8. Eight
EIGHT
Gideon
Sam’s staring into space and frowning. I don’t like it when Sam frowns. He deserves to be happy all the time.
“What’s wrong?”
He blinks and smiles absently at me. “Nothing.”
It’s my turn to frown now. How can I fix it if he won’t tell me what the problem is?
“You’re frowning,” I point out. “Frowns aren’t nothing.”
“You frown all the time,” he exclaims.
“That’s just my face.” I’ve always leaned toward grumpy. It’s not my fault that people are so annoying they literally shaped my appearance.
He smiles again, the frown all gone, and crawls into my lap to kiss me. “I like your face.”
“Don’t try to distract me. What were you thinking about?” I try to be stern, but it’s hard when I have an lapful of Sam. No pun intended.
He sighs, and the frown comes back. “Alistair’s plot is getting out of hand.”
I try not to gloat. “I told you it was a stupid idea.”
Pinching me lightly, he argues, “It’s not stupid. It’s just… gone too far.”
“A surprise birthday party for David?” I roll my eyes. “It went too far the second he said those words out loud. David doesn’t like parties or surprises, and Alistair doesn’t know the meaning of low-key.”
Sam’s teeth worry at his bottom lip. “We’re fucked.”