Okay, so maybe I had two comebacks.
“What is this about licorice jellybeans,” Daddy croaked. “That is not the first time I’ve heard you threaten him with them.”
At least I felt him lift up off Raleigh, who finally slid off me and draped an arm over my hips. So, I was still pinned, but at least I wasn’t being squashed, so I guess that was something.
“When Murry gets mad at me, he leaves bunny poop on my pillow, aka licorice jellybeans ‘cause he knows I hate them,” Raleigh said, pinching the bitemark he’d left.
“And now you’ve officially earned them with that pinch,” I declared, shocked when he started laughing. “I’m not kidding this time, either.”
I knew I sounded pouty but right now I didn’t care, my poor ass was gonna sting when I sat down next.
“I’m not worried,” Raleigh declared.
It was hard to sound menacing in my position, but I tried, dammit. “Well, you should be.”
“Naa,” Raleigh said and kept on giggling. “We forgot to label the boxes, remember? So the chances of you finding them, at least tonight, are pretty nil.”
Son of a bitch.
Now Daddy’s laughter mingled with Raleigh’s while I lay there stewing and plotting where to start leaving licorice jellybeans for Daddy too.
Maybe his shoe.
Definitely his shoe.
Holy shit, I was gonna love living here!
19
DADDY DORIAN
“Alright, we’ll be all set just as soon as I secure the snack basket,” Aspen explained as he wound two bungee cords around the wicker basket between us and secured it to the center console.
My pets were already buckled into the seats behind us, with a working knowledge of how to run the DVD players, so they could watch movies during the trip.
Our first road trip together.
“Why does the basket need bungee cords?” Murry asked. “It looks pretty wedged into place to me.”
“All the wedging in the world won’t help the contents if someone corners like he’s driving on a racetrack instead of the highway,” Aspen declared, narrowing his eyes at me.
“Oh, here we go,” I muttered as I climbed behind the wheel. “This is about that pasta salad again, isn’t it?”
I deliberately said it that way just to watch Aspen puff up and get red in the face. “It was not just pasta salad; it was gourmet green goddess pasta salad with tiny shrimp and chunks of real craband lobster meat. It was the most divine pasta salad I had ever created, and you turned it into a mess.”
“Didn’t taste like a mess to me,” I declared. “Now put your seatbelt on so we can go.”
“While your kamikaze driving didn’t detract from the taste when you sent the bowl careening from its perch, it was the presentation it seriously fucked up,” Aspen declared as he buckled himself in. “The only reason it was edible at all was because I’d invested in containers with lockable lids.”
“Which you’ve packed all the snacks in the basket in,” I pointed out. “Thus, rendering the bungee cords overkill.”
“There is no such thing as overkill when it comes to protecting the snacks,” Aspen declared.
“I have to side with Aspen on this one,” Murry said. “Smashed-up snacks aren’t very fun, especially when it’s cupcakes.”
“You saw those, did you?” Aspen said.
“They looked delicious,” Murry replied.
