AllFreeNovel
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“Do. Not. Go. With that one.”
“Fine.” Our stares lock once more. “I’ll just say hi.”
The expression on my face remains firm. “Do I need to remind youwhichpart of your body you do that with?”
“My tongue.”
“Kolby.”
“As in the wordsrolloff my tongue and out of mymouth,” he back tracks in the least clever way possible, impish grin growing in nature. “Seriously. Be a good winger and-”
“No.”
“But-”
“No.”
“Come on, Big Bro. Don’t you want nieces or nephews?”
“I have those.”
“From me.”
“No.”
His crystal gaze that matches mine narrows in a taunting fashion. “I bet Lair Bear and Lu want more cousins.”
“I bet they don’t.” We move up one position closer to checking out. “Hell, I bet if you ask ‘em that shit right now, they’ll tell you they’ve already got too many. They don’t exactly love sharin’ one set of grandparents. You really think they wanna share the other?”
My daughters aren’t above average selfish – at least according to Angel Cake, her algorithms, and analysis of their word choices – but they relish the attention and affection and adventures they get to have withallof our parents. I mean what kids wouldn’t love getting to go to Disney or skiing or snorkeling with the turtles on a random Tuesday only to then go camping or horseback riding or to Legoland two days later? Between my parents and stepparents and Arley’sretiredparents, there is no shortage of whisk them away moments, even if away is just to the local bookstore for aPete the Catread along. Those moments are a littlelesswith Arley’s side since all of her brothers have kids now, and our girls – bless their tiny hearts – have objected to the split grandparents custody situation in their own ways.
I was the one that had to break it to them after Thanksgiving that they couldn’t include “not sharing Pop and GG” on their Christmas list to Santa.
That in itself was like stepping on verbal landmines.
Pretty sure that’s how Santa ended up spendingtwicethe amount he did last year.
Not including the few last-minute items, I threw in our cart today.
What can I say?
They can never have too many pairs of cowgirl boots.
“Slater,” Kolby practically whines, gingerbread sweater covered frame dramatically sagging, “give me like five.”
“Two.”
He immediately perks up and flashes me an arrogant smirk. “I can put the sin in the bin in that amount of time.”
Not rolling my eyes is impossible.
“I’ve done more with less.”
“I don’t wanna hear about it.”
“Ya sure?” His credit card shifts from his possession to mine. “I ain’t above swappin’ whore stories if you aren’t.”
“War stories, puck head.”
