Page 22 of The Gaybor War

He exhales through his nose, two seconds away from throttling me—or kissing me just to shut me up. The tension sizzles for one absurdly long heartbeat.

Then Eunice’s voice carries from somewhere down the street. "Someone’s lemonade tastes suspiciously like vodka!"

I raise my cup. "Not it."

Carter stares at me. "You’re chaos personified."

"And you’re fun-deprived," I shoot back. "Opposites attract."

He groans and walks off, muttering, "This neighborhood’s going to give me an ulcer."

By early afternoon, the street looks like a pastel battlefield. Half the residents are sunburned, someone’s Bluetooth speaker is blasting ABBA, and I’ve reached the point where even my sunglasses feel sweaty.

I’m about to start packing up when I hear Kiki shrieking, "Dylan! What are you doing?!"

My head snaps up. Across the lawn, her two youngest are playing catch with—oh my God.

"Oh no," I whisper. "Oh no no no."

It’s unmistakable. Neon pink, silicone, battery-operated, and currently mid-air between two giggling children.

"Put that down!" Kiki yells, diving as if she’s in an Olympic event. The kids miss the catch, and the thing hits the pavement with a tragic buzz-bounce-buzz.

The entire street goes silent. Even ‌ABBA dies off.

Candace covers her mouth. "Please tell me that’s a dog toy."

Shania squints. "Not unless it’s for a very… specific breed."

Malia chokes on what I’m sure is alcohol-laced coffee. "Oh my God, who was selling that?"

All eyes swivel toward Eunice’s table, where she’s staring at an empty box labeled ‘Misc. Personal Items – $1 Each.’

Eunice gasps, hand to her chest. "That was supposed to go to Goodwill!"

"Oh, honey," I say, trying not to laugh, "you’re about to be very well known at Goodwill." Honestly, how is that a donatable item?

Kiki finally snatches it up, holding it by the tip as if it’s radioactive. "My kids just played catch with a⁠—"

"Don’t finish that sentence!" I interrupt, waving my hands. "We don’t need it on record!"

From across the street, Carter groans into his palms. "This neighborhood is a lawsuit waiting to happen."

I take it in stride. "Actually, it’s very on brand for this neighborhood."

Kiki glares at me, cheeks glowing red. "You think this is funny?"

"Yes," I say. "But also traumatic."

She sighs and storms off toward her house, muttering something about holy water. The crowd disperses in awkward laughter, and the tension breaks like a popped balloon.

Carter’s still watching me when I glance over—arms crossed, expression halfway between horror and amusement.

"You really don’t seem fazed by any of this," he observes.

I shrug. "I live here. Nothing surprises me anymore."

"Nothing?"