Just Good Friends (Cheap Thrills #5) - Mary B. Moore Page 0,26

on, I had shit on my freaking hand.

The fifth was the smell. Holy shit, it was like the time we went to Mexico, and Dad ate food from a street vendor that looked dodgy as fuck. Because the bathroom in our suite was next to my bedroom I’d smelled it all night, and every time he went, it’d just gotten worse.

The sixth was that she was happily playing with her toes while she squeezed down, and more came out. If that were me, I’d be running for the potty.

And finally, the seventh was that Garrett’s previously dry heaves were sounding like they could be ‘productive’ heaves soon. I’d have dookie and barf to clean up, and I didn’t think my back, my hand, and my stomach could take it.

Sheena stopped doing her stomach tensing and red face things long minutes later, and Old Yeller finally settled down. The mess and stench were unbelievable, though.

Looking up, I noticed that Garrett had somehow managed to get the hair clip I’d foregone earlier and was braving the pain to have his nasal passages clamped shut with it.

“What are we going to do?”

Keeping his face pointing away from me, he lifted onto his knees and grabbed his phone out of his back pocket.

“DB? Yeah, you gotta get to Zuri’s and fix what your daughter just did.” Silence. “She’s fine, but we’re not.” Silence again. “I’m telling you, there’s no way in hell either of us will survive doing what needs to be done, and your daughter’s ass is possessed by a demon, so you need to fix it.” Silence. “Right, and bring bleach. And more paper towels.” He paused and glanced at me. “And maybe some air freshener.” There was a beat of silence as he listened to what Dave was saying, and then he added, “Yeah, probably a couple of them. I think we’re going to need them for a while.”

After the call ended, I did a mental run-through of what towels I had that I didn’t like.

“Okay, I’m going to pick her up,”—I’d have to put my cast under one of her armpits and hold on carefully with my good hand—“and then you pull the doodie towel away and put it in a bag. My towels are in the cupboard in the hallway, and I don’t have much of an attachment to the one with the cat on it, so bring that one back, and we’ll put paper towels on top of it in case she blows again.”

Getting up, he jogged over to the kitchen, pulled out a large trash bag from under the sink, ran through to the hallway and found the towel before running back to me. “Can you hold her long enough for me to get the towel under her?”

Nodding, I carefully put my casted wrist under Sheena’s armpit and pressed my fingers in as best I could without hurting her, ignoring the pain it caused on my back and arm. Then, I used my other hand to lift her off the ground and watched as Garrett leaned in to pull the dirty towel out carefully.

Just as he was about to pull back, she decided to pee all over his bicep, which was right under her.

If I hadn’t been worried about dropping her, I’d have laughed myself to the point of also needing a diaper at how horrified he was when he looked up at me, with her still peeing away happily.

Yanking his arm back, he jumped up to his feet and held it in the air like he was expecting it to fall off. The dry heaves that had been coming out of intermittently before that moment changed to ones that sounded like they might just end up being less dry and more... well, wet.

He’d been close to puking before, but now he was damn near on top of it. The force of them had him bending over with his hands braced on his thighs.

And that’s what Dave walked through my door to see.

A large splash of baby poop across the floor, a balled-up shitty towel half hanging out of a plastic sack, his daughter giggling with poop on her legs and a puddle of pee under her, Garrett hunched over and gagging, and me holding her watching it all like it was either a dream or a nightmare.

Five hours later…

Not to say that he was dramatic, but watching Garrett rub Neosporin into his raw arm from where he’d scrubbed it hard enough to take some skin off