The Do-Over (The Miles High Club #4)(47)

“It fucking stinks in here,” I yell.

“I know.”

“If you know, why don’t you wash the fucking thing?” I call. “Stop being so lazy.”

“Listen,” she growls. “Just walk around the park, and keep your dramatics to a minimum.”

“My dramatics are well warranted,” I yell.

I walk out into the blazing sun, and I begin to sweat.

Oh no . . .

It’s hot . . . hotter than hot. Butter-melting-on-a-hot-plate hot.

She introduces someone, although I can hardly see him. “This is Diego.” I think it’s a teenage boy.

He takes my big goofy paw. “This way.” He leads me along.

Kids start to scream. I can hardly see what’s going on out there. I stumble and fall and land on my hands and knees. “What the hell are you doing, Diego?” I yell.

“Oops, sorry,” he says as he helps me up.

Kids are screaming and yelling and clamoring around me. Where are the parents?

I hear a phone ring, and Diego drops my hand. “Just a minute,” he says.

“What do you mean, just a minute?” Kids bunch around me, yelling and trying to hug my legs. I subtly push them off me. “Don’t,” I tell them. “Calm down.”

Through my tunnel vision, I see Diego talking on the phone, totally distracted.

“Get off the phone,” I snap.

He rolls his eyes and turns his back to me.

Fucker.

I feel a swift kick to my shin, and I look down to see a boy. He’s about six. “Watch it,” I warn him.

He kicks me again, and I gently push him away.

A million kids swarm around me, and I’ve come to the conclusion that this suit is hotter than Satan’s asshole.

I’m dripping with perspiration. There’s no air in this thing. I can’t breathe.

Help.

I look back over to Diego. What is that fucker doing?

I feel something being wedged up my ass. “Ahh.” I turn around to see that same kid who was kicking me before. “Fuck off, kid,” I yell. I push him hard, and he goes flying back.

He stands, infuriated. Then he charges me. I push him back. “Diego,” I yell.

Diego is still facing the other way, and he holds his hand up in a coming signal.

The kid pushes me again, and I stumble back but catch myself. He comes at me again and kicks me up the ass, and I snap. I grab him around the throat with my paws. “Leave me alone,” I growl. “Diego,” I cry. “We have a situation.”

Another kid jumps on my back and starts punching the bear head, and then another one and another one, and I stagger around with ten kids on each leg. “Get off me, you fuckers,” I cry with my hands around the first kid’s neck. He escapes and punches me right in the balls, and I snap.

I rip the bear head off. “Diego. Get off the fucking phone,” I yell.

The kids all scream and run for cover.

“You!” I scream to the devil child. “Where is your mother?”

I hear a voice. “You’re fired.” I turn to see the tyrant, hands on hips, looking furious.

“You can’t fire me, because I quit,” I yell. I drop-kick the bear head into the crowd, and the kids all scream. “And I pissed in your suit,” I yell.

Not really . . . but in hindsight I should have.

I storm over to Diego and snatch his phone. “Get me out of this suit before I strangle you!”





HAYDEN

“You did great today, Hayden.” Maria, my new boss, smiles. “See you tomorrow?”

“Thanks.” I smile. “I had a great first day.” And I did too. This job is a dream.

I walk out the front doors and into the street, and I see a man standing on the sidewalk in the shadows, and my step falters. It’s midnight, not the time when people are just standing around.

I hear a familiar voice. “It’s me, Grumps.”

“Christopher.” I frown. “What are you doing here?” I ask.

“I came to walk you home.”

“That wasn’t necessary.”

He holds something out for me.

“What’s this?”

“I brought your cardigan. It’s cool.”

Oh.





Chapter 11


“I mean”—he pauses as if feeling stupid—“I just thought . . . I thought you might be cold on the walk home.”

I stare at the cardigan in his outstretched hand.

So thoughtful. Damn it, I’ve been hating him all day, and now he goes and does something sweet. “Thanks.” I take it from him and put it on. “You didn’t need to come and collect me.”

“It’s sketchy here,” he replies as he walks along beside me. We fall silent, and there’s an awkwardness between us that isn’t usually there. Christopher and I are a lot of things; uncomfortable with each other has never been one of them.

“Do you want to go and get a drink or perhaps some dinner?” he asks.

I am hungry. “Sure.”

We walk along until we find a little bar and restaurant. “Table for two, please?” he asks the waiter.

The waiter looks around. “We only have the bench seat by the window.”