“It’s January,” Maggie deadpanned.
I shot her a look, but she just grinned.
Nox wandered in from the hallway, took one look at me, and snorted. “You taking Kat on a date?”
I nodded.
He studied me, his expression far too knowing for a ten-year-old. “Tank says when you kiss a girl on a date, you gotta use your tongue. Is that true? Are you gonna tongue kiss Kat?”
“Nox,” Maggie warned.
“What? I’m just asking.” He shrugged and looked at me again. “Tank told me that when you go on dates with girls, you gotta like... kiss them and touch them. A lot. Like, everywhere.”
“Nox!” Maggie’s voice cracked like a whip. “That is completely inappropriate.”
“What? Tank said it’s how you know if you really like someone. He said he tongue kisses girls all the time and that’s why he gets those purple marks on his neck. Are you gonna get purple marks, Derek? Are you going to touch Kat’s—”
“Nox!” Maggie stood up so fast her chair scraped backward. “That isenough. You donotrepeat what Tank tells you. Ever. Do you understand me?”
Nox grinned, clearly pleased with the reaction he’d gotten. “But he said—”
“I don’t care what Tank said,” Maggie growled. “You donottalk to adults like that.” She pointed toward the hallway. “Go check on Frankie and Cami. Now.”
Nox rolled his eyes but got up, muttering something under his breath as he disappeared down the hall.
“Why did I ever agree to let Nox spend time with that man?” Maggie muttered.
Rhoda was trying not to laugh. “Because Nox needed a way to pay for the damage he did to Tank’s bike.” Maggie looked like she wanted to strangle her little brother.
I just stood there, feeling like I’d walked into a goddamn ambush.
“Sorry about that,” Maggie said, shaking her head. “He’s been spending too much time with the guys at the clubhouse.”
“It’s fine,” I said, though my face felt hot.
“It’s not fine,” Rhoda said, still grinning. “But itisfunny.”
Maggie shot her a look, then turned back to me. She stepped closer, her eyes narrowing as she studied me like I was a piece of furniture she was considering buying. “You’re sweating.”
“I’m not—”
“You’re definitely sweating.” She reached out and adjusted my collar, her movements efficient and motherly. “At least the shirt’s decent. Could be worse. Could be a lot worse.”
“Thanks?” I said, unsure if that was a compliment.
“So,” Rhoda said, settling into the armchair like she was getting comfortable for a show. “Where are you taking her?”
“Dinner.”
“Where?”
“A restaurant.”
“Which one?”
I hesitated. “Does it matter?”
“It matters if you’re taking her somewhere terrible,” Maggie said.
