Page 52 of How to Prevent a Fumble

See? Easy peasy. I’m sure I’ll get a call about some sort of video going around tomorrow morning.

But knowing it won’t be negative this time brings a small smile to my face.

“The ice is way better,” I tell her, shoveling a large spoonful of Italian ice into my mouth.

She shakes her head, pointing her spoon at me. “Incorrect. Have you even tried this? The ice with the custard? Absolute heaven.”

“What flavors did you get again?”

“Root beer ice with vanilla custard,” she tells me, proudly showing me her mostly empty cup.

I turn my nose up. “Disgusting.”

“What?”

“Root beer. Nasty.”

“Warner, you need to watch your mouth. Seriously. Those are fighting words.”

I smile. “Who am I going to fight here?”

She takes a bite of her disgusting concoction. “Don’t make me stick the six-year-old on you, Leo.”

I fight the laugh threatening to spill out of me, but it’s no use. “The six-year-old? You’re going to stick Elara on me?”

Briar puts down her cup, leaning back on the stool and crossing her arms. “Six-year-olds are terrifying, Warner. Don’t you dare underestimate that sweet little face. She once told me my left boob looked too lopsided and how in the world was I supposed to find her a dad that way?”

I cackle. “Was it?” I ask before I can stop myself.

Her eyes go wide, and I watch as she bites her cheek to stop herself from smiling. “Was what?”

“Was your boob lopsided?”

She considers this for a moment. “I mean probably. Boobs are naturally a little lopsided. Whatever I was wearing probably just made it look extra bad.

Why are we talking about this?I think. Why am I here fighting for my life not to look down just a little. Just a quick peek.

I won’t do it. Nope.

Just when I’m about to open my mouth, I hear a loud noise from the apartment next door, causing both Briar and I to straighten.

“You know you have to tell them before they see it themselves, right?” Briar nearly whispers.

“Why are you talking so softly?” I whisper back.

“I don’t know, it just feels like the right thing to do.”

But she’s right.

“I really don’t want to though,” I whine, tossing my head back.

“I think now is the perfect time.”

If any photos come out from our time out and about, Owen is going to murder me.

Actually, no. Owen may not murder me, but Isla sure will.

With a deep breath, I reach for my spare key to Isla’s apartment. The same spare key I have to give Owen back, considering he just bought the place.

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