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I scoffed as Emilia laughed. It was a familiar argument that none of us took seriously. The chance of my brother trying to make a move on my girl was about as likely as being killed by a falling meteor.
“So, no practice today?” Rumi asked as we headed home. My brother was annoying, but I actually liked when he rode with us because it meant that Emilia would sit in the middle seat, pressed against me from shoulder to thigh.
“It’s a rare break,” she replied, leaning her head against my arm. “Only a week, though.”
“Damn, girl,” Rumi said, rolling down his window. “You work too hard.”
“Don’t light up in here, man,” I ordered as he reached toward his pocket. “She can’t go home smelling like weed.”
“I rolled the window down!”
“You’re sittin’ right next to her, dipshit.”
“Fine.”
“We’re almost home anyway,” I said, pulling onto our driveway. “Go out back and smoke.”
“Mom’s got a nose like a bloodhound,” Rumi grumbled, using both hands to smooth his hair away from his face. “She’s caught me like seven times.”
“Maybe you should stop smoking?” Emilia asked sarcastically.
“Never,” he shot back. He hopped out of the truck the minute I’d rolled to a stop.
“He’s such a pain in the ass.”
“He’s adorable,” Emilia replied, elbowing me lightly in the side. “He’s like a golden retriever.”
“Oh, yeah?” I asked, putting the truck in park. “What am I?”
She tilted her head to the side and stared at me. “A bulldog,” she said finally, her lips twitching.
“Ouch!” I hit the buckles on our seat belts and reached for her, jabbing my fingers into her ribs the way I knew would have her jumping out of her skin.
“Michael,” she screeched, pushing at my hands. Her whole body shook with laughter. “It wasn’t a burn!”
“I amoffended.” I chased her across the seat as she struggled to escape.
“You’re muscular,” she yelled. “Your shoulders are massive!”
“Well,” I said, pausing. “I like where this is going.” I made a face at her, pushing my bottom jaw forward so it looked like I had a severe underbite.
“Oh, my god,” she said, wheezing. “Quit it.”
“Why?” I asked, spitting a little as I held my jaw forward. “I’m a bulldog.”
“You’re a lunatic,” she argued, scrunching her nose. “But I love you anyway.”
“Good,” I said, smiling down at her. “’Cause I’m crazy for you.”
“Or maybe just crazy?”
“Nah, it’s all for you, sugar.”
“Michael Asa Hawthorne,” my mom said, knocking on the window behind me. “Stop molesting that girl in the driveway and come help me with the groceries.”
“Hi, Mrs. Hawthorne,” Emilia said, leaning around me so she could smile at my mom.
“Emmy, if you don’t call me Heather, I’m going to start making you do chores,” my mom replied. “Looking good, sweetheart. Love the hair.”
