“Oh no, I can’t tell this one, Ladybug. Maybe one day. You and Delaney have your secret word, and this is my secret with her.”
Within a few minutes, Delaney and Tillie have relocated to the dining room table and sip on wine as they talk. Damn, I definitely can’t hear them with the extra distance added to their subdued tones.
Layla fidgets on the floor and then glances up at Henry. “Daddy, will you stay here and guard my cards, so Uncle Harry doesn’t mess with them? I really gotta pee.”
Henry chuckles in response. “Go ahead, Ladybug. I’ll keep your uncle honest.”
Layla jumps up and races off to the bathroom. I shake my head at her energy and head to the kitchen to grab a drink. Delaney and Tillie are so caught up in conversation that they don’t even seem to notice when I walk past.
After I grab a soda for me and one for Henry, I make my way back toward the living room. Delaney’s back is to me, so she doesn’t realize I’m near when she replies to whatever Tillie just said to her.
“Not to be a creep, but that just made your husband even sexier.” Her tone is light, and Tillie bursts out laughing.
“Did you just call my brother sexy?” I ask. “Wanna tell me what you’re talking about over here?”
Delaney spins to face me and scowls.
“We weren’t talking about Henry. We were talking about… Billy Bob Thornton. Obviously, he’s older now, but when he was young? Mmm, really hot.” With a half-smile and a mischievous sparkle in her eyes, she looks smug as hell.
“Yeah, a younger Billy Bob just had something about him,” Tillie adds.
I shake my head at them.
“I don’t even have the words,” I mutter in their direction. I do my best to appear disgusted. “I’m disappointed in you two. I thought you both had better taste than that.”
Obviously, I’m referencing myself to see if Delaney reacts. She’s careful not to let her facial expression betray anything, but she can’t hide the flicker of surprise in her eyes.
“Go play cards,” Tillie orders with a laugh.
I walk away, shaking my head. “Billy Bob Thornton?” I mumble to myself.
I’m only back at the card game with Layla for a few minutes when the little sneakster somehow manages to win her third out of five games in our Crazy Eights mini-tournament. She jumps up and does her “winner dance,” which she does every time she wins a hand.
“I want a do-over!” I protest.
“No, Uncle Harry. You lost fair and square.” Layla’s tone is firm, but amused, and she doesn’t even bother to stop her dancing, which is more of a general bouncing around.
“Ladybug, I amverygood at Crazy Eights. I always won against my brothers growing up. Even Grandma can’t beat me. There’s no way I lost. Something must’ve happened. Not that I’m accusing anybody of keeping extra cards or anything.”
Layla abruptly stops moving and huffs. She fixes her eyes on me.
“I didn’t want to have to say this again, but you’re a poor loser.” Layla shakes her head at me. “It’s a bad look on you.”
A sputtering behind me has me turning to find Delaney and Tillie standing just a few feet from us, watching my saucy six-year-old niece put me in my place.
I turn back around, scoop up the cards, and neaten the pile while I fight back a smile. That’s when Layla walks over and pats me on the back. She’s clearly trying to comfort me.
“You’re right. I don’t like to lose,” I admit to her.
She leans toward me and whispers—though not quietly enough—“If you want Delaney to be your girlfriend, you can’t act like a bad loser. She’ll never wanna play games with you.”
I glance over my shoulder, and Delaney is staring at us wide-eyed with her mouth ajar. A few feet away, Henry and Tillie exchange knowing glances, clearly amused.
Not one to waste a great assist like Layla just set me up with, I go in for the score.
“You’re probably right. So, I need to make her think I’m okay when I don’t win, if I want her to like me?”
Layla grins. “You’re getting it now.”
