Perversion (Perversion Trilogy #1)(7)

I nodded.

“You know,” she said, looking down into the pot. “I know you can talk, but I’m not going to force you. You’ll learn that this is a safe place. We ain’t gonna judge a single word that comes out of your mouth or any of them that don’t.”

I suddenly felt like I owed her a verbal response in exchange for her hospitality and the weed. Besides, I just spoke to a strange kid I didn’t know, I could scrounge up some words for the woman taking me in.

“Yes, ma’am.”

She smiled at my verbal response. “But just so you know. We do have a few rules in this house.”

Here it comes. The catch.

Marci put the lid back on the pot and leaned over the counter on her elbows. “I know I said I wasn’t going to judge what you say, but…” She crooked her finger, and I leaned in closer. “If you ever call me ma’am again, I’m gonna add your balls to this pot.” Laughing, she straightened, and I couldn’t help the small smile that crept its way onto my face.

I had no fucking clue why I was here or how long I’d stay.

Marci took a tray of dough balls from the refrigerator and placed them in the oven.

At least, I might get some good food while I figured it the fuck out.

The front door slammed open.

“Hey, animals, careful with that fucking door against the wall, or you’re going be spackling and repainting this entire house,” Marci yelled out.

Three teenage boys around my age filed into the house, followed by just as many apologies.

“Sorry.”

“Oops.”

“It was Digger’s fault.”

“This is Sandy, Digger and Haze,” Marci introduced. “Boys, this is your new brother, Tristan.”

“Man, it’s you!” Sandy says. I’d recognize his dusty blonde hair and shit-eating grin anywhere. We were in the same group home awhile back. It’d been at least a year. “Ma, you guys didn’t tell me you were buying someone I know.”

“Adoption is not a purchase of people,” Marci corrected.

“Yeah, cause if it was, then you got Sandy from the clearance rack,” Digger joked, checking his reflection in the hallway mirror, smoothing back an out of place dark hair. “I hope you kept your receipt.”

“Fuck, off,” Sandy replied with a middle finger.

“Watch it, Digger,” Marci warned. “Boys.”

Digger kissed Marci on the cheek. “Sorry, Ma.”

She forgave him with a smile, then swatted at his hand with her spoon when he dipped his finger into the pot.

“I’m glad you’re here, bro” Sandy said. I stood, and he gave me a fist bump without touching my hand. “I thought I’d never see you again when the foster house burnt down.”

“Then, maybe you shouldn’t play with matches, dumbass.” This came from a beefy kid with a shaved head who looked as if he bench-pressed dump trucks. Must be Haze.

“Hey, accidentally burning that shit-hole down was the best thing that ever happened to me because look at where I am now,” Sandy called out from the kitchen sink where he was washing his hands. He dried them off with a towel Marci handed him. He looked around the room. “Now, I’m in paradise.” He opens his eyes. “Besides, the place was a fucking fire hazard anyway. It was bound to go up in flames sooner or later.”

Digger scoffed. “Anything is bound to go up in flames with a can of gas and a lit fucking rag.”

“Tomato. Toh-MA-To,” Sandy sing-songed. He grabbed a stack of plates from the counter. “You give him the low-down yet?”

“No, not yet. We’re still waiting on Belly, but he did get taken by a little girl on the way out of town.”

Sandy laughed and handed me half of the plates. I followed him over to the long dining room table and helped set the table for six people.

“Little girls are the worst because you never see it coming. What did she get from you? I mean, besides your dignity,” Digger asked, setting down napkins and forks. “Wallet?”

I nodded. And the only picture I had left of my mother.

I clenched and unclenched my fists.

“And he got a door prize,” Marci said, rounding the counter to pick up Mr. Fuzzy from where he was swatting at a shoelace on a heeled leather boot. “We’ll have to take it to the vet for shots. After dinner, I’ll run to the store and grab him some food and a flea collar.”

I glanced up at her.

“Yes, we’re keeping him.” She scratched his head. “How could we not?” she asked in a baby voice.

“Awe man, a cat? You got off easy. Some little girl got old man Duncan to take in a mini-donkey once,” Haze said, grabbing an armful of beers from the refrigerator and setting one at each place.

“Water, too,” Marci ordered, placing Fuzzy back on the floor.

“Why?” Haze asked. “Nobody ever drinks them.”

“Water,” Marci repeated, narrowing her eyes at him.

Haze sighed and headed back to the kitchen to grab some glasses and a pitcher of water.

“A cat isn’t so bad,” Marci cooed, still talking to the Fuzzy. “And old man Duncan’s donkey is adorable. But who in their right mind names their donkey Jackass?”

“Old man Duncan ain’t in his right mind,” Sandy replied. He shook his head.