Page 4 of Demon Kissed
To pierce another and force a start.”
His magnificent reading is interrupted by his sneeze. He does not cover his mouth.
Droplets of spit from some guy I don’t know coat my arms.
Candyland sounds more fun at this point. Playing with a four-year-old might even be more hygienic.
“AndI’m out.” I shove up to my feet, give Stace and David a wave, push out of the willow tree’s wall of branches, and stride off to my car quickly, avoiding eye contact with everyone and wiping the tops of my arms off on the back of my shirt.
This is a disappointing end to the evening.Not quite as horrific as if I’d just left after the whole mouth-diarrhea debacle, but still bad, I think as I slip into the driver’s seat. I close the door just in time, because the wind picks up and starts to whip the trees in the graveyard. Storm clouds roll across the moon, making the night as black as my mood.
The idiots at the party just cheer and raise their cups. “Halloween, baby!” one idiot crows.
I grumble as I start the engine. “Fuck Halloween. And this stupid party. And Janie St. James. And stupid allergy guy. And Will—” But I can’t say it. I can’t curse my crush.
I’m just gonna be doomed to love him from afarforeverlike some creep, because real girls don’t get dream guys—that bullshit’s for fairy tales—and love spells and magic don’t exist.
2
I get home after midnight,and the storm is raging full blast. I have to park in the driveway instead of the garage because both my parents are actually home for once, so I have the pleasure of running from my car to the door. Yippee.
It’s less than ten feet, but I’m drenched and shivering when I slam down the button to close the garage and slip off my socks and shoes on the lame premise of trying to track less water into the house.
When I slip inside, I’m immediately attacked.
“Katty!” Adam barrels into me full force, and though he’s only four, the kid’s a brick. He’s not chubby, he’s just literally built like a wall, thick and sturdy. And he’s the perfect height to screw with my center of gravity and send me tumbling backwards onto the kitchen floor.
I barely keep my head from smacking the tile, and I’m calling that a win after tonight’s craptacular turnout.
“Buddy, what are you doing up?” I ask, giving him a hug because he’s soaked anyway now.
He burrows his head painfully near my ribs, giving me one of his so-called “super cuddles.” Then he leans up and looks at me. His blue eyes are so much like mine it’s scary. But whereas I’ve dyed my dark brown hair, his is still an unruly mop on his head. Combined with pale skin and cheeks that still have a hint of that baby chub, he’s the most damn adorable kiddo in the world. “I was waiting for you so we can do bedtime,” he states.
Ire flares in me. They’rehome.My parents are fucking home, but they didn’t even put him to bed? I swear, they’re gone so much, I think sometimes they forget they even have kids, or what the hell to do with us. We’re just another utility bill. Lights paid? Check. Gas paid? Check. Kids’ tuition? Check.
I wrap an arm around Adam and sit up, then we huddle together as we scurry through the kitchen toward the downstairs bathroom. While I towel us both off, he tells me all about the new YouTube videos he watched while I was gone.
“Then he set up this diesel train on the mountain. And it was diesel-lectric.”
“Diesel-electric,” I correct his pronunciation.
“Yeah that,” he continues, “and they broke a record and were fast as a tornado!” He jumps in his excitement and spins like a tornado.
I grin as I lead him up the stairs toward our bedrooms. The kid knows everything there is to know about model trains. Sometimes I worry about his future, that he’ll be one of those guys with an entire basement set up full of model trains and tiny tin towns and the only woman he’ll ever touch is a tin figurine. But then I remember how obsessed I was with Furby as a kid.
He’ll be fine.
We pass my parents’ door, which is shut, but I can hear my dad’s obnoxious snore.
I blow out a breath and tell myself not to let my annoyance take over. When I do, it really seems to affect Adam. So, I smile and ruffle his hair as I turn on his bedroom light (because the dark is a big no-go). “Alright, buster, you change. I’m gonna go toss on my pj’s.”
He scrambles over to his dresser and starts pulling out shirt after shirt.
I shake my head. That’s gonna be a disaster. But it’ll wait for morning because I’m soaked and tired and definitely not ready to deal with it right now.
Once our teeth are brushed and nighttime routines are done and we’re snuggled up in Adam’s bed, ready for the eightieth reading ofLocomotiveby Brian Floca, I’ve nearly forgotten everything that transpired at the party. Total humiliation can’t compare to Adam’s adorable smile as he interlocks our fingers and listens. He dozes off around the fifth page, which is twice as quick as usual, but itisreally late.
Once I can extract my fingers from his, I slide out of bed, put the book on his nightstand so it’s ready for tomorrow, and go to bed myself in the room across the hall. As I close my eyes, I hope I’ll have good dreams. I think I deserve them after the day I’ve had.
