“You could have texted me to say you were coming,” I said.
“Do you need a warning?” he teased.
I absolutely did.
Especially if teasing was involved.
I took a needed sip of wine and asked, “How are you doing?”
“Glad to be out of my fuckin’ house for a few hours.”
I bet he was.
I could chill out with the best of them, but even I’d be going stir crazy after three straight days stuck at home.
On this, Dad entered the room, came right to me, bussed my cheek and greeted, “Hey, sweetheart.”
“Hey, Dad. Does Mom need help in the kitchen?”
“She’s got me and now your sister. You keep Knox company,” Dad replied. He turned to Knox. “We’ll be eating in about ten minutes, son.”
“Awesome, Scott. Thanks,” Knox replied.
Dad headed out.
I sat in an armchair and kept my wine held high and safe from snuffling dogs even as I petted said snuffling dogs.
And I started it.
“So, I had an interesting chat with Byron today.”
His grin came back. “I know. Tex called Roam to see who won the pool. In case you’re interested, it was Shaw.”
“Do you boys have other pools on shit about the Angels?” I asked.
“As far as we know, there’s no one else in your sphere who has their eyes on the accounts of defense contractors, terrorist sympathizers, straight-up terrorists, autocrats and warmongers.”
Holy shit!
“So, no,” he concluded.
As I was dealing with this new revelation about Byron (though, I suspected as such, I just didn’t let my mind go there), Feather came to me and walloped my leg with a moist dog toy.
Gross.
I took it from her and said, “We don’t hit people, do we?”
She giggled her denial of this claim, then raced after a terrier.
I tossed the dog toy in a random direction and a labrador claimed it as it flew through the air.
“Is Byron badass?” I asked Knox.
“Byron is an accountant. In other words, that’s a big no. Did he agree to be your Brody?”
Brody was that computer whiz on payroll up in Denver.
“If I get him a date with Dream.”
