Page 7 of Tickled Pink

“Like, putting the new sheets on the guest bed,” she says, listing it off on her fingers. “And folding up the towels and putting them in the guest bathroom. All things I was supposed to do this morning but apparently you and Max’s penises have developed a Pavlovian response to my alarm clock.”

“We regret nothing.”

She playfully glares at me.

I laugh. “Okay, you focus on getting pretty, all right? I will make up the guest bed and fold the towels.”

Her head tilts, brow sharply cocked. “You saying I’m not pretty right now?”

I bite my cheek. “That’s not what I meant. And you know it.”

She smirks, so dang proud of herself. “Yes, I do.”

“Stop trying to put my foot in my mouth.” I point a stern finger. “I’ll bump you up to an eight on the roughness scale, so help me...”

She feigns a full-body shudder. “Oooh, and what makes an eight an eight, Mr. Hemsley?” she asks.

“My dick in your ass, that’s what.”

Phoebe snorts and throws her hair towel at me. I catch it easily and whip it up before tossing it in the hamper by the door.

“Go,” she says, shooing me away. “I’ll come help as soon as I’m pretty.”

“All right. Sheets in the laundry room?”

“Yes, sir.”

I take off toward the hallway, more than happy to help her out. Phoebe has been excited about this visit for weeks. I can’t say I can relate. I haven’t spoken to my father in nearly four years and it’s been ten since I’ve seen him face-to-face. My holidays are usually spent with chosen-family which, until this year, included Max and… that’s about it. Now that Phoebe is in my life, that list has doubled.

And let’s not forget Stinky.

I rush down to the ground floor and head toward the laundry room just beyond the kitchen. The new sheets are folded up there, just as Pheebs said they would be. I bend over to open the dryer and scoop out the towels waiting to be folded.

With them carefully stacked in a tall pile, I pick them up and take them upstairs to the third-floor guest room.

I hear the adorable tap of Phoebe’s shoes on the stairs before I’m halfway done fitting the sheets. She plows into the room and I pause, instantly as taken with her as I’ve been every day of the past year. And now, just like every other time, I kick myself for not seeing her sooner.

High school Thad was an idiot.

I won’t make the same mistakes he did.

Phoebe stops at the foot of the guest bed and presents herself. “How do I look?” she asks.

I smile as I fit a pillowcase onto a naked pillow. She’s dressed casually in a black blouse and a pair of blue jeans to match my jeans and sweater. Her red hair sits over her shoulders, lightly curled on the ends. Face pristine. Lips plump and pink.

I swoon.

“Perfect,” I say.

She forces a chuckle as she walks around the bed, smoothing out the fitted sheet with one hand as she moves. “You always say that.”

“I always mean it.”

Her cheeks burn. My perfect Phoebe Pink.

“I just want everything to go smoothly,” she says.

“They will.” I flip open the comforter and she snatches the other side to help stretch it across.

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