Page 131 of The Goat in the Bedroom
He was good for me and good to me. He was so much more than I ever thought I'd find in life.
A few hours later, I was standing in our driveway watching the chaos of preparing to road trip home with a whole menagerie unfold.
“Vincent, No,” Gryff lunged for his goat, who had somehow already escaped the trailer and was making a beeline for Mrs. Bender's prized succulents.
“I told you we should have sedated them,” Flynn said, holding Burrito Petito's lead rope while the donkey tried to eat his shirt.
“You can't sedate animals for a road trip,” Tempest said, easily loading her suitcase around Burrito's protests. “That's not how sedation works.”
“How does a donkey have this many opinions?” Flynn asked as Burrito tried to eat his hair.
Holly Goatlightly chose that moment to jump out of the trailer and join Vincent in the succulent massacre.
“Get the goats,” Jules shouted, running after Holly while filming everything on her phone. “This is definitely going on the family chat.”
“Our neighbors are watching,” I told Gryff as he carried Vincent back to the trailer.
“Our neighbors have been watching since the day we brought these demons home,” he corrected. “Mrs. Bender has the succulent specialist at the nursery on speed dial now. With my credit card on file.”
Sure enough, Mrs. Bender was on her porch, phone in hand. She waved at me. “Tell your family I say Merry Christmas. And thanks for the new Christmas cactus you just bought me.”
It took forty-five minutes to get everyone loaded. The fancy livestock trailer we'd rented was basically the Ritz Carlton of animal transport. Three hundred and sixty degrees of padded walls, climate control, even a camera system so we could monitor them from the car.
It was basically Battlestar Goatlactica with all its high-tech futuristic farm animal monitoring systems, Captain Adonka at the helm of course.
“Road trip,” Jules called out, claiming the whole middle row of the SUV. “Dibs on DJ duty.”
“Absolutely not,” Flynn said immediately. “Driver picks the music, little sisters shut their pieholes.”
“My taste is eclectic.”
“Your taste is chaotic.”
Three hours into the drive, we stopped at a massive truck stop near Barstow to water the animals and grab food. I was walking Holly on her lead, trying to convince her that the garbage can was not food, when I heard squealing.
“Oooh, look, aaaahhh.”
I turned to see three women, probably in their thirties, rushing toward us.
Gryff immediately stepped forward, straightening up with his classic celebrity smile. Flynn did the same, ready for fan interaction.
The women ran right past them.
“You're Miranda Milan,” one of them shrieked, grabbing Tempest's hands. “I've read every single one of your books. 'Much Ado About Pucks' changed my life. Being able to see myself represented in a book was amazing. Is it true FlixNChill is adapting the whole series?”
“And holy shit,” another one said, turning to me. “You're Artemis Fraser. We just saw your Team USA announcement. That photo in the jersey was everywhere.”
Parker really was a genius.
Gryff's mouth fell open. Flynn looked like someone had just told him Santa wasn't real.
“We're obsessed with your Shakespeare sports retellings,” the first woman gushed to Tempest. “The way you made Taming of the Shrew into a hockey romance?Chef's kiss.”
“And we follow women's rugby religiously,” another explained, turning to me. “My daughter plays at university level. She's obsessed with you.”
“Can we get a photo?” the British one asked, then looked at me with mock severity. “Even though you betrayed the Commonwealth for the Yanks.”
“The Yanks have better weather,” I said, and she laughed.
