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Chapter Sixteen
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“Boom chaka laka!” Franz spun a full circle in the middle of Z’s den. “Game, set, and match!”
“Yep. Guess it is. Good job, dude.” Luke, standing a few feet away, shook his head—but by the time the kid’s “sheepish” glance was visible past the flop of his trendy haircut, his jig was up. Not only was the teen an awful actor; he’d borrowed the expression right out of his mother’s playbook, meaning Franz’s victory had just turned into a fresh challenge. How did a guy hide a fresh erection, courtesy of the mother of the kid still delivering a fake smirk and finger-twirling a video game controller?
His skill at creative body language had never come in handy more. Shoving his empty hand in front of the stiffy, he quickly crossed the opposite on top then rocked back, going for a mix of hip-hop star and casual suspicion that probably appeared more like an older dude being a complete dork-ass.
And sometimes, dork-ass had to be good enough from the neck down. He made up for the deficiency with a healthy dose of the dragon glare, flung at the kid with one brow ticked, menacing jaw jabbed.
“Yeah?” he added, going all-business with that too. “Good game? You really think so?”
Luke shuffled back by a step. Averted his gaze. “Totally. You been practicing on the backhand?”
“Have you been practicing on the window washing?”
Chuffs were cute when teenagers tried them. “Huh?”
“You’re as transparent as a Windex commercial.”
“Huh?”
“Come on.” He folded his arms. “Your mom told you to throw it, didn’t she?”
“What?” Another shake of the shag. “No. Sheez.”
From the recliner behind Luke, a girlish snicker swirled out. The chair was rotated by a foot in bright pink socks, until Mia appeared. “Toss it in, Jedi. Don’t you know when a senior’s onto you?”
Franz exchanged a glance with Luke—as dudes newly united on the same side. There were cool ways to mitigate shit between dudes, none of them including cute nicknames. From the open pout on her face, he guessed Mia was aware of the rule and went there anyway. Part of him couldn’t blame her. While he’d worked with Rayna to disguise the kids enough that they could go out for quick supervised walks with Z, the novelty of this experience had worn off on them after two days. It felt like prison and he knew it. They were all feeling the strain.
Bitter as the conclusion was, it brought blaring justification about the plans he’d made for tonight—if that was what he could call them. What would he call them?
Another issue for another minute. Right now, Luke became priority again—looking like he wanted to throw Mia and the chair right through the window behind the drawn drapes. “Do not keep calling me that. Please.”
Mia rolled her eyes. “‘Please’ doesn’t count when you don’t mean it.”
“Shit.”
“Not nice, Jedi!”
“How about the first hundred times I did ask you nice?”
“Okay. Whoa.” John hurled the controller to the couch—no hard-on to stress about anymore—and planted himself between the teens. “Back to your cages, heathens.”
Luke flung his own controller the same direction. “Life is a cage, Franzen. Deal with it.”
John chomped the inside of his cheek to keep from pummeling the kid’s emo moment with a laugh. But hell, was he tempted. Strongly. Luke was a damn fine kid, but puberty as a politician’s kid had to be the worst under normal conditions, especially without a father. And There was the ultimate clincher, dampening Franz enough to simply watch as Luke skulked out of the room. As he watched the boy disappear around the corner into the kitchen, all slumped shoulders and brooding angst, he relished the chance to finally indulge his chuckle—
Only to find it gone.
Every last trace.
Instead, Franz rubbed hard at his chest—and the anvil that had landed there instead.
Mia’s tearful sigh thickened the Les Miz pathos in the air. “I’m really sorry,” she whispered. “I—I didn’t mean it.”
Franz glanced back. The girl sat on the recliner now, head hunched into her hands. He ruffled the top of her blonde curls. “Of course you didn’t, kaikamahine.”
