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“Oh, well, you know. I had some work I had to do,” I say, turning to fiddle with the perfectly secure straps attached to Sparrow’s harness.
She stomps happily, bending to sniff the hand Marcus helps Yennifer hold out to her. When her lips gently nibble her palm, Yennifer screeches with glee and the smile Marcus gives them hits me smack dab in the uterus.
“Oh, baby Jesus.” I jump when I look over the half-wall to find Penelope’s eyes narrowed.
She clucks her tongue. “Work, huh?”
“Mm-hmm. Lots of intense writing.”
Marcus flicks her an annoyed glare from where he’s sopping the sponge in water.
“And what’s your excuse?” she asks him.
“None of your business, for starters.”
“Miss Penelope, what’s this dangly thingy on Churro’s belly?” Tobias’s voice sounds from behind her.
Her eyes bulge before she whips around. “Oh my god, no. Don’t touch it!”
The three of us snicker as Marcus grabs the hose attachment and turns the knob to a comfortable pressure for Sparrow. When he offers it to Yennifer, she gives me a goofy grin. “Sariah was almost too nervous to sing her solo, but luckily, Jingles kept her company on stage, and she loosened up.”
“Damn good mayor, that goat,” I joke, leaning an elbow on top of the stone wall.
“I hate him,” Penelope grumbles, resting her forearms beside me. “At one point, I literally had to cuff him to my wrist to keep him from wandering off. ThankgodI didn’t lose the keys.”
“Been there,” Marcus mumbles before squatting to help Yennifer guide the hose up and down Sparrow’s legs.
Penelope blanches while I quirk a brow. “Speaking from experience, are we?”
“Yes,” she adds. “Do enlighten us on how you handcuffed yourself to a goat, cousin.”
“Not a goat. I meant losing the keys.” He shakes his head with a breathy chuckle. “All I’m saying is, handcuffs can be tricky.” To me, he gives another playful wink. “If not versatile.”
I squint as if studying him, then lift my hands as if to frame his face before offering Penelope a view. “Do you think Marcus’s head has always been this big or has sucking the necks of all his pretty victims made it double in size?”
Penelope snorts when he bares his teeth, as if he actually has fangs, and tosses a wet sponge at him. “You missed a spot, fat head.”
* * *
Later in the afternoon, just as I’m finishing laying out feed for the demon chickens, Marcus heads for the barn with Sparrow in tow. He catches my eye with a sexy tilt to his lips, and that come-hither grin sends bubbles of excitement through my bloodstream, beckoning me like a bee to sweet, precious nectar.
We pack a backpack with some snacks and towels, and with Jango hot on our heels, we ride Sparrow down to our spot on the river for a dip.
After a naked swim, we end up lying on our backs with our furry friends, staring up at the brilliant blue sky. The late afternoon sun and warm, balmy breeze dry the droplets from our naked skin as I listen to him recount a time when he and Penelope caught a cat in these woods.
“You named the cat Orange?” I ask around a bite of one of the protein bars he had packed for us.
“It was my favorite color at the time,” he says, taking the other half when I offer it and smiles up at a cloud floating by. “And I love orange juice.”
According to theHow Well Do You Know Marcus Matthewsonline quiz, he hates orange juice, but I wouldn’t dare let him know I’ve ever taken it. He’d never let me live it down.
When his head lolls my way, he says, “Don’t laugh, but I once made up an entire backstory for an imaginary band called The Juicers.”
I curl my lips under my teeth, because how the hell am I supposed to not find that funny?
“Can youpeelthe love tonight? I’m not the man Ijuicedto be. Better late thannavel.” Marcus’s eyes crinkle as he turns back to the sky. “Our greatest hits—beloved by our fans, the ‘Juice Heads’ of course.”
Jango’s sun-kissed fur warms my side as I gently stroke his fur. “I think you’re more likely to have oranges thrown at you than have any adoring fans.”
