Page 66 of The Kiss Principle

“Your face! You are totally doing the babysitter.” Chuy burst out laughing, “Jesus, Fer.”

“All right, fine! We hooked up. Or something.”

“Oh my God, do you like him?”

I wrapped my hands around the steering wheel and stared out the windshield. “Maybe I do. Is that a problem?”

“Do you mean, is it a problem that you like to double dip? Uh, no. I’ve known that about you since you were fourteen and you forgot to clear the cache on the computer.”

“What the hell—”

“On the other hand, if you mean, is it a problem that you’re boinking the person responsible for keeping your life from turning into a flaming shit-fire, the answer is: it depends on whether you’re going to fuck it up.”

I wiped my forehead; sweat dampened my hairline. It was hard to get my voice to sound normal when I said, “I don’t want to fuck it up.”

“Then don’t.” A grin lolled across his face. “It would be a real fucking shame if Gus-Gus were the shining example of a healthy relationship in this family.”

“Good Christ. Did you see that fucking video when his pet dinosaur hugs him from behind? I swear to God you can see him chub up.”

It was easy, after that, to spend the rest of the drive talking shit about Augustus.

By the time we got home, it was dark. The living room lights were on. Zé had waited up, I thought. Or maybe not. Maybe he was just reading on his phone. Maybe he couldn’t sleep. But maybe he’d wanted to make sure I got home. Maybe he’d been a little worried. And we’d have to stay up for a while so I could tell him about the drive. Tell him everything, actually.

When I stepped inside, he was sprawled on the sofa, head pillowed on one arm. His head came up, and a red mark on the side of his face told me he’d been sleeping. He pushed back his hair and said muzzily, “You’re home.”

“We’re home. Chuy, this is Zé. Zé, Chuy.”

Chuy was giving him a once-over. Then he wolf-whistled and gave me a thumbs-up.

Zé groaned.

“Dumbass,” I said, giving Chuy a shove. “Do you not have two fucking brain cells to rub together?”

“What?” Chuy said, and he was laughing. “You did a good job. For once.”

“Where’s Igz?”

Zé rubbed his eyes. “Your mom still has her. She and Cannon are—”

A door opened down the hall, and a moment later, Mom and Cannon appeared. Mom was clearly in her comfy clothes—matching sweats and only sixty percent of her usual amount of jewelry and makeup—and carrying Igz, who looked fussy and tired. That made sense, since she should have been in her crib hours ago. Cannon was in a tank and shorts, and he was practically bouncing at her heels. He gave Chuy a long, considering look. Judging his fresh competition, I figured.

“Why isn’t Igz—”

“I want him out of this house.” She pointed at Zé and then, of all things, covered Igz’s ear. “I want him out right now. I want you to make him leave. And we’re going to need to change the locks.”

Zé’s fuzzy eyebrows drew together, and he looked at me.

Unhappiness settled over Chuy’s face. “Mom—”

“Right now, Fernando. Did you hear me? I want him out of this house.”

“What—” Zé began, and he started trying to rise.

“What the fuck are you talking about?” I asked. To Zé, I said, “Sit down. You’re not going anywhere.”

“Yes, you are.” Mom rounded on him. “Get your stuff and go. I want you to leave.” Her voice rose, taking on an edge. “Right now!”

“Are you out of your fucking mind?” I asked. “Zé, sit down! Zé is the best thing that’s happened to this family in a long time. What the hell crawled up your ass?”

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