Page 86 of Delay of Game
THIRTY
ROB
“Fucking hell,”I swore, dropping the knife onto the clay and checking my other hand for a cut.
“You swore!” Mila called gleefully, dancing around the studio before holding out her hand in front of me.
After confirming I hadn’t drawn blood, I pulled my wallet out of my pocket and handed her another dollar. “This is some bull…garbage.”
The stack of dollar bills I’d pulled out of the bank from an unamused teller had dwindled down to five.
“Why can’t we just have adult words and kid words?” I grumbled as I stuffed my wallet into my back pocket.
“Do you really want to talk to the principal again?” Mom rolled out another slab of clay, covering it in plastic and setting it on the rapidly growing pile beside me.
“I didn’t know ‘ass’ was a swear word.” Mila pirouetted at the corner of the table and leapt toward Mom. “It’s just a part of the body.”
“Am I allowed to debate that with the principal?” I asked, earning a frown.
“I will not have my only grandbaby be the class potty mouth,” Mom hissed under her breath. “And it wouldn’t hurt you to expand your vocabulary beyond four-letter words, either.”
“How many more of these do I need to cut?” I asked, picking up the knife again and redoubling my efforts not to slice the shit out of my hand three days before a game.
Mila climbed off the bus an hour ago, and the caterers were in the brewery, setting up dinner for after the team made their steins. All I had to do was cut the damn things, which proved harder and took longer than I expected.
“Those in front of you and five more.” Mom rolled another slab of clay through the press.
“I’m not going to finish in time,” I grumbled. Worse, I’d waste the next three hours helping a bunch of jackals build steins and then spend the next three days applying slip and coils to ensure their steins didn’t crack.
“Gracie should be here any minute to help.”
My ears perked. “Astrid? She’s coming here?”
I hadn’t seen her since the disastrous day with Fieste, but her words will rattled around in my head.
You aren’t acting like you want me.
I tipped my head back. “Why, exactly?”
“Because she’s another set of hands, and she knows what she’s doing. She can help. Besides, I like her, and I thought you did, too.”
I did like Astrid. That was the entire problem. I liked her so much that I made piss poor decisions, like acting like a goddamn high schooler around her.
“Ms. Evans is coming over?” Mila crowed. “I’ll have someone to play with.”
“She’ll be helping the players, sweetie,” Mom said. “Besides, we need your help, too.”
She nodded, bouncing foot to foot. “I can help. I’m a very good helper.”
“Hello!”
I straightened, focus off the knife and onto the doorway as Astrid walked through. She wore a faded pair of overalls splattered in paint over a black crop top that showed a small patch of skin on either side that my fingers itched to touch. She beamed, cheeks pink and teeth bright white. Her mossy green eyes fixed on mine only for a moment before Mila launched at her knees.
“Ms. Evans!”
“Hey, Mila.” Astrid sank down as Mila monkey gripped her shoulders, pulling her legs around her waist. “How was the ride home from school?”
“Boring. Daddy wouldn’t play ‘Johnny was a troublemaker.’”
