Page 74 of You've Got Hate Mail
My knees are starting to shake.
And I don’t think it’s over worry that he’ll slip and fall and flash his junk at us.
I think it’s because Iwanthim to flash his junk at me.
It would be fair, right?
He’s seen mine. I should see his.
Preferably without the slipping and falling. I’ve already injured him. Don’t need it to happen again in the interest of me getting a show.
“Lavender.” There’s a warning in his voice as he pulls her back and studies her face.
Her smile has disappeared, and her bright hazel eyes are round and innocent.
“Were you playing a game?” he asks softly.
“I like games,” she whispers.
“Please tell me if you’re going to play games when I’m in the shower. I worry when I hear you scream.”
If I’d done this as a kid, I would’ve been lectured until my ears bled and then grounded for a month.
Instead, he’s kneeling on the ground, at her level, gently explaining to her that he could’ve hurt himself running to get to her, so he needs to know when there’s a real emergency and when she’s just playing.
And I’m noticing how attractive the soles of his feet are.
The soles of his feet.
His very large feet.
On this very, very patient man.
I blink quickly before Heath or Lavender notices the way my eyes are getting wet.
“I thought Cricket was playing with me,” Lav says to Heath. “I thought she told you.”
They both look at me.
Heath doesn’t even glance at the picture frame that’s splintered on the floor beside me.
“Fluffy disappeared,” I say, then remember Lavender isn’t supposed to know my full purpose here is cat food patrol. “I wanted to pet her, and I couldn’t find her, so I was checking to see if your door was open and if she’d snuck in.”
“You check the cat door?” Heath asks.
I blink. “There’s a cat door?”
“Living room. In the wall next to the sliding doors to the deck. She gets stuck regularly.”
“Oh. I didn’t—I didn’t see it.Oh. That’s what you mean when you say Fluffy’s being Fluffy. That makes sense. I’ll go check.”
Heath looks at the picture frame.
I look at the picture frame. “Sorry. I’ll?—”
“Bad hook,” he says. “Happens all the time.”
“Daddy hasn’t even put a new picture in it yet,” Lavender tells me.
