The Slow Burn (Moonlight and Motor Oil #2)(107)

Toby dropped the side of his fist on Johnny’s shoulder twice before he moved out the door.

Johnny slapped him on the back twice as he moved out the door.

The brothers jogged down the steps.

They got in their trucks.

And they drove to Margot and Dave’s.



“I’ll tell you one thing, I’m not surprised that awful woman was a gold digger,” Margot proclaimed.

“I’ll tell you one thing,” Addie chimed in. “If I see that awful woman ever again, I’m gonna do what I wanted to do. Slap her across the face. Then I’m gonna key the fuck out of her fancy-ass beemer.”

“Adeline, language,” Margot admonished softly.

“Okay, key the ef outta her fancy-dancy beemer,” Addie amended.

“I’m still stunned,” Izzy announced. “I mean, what was the point? At Christmas no less!”

“Her husband’s shot of her,” Margot decided. “She’s over the hill and can’t sink her hooks into a fresh one. So she decided to try something new. Her problem, she couldn’t fake being a proper mother and didn’t realize my boys were raised to be savvy, so they wouldn’t buy her bull-hockey and sent her on her way.”

“Margot, you said bull-hockey,” Izzy noted in surprise.

“Well, that woman is full of bull-hockey,” Margot retorted.

“What’s ‘bull-hockey?’” Addie asked.

“Bullshit,” Johnny answered.

“Johnathon!” Margot snapped.

Johnny grinned at her then lifted his bottle and threw back some beer.

“Can we stop talkin’ about Sierra and bull-hockey and start talkin’ about food?” Dave asked. “I’m hungry. I’m gonna order from that new Chinese place. They deliver.”

“David,” Margot started pertly. “We are not ordering Chinese.” She made a move to get up. “I’ll make lasagna.”

“Mom,” Lance, the only one of her kids left in town (though they all had plans of coming back . . . frequently), cut in, “you’re not making lasagna.”

“Bunny,” Lance’s daughter, Edie, was wandering in the room, “I want Chinese.”

“Then Chinese it is, my darling girl,” Margot declared, reaching an arm out to the nine-year-old.

Edie moved right in, climbed up on the couch and leaned against her grandma.

Dave moved out, hopefully to get a phone and menu. Toby was starving.

Addie leaned into Toby where they were sitting on the couch and whispered to him, “I hope Edie didn’t hear me say the F-word.”

Dawn, Lance’s wife, who sat on the other side of Addie from Toby, leaned into Addie. “If she did, then she’d think you ran in her father’s circles, and I wish I could say I was immune, but these lips are not F-word virgin.”

Addie grinned big at Dawn.

Dawn winked at her.

Dawn also straightened.

Addie stayed leaned into Toby.

But he’d find this wasn’t to offer support after that shit with his biological mother.

It was to be closer to Izzy, who was sitting in the armchair kitty-corner to them.

She got even closer, leaning all the way across the front of him.

“You up for a troll of hotels around Matlock?” she asked her sister. “I haven’t keyed a car in years, but I don’t think it’s a skill you lose.”

“After Chinese, I’d be up for that,” Izzy replied.

Good fuck.

Dawn leaned back into Addie. “I would too.”

Jesus.

“You women aren’t keying any cars,” Toby ordered.

Addie tipped her head back to look at him. “I’m really good at doing stuff and not getting caught.”

“She really is,” Izzy put in.

“You are not keyin’ any freakin’ cars,” Toby repeated.

“Killjoy,” Addie muttered, pushing back to sitting properly in the couch, and since she did, Dawn went with her.

Toby looked to Johnny who was slouched back on the arm of Izzy’s chair.

“What? I don’t mind they key her car,” he said.

“No committing any felonies,” Margot ordered.

“It isn’t a felony,” Addie informed her. “It’s a misdemeanor.” She paused before she finished, “If you’re caught.”

A pad of paper went sailing across the room and hit Lance in the chest.

“Write down orders, would you, son?” Dave asked, returning to the room.

“’Spose I will,” Lance replied, his lips twitching. “Though I need a pen,” he said, pushing up from the couch opposite them.

“I want chow mein,” Dave called at his departing son.

He then offered the menu to his wife.

She waved at him, refusing the menu. “David. You order for me.”

“Shrimp fried rice, chicken with garlic sauce and some of them dumplin’s!” Dave yelled at the door.

“Hang on, Dad!” Lance yelled back. “I’m finding a pen!”

“I’ll help you find a pen, Dad!” Emmett, Lance and Dawn’s eleven-year-old son shouted from somewhere in the house.

“Here, child, you pick,” Dave murmured, reaching across the coffee table to hand the menu to Dawn.