“Dear God, no! If he didn’t find it, you’re just gonna give him ammunition to figure out what you’re talking about.”
Bella pats my arm. “You’re right.”
“I can’t believe I’m saying this, but now I’m hoping Mike found it,” I say.
“Maybe he’d help you complete the list,” Summer says with a wink.
I fake a smile back and nod as they continue talking, but inwardly I’m a mess of nerves. I made that list in a wine-induced haze, but I’m pretty sure I mentioned wanting to fuckMr. March. I know I wrote something about an accent. Shit, what else did I put on there?
CHAPTER 8
MIKE
I’m a man on a mission. Carl at Meat Cute promised he could special order everything I need for tomorrow’s crew meal. If you care about your food, you go to the butcher.
Ever since we started our own version ofChopped, the crew has tried to one-up each other suggesting some of the weirdest shite to challenge me.
Not everything I’ve created with their suggestions has been palatable, and if they give me a list of gross ingredients, I’ll make a backup dish just in case. And because I love chaos, the rookies get served the gobshite meal, and everyone else gets the good one. Watching the rookies insist it’s delicious while clearly suffering is feckin’ hilarious. But they clean their plates because they know better than to complain.
One night after a particularly rank casserole made with chicken feet, cottage cheese, and caramelized carrots, I nearly lost it at the table. RJ kept pushing a talon around his plate, pretending to cough every time he turned his head so he could dry heave. Hardy gave me a knowing look, so I filled him in on the joke. Now he’s my partner in crime, deliberately suggesting the foulest shite imaginable whenever the rookiesget unruly. It’s been a surprisingly effective way to keep them in line.
Carl is still helping several people in front of me when a tiny set of hands grabs both of my arse cheeks and squeezes.
“Tushy!” a small voice squeals.
I chuckle to myself, deciding to ignore it since it’s probably just a toddler who’s still learning about boundaries.
“Oh my God, Levi, no! We do not touch people’s bottoms!”
Feckin’ hell, I know that voice.When he squeezes again, I decide to have some fun.
I jump and spin, turning to face him as I puff out my chest and put my hands on my hips. “Who is touching my tushy! Don’t you know it’s bad luck to pinch someone before St. Patrick’s Day!” I bellow in my best Papa Bear voice. It’s not true, but I decide to have fun with the wee one.
The kid looks taken aback for a split second before he breaks into a fit of giggles. “You sound funny!”
“Levi, that’s not nice!” Lucy scolds, grabbing his hand and pulling him back. “Say you’re sorry.”
She won’t make eye contact, and something about that doesn’t sit right with me.
“I sorry,” Levi says.
“It’s okay, pal. But you really shouldn’t touch people’s bottoms. What if they farted in your face?” I don’t know why I’m egging him on, but there’s something in his giggle that makes my heart feel at ease.
“Fart!”
“Not again. I just got him to stop saying that one,” Lucy groans, dropping her head.
“Sorry, I was just trying to break the tension,” I say.
“Fart, fart, fart!” Levi continues before breaking out his best impression of a fart by blowing his lips against his hand.
“It’s fine.”
Oh shite, I really fucked up.
Levi looks like he’s about to make a run for it when shescoops him up, placing him on her hip just as Micah pokes his head out from behind her.
“Hey there,” I say, pretending to tip my hat to him.
