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“Auntie,” he laughs, “that was almost as good as that time you were too oily and swid off your fwoat at the water park and had to swide down on your bare butt.”
Oh God, I don’t wanna remember that. My ass hurts just thinking about the wedgie I was sure I was going to have to surgically remove that day after our trip to the waterpark. Belle’s eyes are wide, and I can tell the questions are coming. That little girl, her mind is always going.
“What happened in here, guys?” I ask, raising myself to a sitting position.
“Kenny wouldn’t wisten,” Belle is all too quick to explain, huffing as she palms her face. “But he is a boy.” She shrugs as if saying that explains it; he is a boy so he doesn’t listen, but what can you do. That kid.
“I wisten! You’s wrong.” Kenny points his little finger at her animatedly.
I sigh to nobody in particular and survey the damage. Chocolate syrup lines the marble countertop, the bottle turned over on its side, and the contents running out. Ah! That would explain the liquid mess that is currently coating my ass and legs and the reason for my spill into the kitchen. Heaps of powdered sugar coats the countertops, a dusting sprinkled around the floor and the edges of both kiddo’s mouths. Ah shit—they’ve been eating straight sugar.
“What is the oven doing open?” I ask incredulously. “You’re too little to use an Easy Bake, let alone the real deal there, Martha Stewart.”
“Who’s Martha Stewart?” Ken-man shrugs and looks at Belle, who is already preparing her argument.
“We’s gettin’ it ready, JoJo,” Belle explains as if I’m an idiot for even asking. I shake my head and fight back a chuckle. These two—I never know what to do with them. They’re so damn cute it’s almost impossible to stay mad at them. I normally leave the scolding to the parents. I’m the cool aunt to Kenny and Belle’s new BFF.
“Can we still bake cookies, Auntie?” Kenny asks, eyes all drooped. Shit, he’s been hanging out with Belle too much. She’s taught him the puppy dog eyes.
And because they both have me wrapped around their stubby sugar and chocolate-coated fingers, I relent and agree.
“Yep, but we gotta get this mess cleaned up before M …" My sentence is cut off by the sound of the front door opening and two voices unmistakably bickering at each other. It only takes a couple words for me to recognize the voices as Maverick and Bryn. Those two are a textbook case of sexual frustration and hate fucking.
“What’s the matter, manwhore?” Bryn’s voice is laced in venom. “Run out of willing holes to keep you busy on a Friday night?”
I hear Maverick chuckle as their voices get closer to the kitchen. I need to warn them about being careful where they step, but I’m too interested in what his comeback will be.
“I’m still waiting for you to pencil me in,” he retorts with a snide smirk, leaving her behind him with her hands on her hips and fire billowing from her ears as he steps across the threshold into the kitchen.
“WAIT...” I yell, but it’s too late. Like a scene from a circus act, Maverick’s arms flail wildly as his feet slide in opposite directions. It plays out like I’m watching in slow motion. Desperate to break his fall, he grasps for anything to hold on to which unfortunately ends up being Bryn’s waist. Holy shitballs, this is so not going to be good. Bryn lets out high pitched, “What the fuck,” before Maverick lands directly on his ass beside me on the tile floor, and Bryn topples down with him. Her head is cradled in Maverick’s lap, and her legs are tangled around mine. How the hell is it that all three supposed adults in the room are the ones covered in gunk and splayed across the floor?
“Is that fuckin’ chocolate?” Bryn shrieks, studying her arm. The expression on her face could only be understood as sheer terror. “Jo, please tell me that’s chocolate and not shit?”
“That’s five dollas each time you’s say a dirty word!” Belle informs them, shaking her finger at them. “You’s both said the dirty words. Lots!”
“Fuuuu—nky.” Maverick catches himself. The guys have been trying to clean up their language around her. Bryn and I snort at his attempt to cover up the language violation.
“Let’s go, Belle,” Kenny says. “We’s can watch Spongebob.”
“Yeah!” She claps, then waves her hand as she steps overtop of me. “They’s old. It will take them at least one episode to get up from there.”
“I am not old,” I tell their retreating backs, still covered in sugar that will no doubt have to be scrubbed from the couch later. Madden is so gonna spank my ass.
“Little shits,” Maverick mumbles.
“Five more dollas,” Belle shouts from the next room.
“That kid,” Bryn says, laughing, “I kind of want to steal her.”
“Belle likes me best,” Maverick chimes in, and I pat his shoulder as if I’m pacifying him because, well, that’s simply not true. Belle loves me the best.
“Speaking of S-H-I-T,” Bryn says, making sure to spell and not gain herself another five-dollar citation. She motions to her arm. “This is not that, right?” she asks, nodding toward the dark brown liquid gathered on her wrist. Before I can assure her it is in fact chocolate, Maverick dips his head and proceeds to lick the chocolate from her wrist, seductively. Holy hell, it’s like watching real live porn from the front row.
“What the fuck?” comes from the back door. Madden has picked that exact moment to walk in. Maverick, Bryn, and I are covered in sugar and chocolate splayed out on top of each other on our kitchen floor, and Maverick is licking chocolate off of Bryn’s body. Madden’s mind has gone straight to the gutter, and I don’t blame him; mine did too. Bryn and I bust out laughing, and Maverick shrugs like this is a natural predicament for him. Like he gets caught on the floor with two women licking chocolate from their bodies on the daily. Hell, based on the stories I’ve heard, it probably is.
“I always miss the good stuff,” comes from Carter who’s now standing behind Madden.
Madden makes his way over to me and pulls me up into his strong arms, which keep getting more defined. I love to watch him workout; it’s so freaking hot. He takes in my current state, chocolate all over my ass, sugar in my hair, and shakes his head. He takes in the rest of the mess that is our kitchen with a sugar-coating. I know what he’s going to say before he even gets one word out.
