I roll my eyes, moving past her and up the stairs, tripping over toys as I struggle to make it to the bathroom at the top of the steps.
“Get in there, you nasty little rats.” I close the door and then run my inked fingers through my hair. If I can just get through this one weekend, then I'll have school to look forward to on Monday. That should be sick. How many hours do these monsters go for? I'll have to check Mercedes' dossier, I guess.
“Can I go play with my friends outside? I'm bored.”
I turn and find Kinzie hovering on the top step, looking at me like I'm the worst thing that's ever happened to her.
“Um.” I scratch the side of my head and try to remember the rules for that shit. Mercedes laid it all on pretty thick on our way to the airport. “Lemme check on that.”
She rolls her eyes and stomps into her room, slamming the door loud enough to shake the whole house—and wake the baby from her nap.
Fuckity fuck.
“I'm coming, I'm coming.” I move into my brother's room and look down at the weird wrinkly thing in its crib. Gross. Okay, so like, how do I pick this thing up? I tilt my head at the kid, using my tongue to play with my lip rings. People—much dumber people—do this kind of thing all the time. I should be able to figure this out. I slip my phone from my pocket and notice a text from Kitty. Huh. I don't remember giving her my number.
I programmed my digits into your phone when you were in the bathroom. You're a fucking asshole, Zayden.
I scroll down to the next message.
I'll be back in town next weekend. Want to meet up?
I feel my lips curl back in a grin and then cringe when the baby lets out a piercing wail. What is it with kids and yelling all the time? I feel like I'm gonna go deaf here.
“Okay, Google,” I tell my phone. “How do you hold a baby?”
I tap my foot and play with my lip rings while I scroll through some idiotproof pics. Huh. Okay. Looks easy enough; I can do this.
“Alright, kid,” I say as I tuck my messy inked fingers under the baby's warm body. “Let's do this thing.” I heft the screeching bundle up to my chest and cradle it under my chin, glancing down at the phone screen and breezing through the rest of the instructions. “Stay confident and calm, huh? Well, I got that shit in spades.”
“You said the S-word,” Kinzie chortles from behind me. “You have to put a dollar in the curse jar.” I glance down at the little monster with its brown curls in pigtails and its face all scrunched up. Some people might think it's cute, but to me, it looks like a pink-overall-wearing demon.
“Like hell I am,” I say as I sneak my phone back into my pocket and make my way toward the stairs. “Listen, kid, but I'm here as favor to your mom, alright? I'm not putting money in any curse jar. What are you guys trying for, the ultimate TV family cliché? Lemme guess … you've got a chore chart and a soccer team, huh?”
“You'll put money in the curse jar or I'll scream and I won't stop.”
I turn back at the landing, already trying to puzzle out if this baby in my arms is supposed to drink from a bottle or if I can order in takeout and give it a piece of cut up pizza or something.
“Be my guest, cupcake,” I say with a smug smirk. What I've gotta do right now is establish boundaries with these kids, let 'em know who's boss. I'm a twenty-nine year old man, and let's be honest: I've never had any trouble with women before. The kid might be, like, seven or whatever, but I can still charm the heck outta her.
But then I notice the smile curling across her lips and the hair on the back of my neck stands straight up.
“Challenge. Accepted.”
By the end of the day, I've already dropped twenty bucks into the jar.
This is gonna be a long ass two weeks.
By the middle of day two, I am so over all of this. Being trapped in this nine hundred square foot duplex with the pot growing neighbors that live next door is beyond the point of torture. How any sane human being—particularly one as smart and cool as Mercedes—could live through this is just … well, it's a fuckin' mystery, man.