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Lucius stares at me, his dark, ominous eyes beneath heavy, unruly eyebrows. “Even the therapist you got me is scared of me.”
“Is not. He’s just not used to hearing some of the shit you have to say. He’s not scared, he’s wary. And he fucking should be. He knows too much.”
Loosh doesn’t look convinced in the slightest.
“Well, I’m not afraid of you, Loosh,” I say. “And neither are Kira and Curty. It’s in your head. And you probably wouldn’t scare your shrink as much if you tried to be a little less intense looking when you stare at people. If you glare at your therapist, he’ll probably assume you’re thinking about ways to pin him down or murder him.”
He shrugs. “Sometimes I am.”
“I’m guessing he’s not into that sort of thing, then,” I say casually, so I don’t make Loosh more uncomfortable about his issues. “But some people enjoy feeling like prey. And some of them are women who’d love a big, hairy man to rough them like a beast. Find one of them and look intensely at her, instead. Okay?”
“I don’t want prey. And I don’t want a woman. I’d only put her in danger.” He glances at the house, to where my woman is suffering because I was young and thinking with my dick too much, to make the same smart choice he has.
“Jack will be powerless by Christmas,” I mumble quietly.
Loosh narrows his eyes at me. “She’d be in danger fromme,” he clarifies.
I look him over and shake my head. “You’ll be fine. Just don’t hate-fuck anyone with your Sasquatch dick and gorilla arms, and it’ll all be okay.”
He grunts softly and tilts his head to where Curty is approaching with not just my tape measure, but also my entire toolbox. It’s half his size, and he’s struggling along, leaning backward and using his whole body as a counterweight so he can waddle with it.
“I’ll take that, sport.” I jog over, to relieve him of it. “Can’t send you back to your mom with a hernia. You’re only nine. Hernias are for old men and weightlifters.”
“What’s a hernia again?” he asks, falling into step beside me by taking two to my every one.
“When the inner lining that holds your internal organs in place rips open, and your guts fall out the hole, to look all lumpy and gross under your skin, until you push them back inside and get the gash stitched closed,” Loosh says.
I look between his I’m-being-helpful face and Curty’s wrinkled nose, and groan. “Less graphic descriptions around kids, remember, Loosh?”
“That was the less graphic version,” he says before looking at Curty and grunting. “His mom’s a nurse. He’s probably heard way worse shit.”
“I have,” Curty says proudly. “Mom’s got heaps of stories that are way worse than hernias. This one time, she got vomited on so bad, she had to pour it out of her shoes. People are gross.”
I nod. “They can be. So show me this tree. Is it that one?” I point out a tall, solid-looking oak that gives the perfect amount of shade for us gingers to hide from the worst of the sun. “It’s pretty impressive.”
“Told you,” Curty says with a grin.
“Yeah — well — don’t get too excited until I’ve climbed up and checked for rot. There’s no point, building a house that’ll only fall on the next windy day. Any building needs a…?”
“Strong foundation,” Curty finishes in a serious tone, all business, when it comes to construction.
“Exactly,” I say, unable to keep the pride from my voice. “So gimme a sec, to test out the strength of these branches, okay?”
I set down my tools, jump for the nearest branch, and pull myself up.
Curty doesn’t hide his envy. “Whoa. How did you do that?” he asks, reaching up and not even coming close to the lowest branch until Loosh links his hands in a cradle for his foot and gives him a boost.
Curty scrambles onto the tree limb, looks up at me, and moves along to climb the next one. “Do you think I’ll be as tall as you guys when I’m older?”
“Dunno, kid. Your mom’s a short-ass, so it’s hard to say,” I reply, looking around for my next hold. “You be careful, now. Watch what you’re doing and make good choices. Three points of contact on the tree.”
“I got it.” He moves pretty easily, until he can’t make it any higher without more help. “You see any rot up there?” he calls up to me.
“Looking good so far,” I tell him.
I work my way around the tree until I’m facing the house. I have a view right into the second-floor window, and I nearly lose my grip and fall when I see Kira sitting just inside, with her legs splayed, hand rubbing where her clit must be swelling and excited inside her pink panties — which she’s making darker by the second, where her cunt juices are soaking the crotch
“Holy fucking shit,” I sputter.
