I chuckle. “I’d never.”
“Mhm,” he hums, tongue pressing in his cheek. Then, he peers up the stairs. “Got your glove, Mowgli!”
She almost trips over herself, as she comes barreling down the stairs. She skips the last few steps, throwing herself at him, and he catches her laughing. “Getting a little too big for that now, aren’t ya, kid?”
She giggles into his chest. “It’s not nice to fat shame, Uncle Kai.”
He rears back and shoots her a narrow-eyed look. “Mowgli, I could not and would never. Besides, despite your ravenous appetite, thereisn’t an ounce of fat on you, girl. Sometimes, I swear Brooks starves you.”
“Not a funny joke,” I quarrel, scowling.
Kai quickly corrects himself, apologizing to Morgan, “I’m only kidding. You know that, right?”
She nods. “I was just giving you a hard time. What are nieces for, right?”
He mocks affront. “And to think, I drove all the way out to the boonies to drop your gear off to you! Gear whichyouforgot! I’m just glad it wasn’t your cleats, pee-yew.”
“Tell me about it,” I tease. “I got the distinct pleasure of having those get left inmycar.”
“Better that rust bucket than my Tesla.” Kai smirks.
“Leave the rust bucket alone; it still drives.”
Kai snorts. “For now, yeah. ‘Bout the only thing I can picture working well for it these days is that back seat. Plenty of room back there for… activities.”
I shoot him a scathing look.
“Ew! Ew! Ew! Dad doesn’t do that! He’s celibate!” Morgan covers her ears with her hands and shoots back upstairs to—hopefully—get finished changing for her game. We’ve only got a half hour before we need to be out that door, into the rust bucket, and get to the softball field.
Kai mutters quietly, “Little does she know that Daddy dearest isn’t so celibate, is he?” He waggles his eyebrows.
I scrunch my nose up at the moniker. “Don’t say it like that, and no, she doesn’t… and I’d like to keep it that way, thank you.”
That makes him snicker.
“Need me to stick around and braid her hair for you?” Kai arches his eyebrow up at me.
“Could you?” I ponder. I suck at French braiding. Regular braiding? That, I can do… barely. But apparently, having a pair of French braids is theinthing, and Kai’s got that down-pat. While my sister and I were always playing outside when we were younger, Kai and his were all about learning makeup and doing their hair together.
“Yeah.” He shrugs, gnashing on a piece of gum. Keeps him from smoking, so I guess I shouldn’t complain about the way he’s gnawing on it like a cow with its cud. “I suppose I have a few minutes before I gotta take off.”
“Big plans today?” I ask him. Dumb question. Of course he does, the man is constantly on the go.
“Well, as you may or may not be aware, it’s my birthday in a couple of days.” He pauses for dramatic affect, par for the course for Kai, and smoothes out his stark white button down. Maybe it just looks sharper against the deep bronze tone of his skin.
I notice he’s dressed to kill with the top buttons purposely left open and sleeves rolled up to his elbows—always wanting to show off tidbits of his tattoos—glimpses of his Polynesian heritage. Meanwhile, I’m barely put together with my tattered college hoodie on. I say mine, but the thing might be his, actually. Who cares, he left it, and I took ownership of it. Not like we didn’t meet each other going to the same university anyway.
His tailored black pants are distinctly lacking in long, white cat-fur, unlike my own black joggers I’m currently wearing. I wonder how long he admired his reflection for, while getting a shine like that on those Gucci shoes. I guess when you drop as much money on them like he did, you don’t want them scuffed up.
I self-consciously cross my ankles and tuck them further back under my seat, so he doesn’t give me shit about my knock-off Crocs again. They’re breathable, waterproof, and comfortable. Besides, mypaycheck goes to making sure Morgs has food on her plate and cleats that she can stink up.
I sigh and roll my eyes. “I’m very aware of when your birthday is…”
“Like I’d ever let you forget, babydoll,” he volleys back quickly, like he half expected the response he drew out of me. “Anyway, the guys are taking me out to Flask Lounge. Wanna come with, ya know, after Mowgli’s game?” He nudges me in the ribs with his elbow. “Or are you too up to your ears in running numbers on this camp you’re so desperately trying to keep afloat?”
I snort. “This camp I’m trying to keep afloat was once your pet project too,” I remind him.
“Mhmmm,” he drawls, “but each year I watch you get more and more stressed out about what a money-pit it is. I keep trying to tell you, we gotta sell it off. It’s almost a liability at this po—”
