Page 46 of Just Friends
“Yeah, I bet you do,” she laughed. Rebecca reached up and ran a finger over his reddened ear.
“Kiss it and make it better?” he whispered.
She giggled and nodded toward Edna, engrossed in the television show. “You better be quiet.”
???
Edna’s transportation van arrived to take her back to the retirement home, and Dalton walked her out. The minute the door shut behind Edna, Weasel’s arm circled her and drew her closer. “That’s better.”
Rebecca chuckled and snuggled to his side. “What if she comes back?”
“I’m getting chewed out again.”
“You got roughed up by a 98-year-old woman,” Rebecca laughed.
“What? If I defend myself and she breaks a hip, I’m the asshole.”
“Then, I guess the only choice is to let her drag you around by the ear.”
“That hurt,” he responded lifting her chin and pressed his lips to hers. “When we get home, you’ll kiss it and make it better?”
She rolled her eyes.
Peyton, the tiny four-year-old wandered around the couch and stood in front of them, hair wet and buck naked. “Whoa there, bud,” Weasel said. “It’s a little chilly out for you to be free-ballin’ it.” He let go of Rebecca and stood, grabbing the child up, tucking him under one arm. “Let’s go find some clothes.” He left the room, Peyton giggling the whole way. Rebecca did her best to push down the weird feeling in her stomach that surfaced whenever she saw Weasel with Danny.
Dalton returned with a shiver and retrieved the remote switching the channel to a football game between the Dolphins and the Cowboys. “Want a beer?” he asked.
She declined. A few minutes later Weasel entered, holding a pajama-clad Peyton by one ankle over his shoulder so that the child hung down his back. “Has anyone seen Peyton?”
“Here,” Peyton called through his giggles. Weasel turned away so that the boy faced her.
“Where?”
“I’m back here.”
Weasel turned in another circle. “I hear you, buddy, but I can’t find you.”
Peyton giggled. “Uncle Weasel.”
“Wait a minute.” Weasel moved to the couch and dropped the child down on the next seat, then tickled his tummy.
“Try not to make him pee his pants this time,” Dalton said sipping his beer, never taking his eyes off the game on the television.
“Bladder’s empty. He just peed in the pot like a big boy.” Weasel stopped tickling. “Didn’t you?”
“Yeah,” the boy beamed. Then his brother jumped over the back of the sofa straight at Weasel yelling for his Uncle to fight him and a wrestling match evolved on the cushion beside her. Weasel growled and the boys squealed in delight. Rebecca went into the kitchen, realizing she hadn’t noticed Cindy in a while. There she found her host, her blonde hair pulled into a small ponytail, beginning clean up.
“Here, let me help,” Rebecca said.
“I can’t ask that.”
“I’m offering, besides Weasel’s turned the couch into a wrestling ring with your boys.”
“They love to wrestle with him.” They worked in tandem to clear and rinse the dishes and place them in the dishwasher.
“Did he really make Peyton pee his pants?”
“Oh yeah, and made Peyton laugh until he threw up, once. Luckily, he’s only ever done each of those once.”