, huh?” she teases, rolling onto her side to meet my eyes.
“Aye. You’re the one who taught me that on social media, nothing is more important than original content and staying true to myself.”
“That’s right,” she says, brushing a strand of hair from her eye.
“Then you know I can’t do this.”
“Fine.” With a sassy roll of her eyes, she sits up, and I do the same. She shakes her head, wearing a sheepish smile. “Sorry. I guess I roped you into this without giving you a say. Tend to do that a lot, don’t I?”
I nod, wincing. “Very bossy.”
She hits me with one of the strewn pillows. “Guess I’ll just tell the shelter—”
“Wait.” I frown. “I never said I wouldn’t do it. Just not with that text. Give me a minute, I’ll think of something.”
She nods. “Okay. I’ll go use the toilet in the meantime.”
As she saunters off, I study the slides again, scribbling a few words on the back of Millie’s flashcards. It’s definitely not poetic or elegant, but it’s straight to the point. And a lot more natural.
“So, what have you got?” she asks, coming back. I can’t help but notice she rearranged her hair.
“Hit Record, and you’ll see.”
She arches an eyebrow. “Why don’t you do it yourself, big guy?” she suggests, crossing her arms. “It’s your phone, after all.”
“You very well know I haven’t a clue how to do the voiceover recording on this app,” I grumble, averting my eyes.
She smiles, clearly pleased with herself. “So, youdoneed me after all. Interesting.”
I narrow my eyes. “Really? A plea for flattery? You’re starting to sound like Archie.” I shake my head. “Are we doing this or what?”
“Fine.” She offers her palm, and I put my phone in it.
The first slide is a photo of Princess in a tiara and a pink tutu.
“This is Princess,” I begin. “Yes, that’s her real name.”
The next slide rolls in: Princess being towel-dried after a bath.
“She requires regular baths. And outfits. She’s not exactly small, or subtle.”
