Page 40 of The Biker and the Gamer
Shaking his head again, Grunt yawns once more before saying, “You need to tell us your secret.”
“There’s no secret.” I shrug. “I’m just better with babies than you are.”
“Whatever,” he grouses grumpily before striding off. “Help yourself to whatever you need. And remind us to cut you a key, yeah?”
“Cool.” But as I follow him out of the living room, I also want to know, “What does Toni mean by you being the ‘main guest’ and this being an ‘intervention’.”
“Oh, the Vaughns’ got a little brother. It would seem he’s been making some bad choices and they think I can help. Whatever that means.”
I can’t say I picked up on anything off or bad about Isaac; he seemed cool and levelheaded to me. But what do I know about making good choices? I’ve been to jail twiceandI almost killed a man.
Grunt snatches up his jacket from where it was draped over a barstool in the kitchen. “Not gonna be out long. I’m too tired.” He shrugs on his jacket then turns to plant a kiss on top of my head. “Thanks for helping out. Love you.” Then he pokes Neo’s nose. “And you, I don’t even know what to do with you.”
“Nero, let’s go!” Toni calls from the foyer.
Just fifteen minutes after their departure, Neo falls asleep in my lap while we’re watching Netflix. This just proves what I’ve suspected about the disconnect between Neo and his parents for a few weeks now: Toni and Grunt are both stressed from work, starting out as new parents, and adjusting to a new life, and Neo can feel their tension. They’re not relaxed, so he’s not relaxed. He doesn’t have a stable routine withthemsohe’smoody and fussy and awake at all hours. What they need is a part-time babysitter. Someone who’s around at least sixty percent of the time to establish a routine for him, which will ultimately give them the rest that they need so they’re not so stressed and anxious around him all the time.
It’s advice that they’re not going to want to hear and probably won’t be receptive to, but it’s the best thing for baby Neo right now.
Sometime later, as it’s darkening outside the windows and I’m supine on the couch with Neo fast asleep on my chest, my phone pings with a message.
The Gamer:How’s babysitting going?
Me:Easy. How’s the bbq?
The Gamer:Would be better if you were here.
Me:If last night didn’t happen, would you still be thinking that at your brother’s bbq?
The Gamer:No. But I’d def be distracted fantasizing about all the ways I want to make you mine.
Me:I’m no one’s. Kenny can’t be owned.
I don’t get a reply until around forty minutes later when I’m at theshit’s-about-to-go-downpart of the thriller I’m watching.
The Gamer:Miss you already.
Me:Same. Surprisingly
The Gamer:Why surprisingly?
Me:Caz I usually like my space. Get tired of people easily
The Gamer:I’m a special snowflake. I’ll have you hooked on me more than weed.
Me:Keep dreaming
Me:Come see me later? Want your mouth on me again.
His reply comes in some eight minutes later.
The Gamer:Had to move somewhere obscure. You’ve got me hard as a rock at a family barbecue. Bad Kenny, bad.
The Gamer: Tell me more. Where do you want my mouth on you?
Me:Come see me later and I’ll show you instead
Me:I’ll text you when I’m home
