enters the bathroom. He studies me, studies the baby and does the math quick. “Oh, sh—”
“There’s a baby,” I cut him off, and I gently scrub Adelaide’s hands again with the washcloth to make sure I got all the paint off. Getting her into the bathtub before she could put her fingers in her mouth was a momentous feat. Last thing I need is to leave any paint on her skin for her to eat, and then have Pigpen gunning for me because his kid’s been poisoned. “Watch the language or Caroline will rip our hearts from our chests.”
“Yeah. I got the lecture, too. Tell me that’s finger paint.”
“I wish.”
“Is she the reason why Eli’s motorcycle has purple spots and streaks?”
“I left her alone for less than a minute.”
Chevy chuckles deeply then leans a shoulder against the doorframe. “How did she get into paint? Even better, how did she get into paint near Eli’s bike?”
Because I was born under an unlucky star. “Mom was putting finishing touches on the going-away gift she’s making Emily. She asked me to help take some stuff into the clubhouse. I placed Adelaide on her blanket in the grass, next to her two million toys, and I was in the clubhouse for a second and…then….”
Eli’s black Harley-Davidson is now decorated with purple Adelaide fingerprints and her creative streaks. Eli’s going to torture me for weeks and then, if he’s feeling merciful, he’ll kill me.
“You realize the kid can crawl, right?” Chevy shakes his head in amusement. “Even if she couldn’t when you left her, that’s Pigpen and our high school English teacher’s daughter.
Genetically, she’s got enough brain power to launch rockets to Mars. If she wanted to decide to learn how to crawl in thirty seconds, that kid could do it. I’m scared to let Adelaide have my cell to gnaw on because not only could she hack into my phone and change my password, she’d probably use the cell to break into CIA databases and then I’d be the one arrested.”
“I was gone for thirty seconds.”
“You suck at babysitting.”
Understatement.
“That paint’s drying out there. Once it’s dried…”
“I’m screwed.” I’m aware, but I chose to clean up Adelaide first because paint is poison and she likes to eat her thumbs. “Can you wipe down Eli’s motorcycle while I wash her up?”
Chevy laughs to let me know he’s no fool. He’s aware how bad this is, and, as a criminal justice major, he’s not stupid enough to be caught at the scene of the crime. Instead, he steps past me in the cramped bathroom and crouches down beside me. “I’ll finish washing the tyke. You can handle Eli’s motorcycle. Or you can run. I suggest running and looking into witness protection, because you’re a dead man.”
“You’re not scared Caroline’s going to catch you with Adelaide while she has paint under her fingernails? She and Pigpen will be home soon.”
“That’s easy. I’ll remind Caroline you were the one babysitting.”
“Some friend you are,” I mumble, and Chevy laughs again as he takes the washcloth from me.
“Who’s taking a bath?” Chevy coos at Adelaide as if he’s not over six feet tall and close to two hundred pounds of muscle—one hundred percent McKinley, dark brown eyes and hair included. “Does Adelaide like her bath?” A master magician, he waves his fingers in the air and then produces a miniature rubber duck out of thin air. Adelaide cackles. “See, she wants me.”
“Because you bribed her with a duck.”
Chevy grins from ear to ear as he hands the little paint monster the toy. “You should get moving and clean Eli’s bike. Or are you going to use this horrific event as an excuse to coward out and not ask Emily again?”
The glare I throw him should leave him shaking in his black boots. “You’re a—”
He mock covers Adelaide’s ears. “There’s a baby.” Then uncovers them and coos at her again, “Uncle Oz is a coward.” Chevy glances at me and motions near his cheek. “You’ve got paint on you.”
Because when I snatched Adelaide off the ground and away from Eli’s bike, she decided to start painting me. The words I really want to say definitely aren’t baby appropriate, so as I walk out of the bathroom, I flip him a bird that’s not a duck.
I grab towels, head out of Cyrus’s house, and cross the yard to the front of the clubhouse, to where Eli’s motorcycle is parked. I groan at the damage. “Damn,” I say, running a hand through my hair.