Page 106 of Cloudy With a Chance of Bad Decisions

Now that I’d officially accepted Alex’s offer, I’d had it in my head that we’d spend an hour or more chatting peacefully by the fire, maybe sharing another s’more—before retiring to our tent.

I’d never had so much fun just talking to someone.

That, combined with Alex’s care and attention, had been what finally tipped me over the edge. Or maybe it had been the way he’d held Patrick, aware of his own strength, and yet…gentle, despite it.

Suffice to say, nowhere in my plans had I expected to spend my first night as Alex’s not-boyfriend at a full-blown frat party.

June and Roderick had set up two entire kegs, both on opposite ends ofthe fire pit. Red solo cups populated the fists of the cluster of adults gathered. Some were dancing, some were howling with laughter, and an ambitious few were deep into the s’more-making process with drunken determination.

That has to be a health hazard, I swear to god.

A giant bowl of mystery punch had been deposited at the end of a log bench. Made of glass, and clearly bought for the wedding reception, the thing was almost ridiculously fancy-looking. Currently, Joe bent over it, filling his cup liberally from the spout. His large body was pretzeled in a way that did not look natural so that he could reach. When he saw me, he raised his cup with a slosh.

I waved. Joe spilled, scowled, and stumbled toward where June and Roderick were elbow-deep in a pair of giant black and yellow bins full of miscellaneous party items. There was a jump rope, for some ungodly reason, as well as bondage rope. I really…did not want to know why they’d brought that here.

Shifting my attention back to Alex, I discovered that he wasamused, and not at all disturbed by the depravity of his cousins grinding on each other while listening to country twang—or the skunky scent of weed in the air. He thrived in the chaos.

Like a demon.

I wasn’t surewhowas smoking—I couldn’t see the source of the smell, even though I’d definitely looked—but it was safe to assume it was one of Roderick’s brothers.

I was wrong.

Apparently, eight years away from home had changed a lot about my parents. Because the closer we got to the group of sixty-plus-year-olds leaning against the back of the cabin, joints in hand, the more difficult it became to rationalize what I was seeing.

That’s right, the people currently getting high were myparents—and Roderick’s—puffing away like a gaggle of misbehaving teens.

Mom smiled at us. It would’ve been impossible not to approach, even if Alexhadn’t been dragging me. Like watching a train wreck—only that train wreck was my own mouth and what was going to happen if I couldn’t keep it shut.

Mom’s giant blonde hair practically glowed in the dark, like it was its own source of light, reflecting the moon and the stars.

“Are you having fun?” she asked when we halted, only a few feet away. She passed the joint she was holding to my dad. It was still lit, a plume of smoke escaping. “I told you to have fun,” Mom reminded me.

Mydad. My no-nonsense, trucker dad. All long and skinny, wearing the flannel he’d dubbed “the good one” when I’d barely been old enough to remember, was holding a joint.

A joint.

“I’m having…uh—” I was distracted, and therefore did not know how to get my mouth to work to answer my mother’s question. At my parents feet was a frankly obscenely large pile of snacks, primarily cookies. All were in plastic packages, and only a few had been opened. I recognized the brand.

“George is havingsomuch fun!” Alex replied, with what could only be described as sadistic glee. Again, the cartoon villain was back. He eyed the snacks. Little Debbie cakes. Brownies. A variety of different kinds of E.L. Fudge cookies. Mom bought those in bulk when they went on sale. She liked to save up coupons and fill the entire pantry. Now I knew why.

Because munchies.

“Mrs. M, are you by chance interested in charity work?” Alex batted his lashes in my mother’s direction. His gaze darted to the mint chocolate cookies that were sealed in their package at my parents’ feet.

“Charity work?” Mom echoed, amused.

“Feeding the youth,” Alex clarified.

“The youthcan take what they’d like.” Mom giggled. She jerked a shoulder toward her overflowing snack stash. Judging by the way her eyes sparkled, she found Alex’s flirty bullshit charming. “Lord knows we don’t need it all.”

“Speak for yourself.” Dad—tall, skinny, wheezing dad—narrowed his eyesat her like she’d just sold his puppy to the devil. It was always jarring hearing his voice. Sometimes I forgot he had one. Alex looked as surprised as I was that he’d spoken.

Mom did not respond to Dad’s declaration, she simply gestured toward the cookies magnanimously before flicking a returning glare his way. Roderick’s parents giggled amongst themselves, too absorbed in their own plume of smoke to care that Alex was about to rob them. Alex, with no remorse whatsoever, ducked down to grab a few packs of cookies.

“Thank you!” he said cheerfully. “Your sacrifice is greatly appreciated.”

“You boys enjoy yourselves,” Mom waggled her eyebrows.

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