7. #2
“Of course I did, but why in the hell would a man like me need a suit? Everyone in my extended family is dead, I don’t plan on going back to court for any reason, and if I ever get married again, I’m going to try very hard to convince my bride to let me sweep her off to Vegas for the weekend.
No making me dress up and stand in front of a room full of people I probably don’t even like. ”
“I’m going to wear an extravagant gown with a twelve-foot veil while carrying a bouquet of my favorite flowers,” Lara announced.
“You can wear whatever you want when we get married in Vegas, Cupcake, although the veil might be a little over the top.”
Lara ignored me. “So, other than swim trunks, do you own any clothing other than jeans, work pants, uniform shirts, and T-shirts?” I opened my mouth to answer, but she cut me off. “Or tank tops. I’m sure you’ve got tank tops.”
“Why are you sure of that?”
“You look like that kind of guy.”
“The kind of guy whose nipples get chafed from the detergent they use to launder our uniforms?”
“Your nipples?”
“Yes.”
Lara scrunched her nose in disgust. “How big are your nipples?”
“I’ll show you mine if you show me yours.” When Lara simply raised a brow rather than ripping her shirt off, I added, “I wear other things. I’ve got sweats, basketball shorts, and pajama pants, thank you very fucking much.”
Lara’s eyes narrowed. “I want to boop your nose so hard right now.”
I quickly lifted my hand to shield my face. “Haven’t you done enough? I’m gonna walk around with a nose like that Wilson brother if you keep at it.”
I knew I’d taken it too far when Lara whispered, “I’m so sorry, Shiloh.”
I pulled her into my arms, hoping she could look past the mess that used to be my face. “That was the hottest kiss I’ve ever experienced. I’d risk the Owen Wilson look for more of them.”
“I thought we were going to wait until you could breathe through your nose again.”
“We are. But until then, I’d like to hang out as often as possible.
I want to get to know you better so our next kiss turns into an adventure that includes you waking up next to me in the morning and then getting irritated when you realize there’s a hickey on your neck, so I don’t mistake you for one of your sisters. ”
“You will not be giving me any hickeys, Pookie Doodle.”
Without thinking, I scrunched my nose at that horrible nickname. I quickly forgot how stupid it sounded when pain shot from my face to the back of my eyeballs.
“Shit! What are we doing? You need to relax while I get an ice pack.”
“You’re really going to take care of me? I hoped you were bringing me down here just for some alone time.”
“I can multitask, sweetheart. Have a seat, and I’ll get started.”
◆◆◆
When I pulled to a stop at the light a few blocks from our house, I looked at Raylee. She was biting her lower lip, but it didn’t hide her smile. When she glanced over at me and saw the bruises on my face, she cackled.
“Just say it,” I muttered.
“I’m trying to be nice.”
“Well, that’s a development.”
I guess she decided being nice wasn’t worth the effort. She started peppering me with questions even though she already knew the answers.
“Have you always wanted a new nose, or is this a recent development? When is your Brazilian butt lift scheduled? Once your bruises go away, are you going to get Botox for the wrinkles on your forehead?”
“What wrinkles?” I asked, ignoring the rest.
“The ones you get when you look at me like you are right now. Well, they’re not as bad as usual, but that’s probably because of the swelling.”
“Do you have no sympathy at all?”
“If I could stop laughing every time I look at you, it might be easier to pretend I do.”
“You’re an ungrateful little girl, Biscuit.”
“I should be punished.”
“Oh, this I’ve gotta hear.”
“If we lived on a farm, you could make me do all the chores.”
“Fine. When we get home, I expect you to sweep and mop all of the floors while I nap.”
Ignoring me, she continued, “I’d have to care for the animals and drive the tractor to bring in the harvest. You should have me do those sorts of things as punishment for teasing you when you look like you just took your first step in concealing your identity to run from the cops.”
“We don’t have any animals, and we don’t need a tractor.”
“No, but the shelter is having an adoption event in the library parking lot. You could let me drive over there to look at them . . . so I’d have something to care for as punishment, of course.”
“Your brain is so convoluted. I’m not sure how to follow the path that got us from my broken nose to you wanting a cat.”
“And a dog.”
“I told you, I’m not sure how Dante would feel about . . .”
“Dante said he wouldn’t mind if we had pets as long as they don’t throw wild parties, put holes in the plaster, or get raided by the cops.”
“What?”
“I know, right? It’s not like I’m asking for a chimpanzee. Is it legal to keep a chimp as a pet?”
“If you want all of your fingers bitten off one by one,” I replied, pulling into a mostly empty parking lot. I stopped the truck and, in a more serious tone, asked, “Are you really willing to drive, Biscuit?”
“I’m willing to try, but I’m not sure what I do should be called driving.”
She was right. Her anxiety made it difficult to try new things, and the pressure of operating a vehicle had proven to be too much the few times she’d gotten behind the wheel. But if she wanted to try again, I was more than willing to be her passenger.
When we were practicing in an empty church lot, getting her accustomed to the pedals and parallel parking, Raylee did great. But when she got on the road, it was a completely different story.
She suddenly forgot what the gas pedal was for, driving at a snail's pace while riding the brakes. Oddly enough, that wasn’t the most maddening part.
No, it was sitting at a stop sign while she waited for vehicles that were at least six blocks away, while I silently screamed all the things I would say if I were the person in the car behind us.
“It’s more like coasting than anything,” I conceded. “What time does this animal thing end?”
“Five o’clock.”
“Do you think we can make it in time?” I asked sarcastically as I parked the truck.
Raylee sighed. “I’ll see what I can do.”
Once she was settled in the driver’s seat, I buckled in and sent a text to Dante.
Did you really tell my kid she could get a fucking pet?
Yep. I sure did.
You’re an asshole, Pardo.
Never said I wasn’t. Most of the time you are, too, but now you’ll have another title: pet owner.
I’m gonna buy your kid a drum kit.
You’ve met the family I married into. Do you really think I still have enough hearing left to give a shit?
My ears are still ringing.
If you spend enough time with the Donovan sisters, you’ll get used to it. Especially when the next generation gets in the mix, and it seems like your girl has already become part of them.
I’m glad. Thanks for letting her stay over.
Of course. Oh, and by the way, she already invited all three girls to spend next weekend at your place.
Well, shit.