Page 188 of The Path to Loving Him
“Okay, no butt eating,” I say, causing Gabby to snort.
“Why not?” Mac asks.
“Because it’s inappropriate to eat butts.”
“But Uncle Hayes said he was going to eat Aunt Hattie’s butt, and she laughed.”
Jesus Christ.
“They shouldn’t have said that,” I say, making a note to have a conversation with my sister about appropriate language around a four-year-old.
“Then they need to get in trouble,” Mac says and then makes Chewy Charles attack my neck.
“Gentle,” I remind her as I’m starting to gain feeling back in my legs.
“They said you don’t taste good. You’re rotten.” And then she takes off toward the swing with the Chewys.
“Probably because my balls are now expired, and the rest of my body has turned to rot.”
“You realize that your balls don’t control your entire body,” Gabby whispers.
“Right now, they do,” I say as I start to roll over but check for the gremlin first. When she’s firmly set in swinging, I sit up and bring my knees to my chest. “Christ.”
“Are you going to need me to gently take care of your sensitive bits tonight?”
“That’s if I have any left.”
Gabby rolls her eyes and stands. “You’re being very dramatic.”
“You didn’t just get a sword plowed between your legs.”
She leans down and whispers, “Pretty sure I did over a week ago . . . and I survived.” She winks and then takes off toward the swing, where she pushes Mac.
“Is Gabby home?” Mac asks as she picks up a raspberry and puts it on her finger.
“I don’t know,” I answer even though I know damn well that she is and that she’s cooking some pasta dish for herself, completely naked. She sent a picture, and I nearly came in my goddamn pants.
“I like her,” Mac says.
“Oh, you do?”
Mac nods and places another raspberry on her finger, lining them up to look like alien hands. It’s how she eats them best. “She’s nice and she likes to play with me. Do you think she’ll play with me after dinner?”
“Uh . . . not sure. She might be doing her own things.”
And this is what I was sort of worried about, Mac getting attached. And it’s not like Gabby has been over at all when Mac has been awake. She played with her on Tuesday when I had my world rocked by a sword, and that was it. But ever since then, Mac has been asking about Gabby. Over and over again.
Now that it’s Thursday, I think I might have a problem on my hands, and I don’t know how to handle it.
“Can you ask her if she wants to play?”
Trying to take a different approach, I say, “Are you getting bored with your uncle? You have to recruit someone else to play with?”
Her brow forms a V. “No,” she says loudly. “You’re my best friend. I can’t get bored of you.”
Well, Christ. Way to get me in the fucking feels.
“But I like Gabby.”
