Page 93 of Pack of Crooks
“Please, Dad.”
What the actual fuck is going on?
“Lottie! Too far,” Hazel says between giggles.
Releasing a dramatic groan, Lottie blinks and steps back. “I almost had him.”
“Wait. What just happened?”
Hazel sighs, shakes her head at her sister, and pats my chest. “You were played by a fourteen-year-old.”
My eyebrows hit my hairline, and I gape at Lottie. She was playing me? Fake tears and all? Guilty, she glances away quickly. “Oh, you’re such a shit,” I tell her, shaking my head.
Lottie’s look jumps back to mine. “You’re not mad?”
Did she expect me to be? What kind of dicks has she been around? “Of course not,” I tell her, scooting the custard far away from her. “But you can’t have my custard now.”
She looks genuinely panicked. “I’m sorry!” she says quickly.
“Too late,” I say with a shrug.
Glancing at Hazel, she gives her a look that screamsdo something!and Hazel holds up her hands. “I’m not getting in the middle of this.”
Grinning, I take a bite of my own spring roll and grab a bowl. “Payback’s a bitch.”
Hazel puts the custard in the freezer, steering clear of Lottie and me.
“You shouldn’t cuss, I’m only fourteen.”
I scoff and slide my eyes to meet Lottie’s. “You cuss.” It’s not a question. It’s a fact. The majority of teenagers cuss, and Lottiedidn’t exactly grow up in a super conservative home. Trust me on this one. She knows her way around an expletive.
“Hazel, you can’t just let him deny me ice cream.”
“It’s custard,” I remind Lottie, filling up my dish and heading to the couch.
Hazel and I share a look, and I smirk, letting her know I’m not actually serious, and she quickly schools her face. “I’m sorry, Lottie. Your dad has decided.”
Lottie growls at her. “He’s not my dad.”
“You called him your dad,” Hazel says with a shrug, a smile stretching her lips. “And what Daddy says goes.” She quickly grabs her own food and joins me on the couch, sitting in the middle and patting the empty spot.
“Don’t be a sore loser,” she coaxes her sister. “We can watch season one tonight.”
Shoulders drooping, Lottie shuffles forward, scowling at me. “Fine.”
I act unfazed, peacefully eating my food while we watch the first episode. Around the middle of the second episode, I get up and get a clean bowl, taking one of the pints from the freezer and ignoring the curious gazes from the women in the room. I add three giant scoops to the dish, grab a spoon, and ignore them as I head toward my seat.
Lottie’s mouth drops open in shock. Hazel’s head is tipped to the side, probably wondering if I’m serious. Our gazes collide, and at the last second, I change course and stop in front of Lottie, offering her the goods.
She blinks up at me and hesitates. “Is this a joke?”
“Come on, kid. Take the custard. It’s really good.”
She reaches for it and I pull it back, earning a scowl, but then I hand it to her for real and she grins. “Sucker.”
“Shit head.”
“Watch your fucking language,” Hazel mutters.
