Page 77 of Papa's Bébé
She let out a disgruntled sigh.
Dougie, who was lying on her lap, let out a similar sigh. She scratched him behind the ears in thanks for his solidarity.
Gummy was chewing on her toy. Every so often, she’d look up and around suspiciously as though she thought someone was going to steal it from her. Sometimes, she’d let out a small growl. Generally, when she was looking at Matthieu. It was going to take Gummy a while to like Matthieu, she could see. Then she’d go back to chewing on her toy.
Tank and Big B were in the bedroom like usual. Although Big B waddled through the small living room every so often to check on them.
And she’d introduced Matthieu to Marshmallow who had promptly farted then disappeared into his little house.
It had been a really good fart too.
Even her eyes had watered and she’d thought that she was used to Marshmallow’s farts.
“Maya. Drink,” he said firmly. “We’ve had a conversation already about how when I say to do something, it’s important.”
Urgh.
Since it seemed like he wasn’t about to let this go, Maya took the bottle of water. She sipped it slowly.
“Are you sure that Gummy didn’t bite or scratch you?” she asked, still feeling bad about her dog’s behavior. Although the dog had been trying to protect her friend.
Gummy looked up as though she could understand the question. She let out a small growl, glaring at Matthieu.
“Gummy! Matthieu wasn’t trying to hurt the girls. He’s our friend. Friend.” She reached over and patted his arm.
Then she realized what she’d done and snatched her hand back.
Shoot. She’d touched him. She hadn’t meant to do that. And now her hand felt like it was sizzling.
Trick of the mind, of course.
But still.
She never wanted to wash that hand again.
Maya, you are losing your mind.
“Um, sorry,” she told him.
“For what?” he asked.
Well. If he didn’t know, she wasn’t going to tell him.
“Drink some more,” he urged her after she didn’t reply.
Sighing, she sipped at her water. She did feel better, if a bit sleepy.
She sat back, her eyes trying to close. She pried them open. “How does this work?”
“How does what work?” he asked as he packed up the pizza box and napkins.
Shoot. She should do that. She attempted to stand and he shot her a look.
Whoa.
If looks could give spankings, then she wouldn’t sit for a week. She settled back into the sofa.
“Stay. Sit,” he told her.
