Page 14 of Good Boy

“Those are not the balloons I ordered.” Her luscious pink lips stick out in a pout, and I want to give them a nibble. But I’m sensing now isn’t a great time.

“Well, they sure are shiny,” Cindy says. “They’ll do, honey. Let’s not get all stress-y.” Cindy waves at her mother-in-law. “Thank you for picking up Nana at the airport, Blake.”

“Don’t mention it. We had a little scare there when the airline couldn’t find her luggage, but I calmed her down. I’m good at that. Right, Grann Cann?” I call over my shoulder.

“Everything is fine!” Granny yells. “Hi, Cindy! Let me see that dress. Lace, honey? That’s very mother-of-the-groom.” She cackles.

Cindy’s eyebrows lift. “Blake, is it possible that my mother-in-law has been drinking?”

“Well, she was pretty stressed out. I bought her a couple of beers while the airline guys ran around and found her luggage.”

“Oh dear,” Cindy says, marching off to check on Granny.

That leaves me and Jess alone, and she’s staring at me like she wants to rip off my clothes. Or just rip something. I’m not quite sure which.

“Those blue fingers have to go,” she hisses, low and threatening. “Where are the rest of the white ones?”

I shrug. “Didn’t need ’em, so I gave them to a kid who was having a birthday party. Man, that kid was stoked. Said he was going to try that thing where you hold ’em all and jump off the roof of the garage.”

“You gave away my balloons?” Jess’s face falls.

Oh hell. The thing is the Jess I met in Toronto this spring had a wicked laugh and a naughty sparkle in her eye. I thought she’d think these balloons were funny. They are funny. But the poor girl just can’t appreciate a joke right now, and that’s my bad. I should have known not to mess with a chick’s color scheme. My sisters would probably castrate me for less.

“Don’t be mad, Jessie. I’ll go back to the store.”

“They require twenty-four hours’ notice,” she whispers, her face reddening further.

I’m starting to feel uneasy for her. Apparently I’m not the only one, because a slender guy with a wave of perfect hair scurries up and starts waving his hands near her face.

“Breathe, sweetie. Give me some deep yoga breaths.”

“There aren’t breaths deep enough,” Jess insists. “If I’m jailed for murder, will you visit me?”

“Obvs,” the guy coos, kissing her cheek. Then he extends a hand to me but laughs when he realizes I can’t shake it because I’m holding something like a hundred balloons.

“I’m Blake Riley,” I offer.

“Dyson Hart.”

“Dyson, like the vacuum?”

“That’s right.” He gives me a sidelong glance. “Want a demonstration?”

“Dyson,” Jess snaps. “What did we talk about?”

The guy chuckles.

“Blake, this is Dyson. My boyfriend.”

Dyson chuckles again, and she elbows him. He holds out his hand. “Nice to meet you, hon.”

Jess sighs. “Okay, so we have half as many white balloons as we need. I’ll just make do.”

“What about these blue babies?” I look up at them glinting in the sunlight.

“They can go…by the porta-potties,” she grumbles.

“All right.” If it’ll cheer her up, I’m all for it. “Then it’s a real shame that some of ’em don’t say We’re Number Two.”

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