Page 33 of Dizzy

I kick my heels against the drawers.

He stands in front of me, his body tight, tense.

I chew on my lower lip.

His eyes zone on my mouth. He lays his big hands on the top of my thighs. I stop kicking the cabinets.

“Thanks,” I mumble.

What would it be like if he kissed me? I bet that beard is scratchy.

He tucks a loose stand of hair behind my ear.

It’s so quiet, you can hear the clock tick.It’s Wine O’Clock.

“Are you okay, baby?”

I’m not sure what he’s asking, but he makes it sound like a serious question. He waits for me to answer, intent and still. Listening. Like he really wants to know. I can’t remember the last time anyone really wanted to know how I was doing. I don’t answer right away, nursing the moment out of pure selfishness.

“Fay-Lee?” There’s a hint of alarm in his voice.

“Yeah. I’m fine.”

I lean forward. He eases closer. His breath puffs warm across my lips. He’s gonna kiss me.

Do I want him to?

Two Tasmanian devils come tearing through the doorway, skidding in their socks, knocking into the table. One throws open the refrigerator while the other one cries and grabs his elbow and howls, faking as well as any dude I’ve ever seen fouled in soccer.

“What’s for dinner?” Parker’s the one in the fridge.

Carson’s the faker. “He pushed me!”

I hop down from the counter and sidle toward the exit.

“Stop.” Dizzy doesn’t even raise his voice, and they both go silent. “Remember where you are.”

Parker backs away from the fridge. Carson drops the crocodile tears.

“I’m ordering pizza.” Dizzy slides his phone from his pocket.

“Pepperoni?” Carson’s eyes light up. Dizzy raises an eyebrow. Carson’s shoulders slump, and he sighs.

“I hate mushrooms,” he says.

“You can pick ‘em off.” Dizzy raises his eyes to me. I pretend like I wasn’t sneaking away. “You eat mushrooms?”

“Sure.” My stomach growls. Carson snickers.

“Parker, you put these dishes in the dishwasher.” Dizzy jerks his chin down the hall. “Bathroom’s at the end. Towels are in the closet,” he says to me.

As I turn to leave, Parker whines, “Why should I do it? Isn’t that what we gotherfor?”

That little shit. I stop in my tracks, mouth open.

“Pardon?” Dizzy beats me to it, voice is completely even, but so ominous, goose bumps break out on my forearms. This kid is gonna get it.

“She’s our house mouse, ain’t she? That’s what Ernestine said. She cleans. Cooks. And wrecks the home.”

---