Page 72 of Reckless
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Winter
Summer:You okay after last night? I’m sorry it got awkward.
Winter:I have a special knack for making things awkward. So does Rhett.
Summer:You do not. I think Rhett was being protective in his own way.
Winter:Wow. Lucky me. The macho big brother I never wanted.
Summer:Lol. You’re stuck with him though. And Theo, apparently. That was...news.
Winter:Yep. Sorry.
Summer:Don’t be. Do you like him?
Winter:He’s fine. Except I just had a dream that he married a really annoying and hot buckle bunny with a super high pitched porn voice. I had to spend every holiday with her so I could also be with Vivi.
Winter:And they were into PDA. Like lap-sitting and making out.
Summer:You make it sound like he got a lap dance at Christmas dinner.
Winter:That’s what it was like! Brutal. It woke me up, and I’m irrationally annoyed at him now for bringing a fictional person to a fictional dinner set far ahead in the future.
Summer:So the dream made you jealous?
Winter:No. I’m not jealous. It was just a dream.
Summer:There’s only one way to make sure a hot, high-pitched voice buckle bunny doesn’t take over all
your holidays.
Winter:How?
Summer:Marry Theo yourself.
Winter:Ha. That’ll be the day.
* * *
Gray light filters into the room when I pry my eyes open. I can’t tell what time it is and there’s a part of me that doesn’t care. It isn’t technically still dark, so I’ve done what Theo asked.
Annoying Theo, and his annoying nightmare wife.
I brush the memory away, refusing to let dream Theo ruin my first full night’s sleep in who knows how long. For the first time in recent memory, I didn’t wake up dog-tired. With a smile, I stretch lightly, and my bare legs press up against...fur. It takes me a moment to realize Peter the dog has wedged himself between my ankles, under the covers.
And I’m not even mad about it.
We never had pets growing up. Marina wasn’t a fan, and I don’t think Kip wanted to die on that hill. Now I’m wondering if I’d have liked a pet. A cat? A hamster? I lift the duvet and peek down at Peter.
His head lifts slowly, but he doesn’t turn it to look at me. Only his eyes shift over in my direction, like I’ve pissed him off.
A small chuckle escapes me as the dog’s ears flatten against his bobble head.
I like him. I’m pretty sure I’ve given people this look before. Peter is relatable, and I decide to ignore the fact he’s getting his little chihuahua hairs all over my fresh bed.
When I drop the cover and flop back down, his head goes down with it, satisfied that I’m no longer disturbing his peace. He’s happy to use my legs for warmth, but not especially grateful about it.
