Page 30 of Damascus & The Wildfire
Kenna giggled. “I’m surprised you’ve ever thought about planning a wedding.”
“I haven’t, but I’ve heard about when some of the old ladies planned theirs.” I fake shuddered.
Kenna stayed quiet for a beat. “Do you think you’ll ever settle down?”
Her loaded question gave me pause. “Maybe the right woman will come along. Become my old lady.”
She wrinkled her nose. I reached across and I tapped it with my finger.
“What’s that look for?”
“The old ladything. I don’t get it.”
“Well, when a man and a woman love each other very, very much?—”
She smacked me on the arm and laughed. “Seriously. Do you really believe a woman is property?”
“Ah, so it’s not the old lady thing that bothers you. It’s the property patch.”
“Yeah, it’s not the early 1900s. We have rights now, you know?”
I rubbed a hand over the back of my neck. “I’ve never had an old lady, so I’m speaking purely from an outsider’s perspective. I’ve watched my brothers meet theirs, and they’ve never seen them as property in the sense you’re thinking.”
She glanced at me curiously as I continued.
“Look at Reaper. Have you ever once seen him treat Eva in a way that made you cringe?”
She considered it for a moment. “No, Reaper is head over heels in love with her.”
“Right. The guys don’t treat their old ladies like they’re less-than. The property patch is a commitment, just like an engagement ring. By giving them the title and a cut, they’re telling the world that they’re committed to making sure she’s safe, secure, and happy.”
Kenna chewed on her lip as she contemplated. “Do you want that? Someday?”
I shrugged. “Maybe, but I’m not in a rush. Waiting for the right girl, I guess.”
Kenna blushed. I reached across casually to intertwine my fingers with hers as she drove. I didn’t let go until Kenna pulled into the parking lot of her first stop. The attendant strolled out as she popped the back hatch, ready to load up the backyard games.
“The kids are going to lose their goddamn minds,” I commented, looking at the slip-n-slide.
Kenna ripped open a nondescript cardboard box and tipped it toward me. Squirt guns in every color and size filled it.
I picked up a large super-soaker in neongreen. “I call this one.”
Kenna giggled. “Why do I have a feeling I am going to regret this decision?”
“Because you will.” I slung the strap over my shoulder like it was a rifle. “There will be no safe zones. Anyone entering this party signs an unspoken waiver.”
She arched her brow. “Even me?”
“Especially you. No one escapes the purge.”
“Great. Remind me to pick up some waterproof mascara.”
“You think the makeup’s going to save you? You’re target number one.”
She jabbed a finger into my chest. “Bring it, biker boy. I had one of these as a kid, and my aim was deadly.”
Kenna shut the hatch, wiped her hands on her dress, and we got back into the Range Rover. A few blocks later, she parked in front of a boutique window, and I began to laugh.
