Page 28 of For the Record
“If we get invited to a last-minute costume party. Or if Miles or Dallas lose a tooth and want me to pretend to be the tooth fairy.”
“They’re almost eleven.”
Oh. Was that too old for the tooth fairy? I wasn’t great at the whole kid thing.
“Either way, we should bring them.” I nodded, my mind made up.
He groaned and bent down to pick them up. Then he placed them on top of the things piled in my arms.
I shook my head. “Nuh-uh, bud. I can’t carry all of this. You have to take them.”
Adam let out a low growl. The sound made my stomach flip, but not enough to make me sway. “I am not carrying fairy wings through your apartment complex and out to your car.”
A snort came out of me. “Of course you’re not going to carry them.”
He nodded and attempted to hand them to me once more, but I deflected and moved my boxes away from his reach. “You’re going to wear them.”
Dropping all of his bags, he raised his voice ever so slightly. “Like hell I am.”
I sighed, clicking my tongue and shaking my head. “Adam, honey.” I threw that in to really sweeten the deal. “I have a backpack on. I can’t wear them myself.”
“Then I will wear the backpack.” He grunted out the words like they pained him.
“Oh.” I tilted my chin and gave him an understanding look. “I see. You’re afraid you aren’t masculine enough to wear them. It’s okay. I can wear them and you can still look like the big, bad wolf.”
Adam stopped dead in his tracks in my doorway. “No, no.” He turned on his heel. “That is not it.”
I gave him a sympathetic pout and nod combo. “Sure it’s not.”
Tongue in cheek, eyes rolling, Adam set his stuff—well, my stuff—down and stuck one of this giant man hands my way. “Give me the damn thing.”
My smirk lifted further as I delicately placed the wings in his hand. He slipped them over his shoulders, resting the iridescent art over his back. They was incredibly small on him. The wings looked more like a toddler’s Halloween costume when attached to his broad back.
He bent down, picked up the rest of my packed bags, and stood straight with his head held high before walking to my living room.
I snorted. Male egos were so fragile. But I had to admit that it was annoying how easily the guy could pull off anything.
We’d barely made it out the front door when one more thing clicked. “Hold on—”
“I am not wearing anything else you pull out of there,” Adam interrupted in a disgruntled tone.
I rolled my eyes before stepping into the kitchen. “I know, I know. I have to get Myrtle.”
“Who is Myrtle?” His eyebrows lowered in confusion.
“My little friend.” I shrugged.
Adam’s jaw scraped the floor, his face twisting in pure shock. He closed his eyes and shook his head, like he was attempting to process what I’d just said. “Your…little friend.”
“Yes, that is what I said. She has to be fed almost daily.”
“Do you have a cat or something?” he asked. His words were incredibly slow, like he needed to dumb the question down for me.
An amused huff of air left my nose. “No, she’s not a cat. Although her food is pretty pricey and she can get very fussy when not fed correctly.”
I reached up and pulled a mason jar from a shelf in my fridge, along with a bag of unbleached rye flour and Myrtle’s favorite set of bowls.
Blowing out a breath, I turned back to the entrance. “Okay, I’m ready.”