Page 33 of Married with Mayhem

“Why?”

“He said he wanted his head to be as smooth as a baseball.”

Everyone (EVERYONE!)in the room breaks into mocking laughter.

“Why in the hell did you show her the old photo album?” I grumble to my dad.

He snorts and rolls his eyes. “Relax. She was asking questions about what you were like as a kid so I figured this was the best way to answer them.”

Sabrina takes a break from studying the photo album and points. “Where’d you get that?”

I’d forgotten all about the giant soft pretzel I was holding. “Found it in the street.”

“You bought me a pretzel, didn’t you? You didn’t buy it for yourself. I know you don’t like them.”

“I told you I found it in the street.”

“Freshly baked and wrapped in wax paper?” Sabrina lunges for the pretzel but I hold it out of her reach.

Her mouth flexes into a pout. “What do I have to do to get my pretzel?” she whines.

A few incredibly filthy suggestions jump into my head but they definitely can’t be said while my father stands four feet away with his arms sternly crossed.

“Here’s your pretzel, princess.” I hand the stupid thing to her.

Immediately, I feel like an asshole when she lights up with a beautiful smile. “Thank you, Monte.”

She reminds me of those old candy commercials. First they taste sour, then they taste sweet. That’s Sabrina in a nutshell. Just when she brings you the brink of imploding with frustration she manages to melt your heart.

Sabrina breaks off a piece of the pretzel and pushes it between her lips while turning the album pages. My mind veers straight to the gutter.

“What did you win this trophy for?” she asks. Her tongue darts out to lick a salt fragment from her lower lip.

I don’t fucking care about a trophy because I’m hypnotized by her mouth. “What?”

She holds up the photo album. “You’re all dressed up and posing with a trophy but I can’t read what it says.”

My dad peers over her shoulder. “Talent show. He won first prize. What was it you sang again?”

“I have no memory of this,” I mutter. I’m lying.

Sabrina sets her pretzel down and studies me with fresh interest. “Monte, I didn’t know you could sing. Let’s hear it.”

“No. Must have been a one time thing.”

“He’s being modest,” my dad says and clamps a hand on my shoulder. “My boy’s got a great set of pipes. He definitely missed his calling.”

“What are we talking about?” says my brother, who has arrived on the scene just in time to torment me.

“Monte’s gift for singing,” Sabrina says. “Do you remember when he won a talent competition?”

Nico takes a seat beside Sabrina and glances at the photo album. “Sure. That was at school. He took first place. He sangThat’s Amore.”

“He did?” Sabrina couldn’t be more delighted if a bushel of pretzels just landed in her lap.

“Yup,” says Nico, cheerfully ignoring my glare of threatened death. “Now he just sings in the shower. I’m surprised you haven’t heard him.”

“Why haven’t I heard you singing in the shower?” Sabrina asks. “Show me.”

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