Play With Fire - Sheridan Anne Page 0,18

down at her white shirt, now rocking a slasher film vibe rather than a clinical, just came from work vibe.

I glance around, taking note of where all the sauce has landed so I can make sure to wipe it up later. “Shit,” I cringe, hoping small ears don’t hear. I’m in trouble.

Ever so slowly, Zoey raises her furious eyes, and the second they make contact with mine, she explodes. “WHAT THE FUCK, MILLS?”

Crap.

“I’m sorry.” Dropping the wooden spoon, I reach for the pack of baby wipes on the counter and hurry towards her. That white top is definitely ruined. I don’t think anything can save that now.

“Here, Zo,” I say, grabbing at her shirt. “I’ll clean it.” I go to grab the bottom of her shirt just as I would the girls as the next show of the night comes parading into the room. We both look over at the same time and clock Coby sundering into the kitchen, butt freaking naked with her diaper on her head. The little voice inside my mind is begging and praying to any God that exists that it’s not dirty.

This is not happening right now.

“What is happening here?” Zoey voices the thoughts running through my head as she looks around, taking in the war zone we’re currently standing in.

“The animals are hungry,” I simply respond, shrugging my shoulders like it’s the answer to the world’s biggest problems. That’s single parenting for you.

“I see,” Zoey murmurs, knocking my hands away at my attempts to undress her to get her shirt clean. Though, there’s really no point. That top is ruined.

“I’ve got it … and Hurricane. You get dinner.” With that, she grabs Coby and heads towards the bathroom. I hear the sounds of dry retching and come to the conclusion that that diaper must have been dirty. Awesome.

Okay. Dinner.

I quickly dish up everyone’s plates before anything else can go wrong. Thankfully, as though the universe is sensing the fine line of my emotional state, it’s only another few minutes before we’re all sitting down as the dysfunctional family we are.

Finally. Not a word is spoken and the silence is bliss.

I’m counting down the seconds until that glass on the counter will be filled with the deliciousness I have stored in the fridge, and I can finally put an end to this day.

Just as that thought enters my head, Ryan mutters around a mouth full of garlic bread. “The fireman saved my head from stuck, Zo Zo.” I can’t help but grin. It was a shitty situation, but now that we’ve moved past it, I’m starting to see the funny side.

Ryan’s words filter through Zoey’s brain, and she looks up at me, eyes wide and filled with concern. “What the hell is she talking about? What fireman?”

“Oh, you know. Just another exciting day in the life of the DiGiorgio’s.” Zoey’s eyebrows slowly rise to the top of her head, chewing on her food and impatiently waiting for me to continue. “Ryan decided she wanted a visit from the fire department, so she shoved her head through the rails out front, but then she got stuck. It was traumatic and not to mention embarrassing.”

Zoey instantly breaks into howls of laughter, choking on her food, and struggling to catch a breath. “Small bites, Zo,” Ryan says in concern, which makes Zoey laugh that much harder, tears now streaming down her face. Her laugh is infectious and within seconds, I’m right there with her, Ryan and Coby coming along for the ride.

“The fireman saved me and called Momma Angel. I fink he wikes her. He was sooo big,” Ryan shares, “and he’s my frwend.”

Zoey’s head whips around so fast, it’s like a scene from ‘The Exorcist.’ It’s really quite scary. “Did he?” she replies to Ryan while looking directly at me with a pointed stare.

“Uh-huh,” I grumble, not making eye contact with her.

Desperately needing to get the spotlight off me, I turn it right back on her. “Actually, I met a friend of yours today too,” I grin, my eyes sparkling with laughter. “Do you know anybody by the name of J.E.T? About this tall ...” I indicate with my hand above my head. “Grey eyes, dirty blonde hair, and H.O.T.” I fan my face and turn to look directly into the eyes of my best friend, waiting and watching for her reaction as I say, “built like a firefighter.” I keep on describing Jet as the color continues to drain from her face.

Smirking like the cat has

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