Page 55 of Wild Card

“Because they make you horny.” Tabby winks at me over her shoulder as she flicks the door open. The cabdriver just sighs, and I can’t help but wonder what he must think of us.

She gets out of the car but bends at the waist, popping her head back inside. “Gwen, I just want you to know that if I were you, I’d fuck my ex-boyfriend’s dad, and I wouldn’t even feel bad about it because that other guy sounds like a fucking loser.”

A choked sound filters from the front seat, and my cheeks go hot.

“Anyway, bye!” Tabitha calls as she slams the door on me. The driver pulls away slowly, but not before I see my friend approach her front porch. The one where her husband sits on the steps waiting for her.

He greets her with open arms, and she moves in to straddle his lap before dropping her mouth to his.

It’s sweet. But more than that, it’s…appealing. I bet they’d want to stay alive in a zombie apocalypse just so they could have more time together.

It makes me wonder if maybe, just maybe, I could find comfort in a partnership like that. In a place like this.

If I was ever inspired to try…it might be now.

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

BASH

Ford drops me off at home, and I tiptoe quietly—if somewhat unsteadily—through the front door, not wanting to wake anyone.

But I can hear chatter filtering in from the kitchen. When I drop my gaze to take off my boots, I see dirt tracked across the floor. Immediately, I know it’s from Clyde. He’s always walking around with his fucking shoes on.

“Clyde!” I yell. “Does your occupational therapist recommend sweeping as an exercise? Because you need to clean up the dirt you tracked in. I’m not your goddamn maid!”

His raspy cackle is the first response I get. Followed by “But you’d be a good one! Being neurotically tidy comes so naturally to you!”

I toe off my shoes, pull the broom and dustpan from the front closet, and clean up the clumps of dirt he left behind. With broom and shoes properly put away, I head toward the kitchen, grumbling and shaking my head.

I find Gwen and Clyde seated at the dining room table with playing cards and plastic chips spread between them. There’s a pot of lavender I’ve never seen before pushed off to the side.

“Raise.”

Clyde pushes more chips into the middle, and Gwen laughs, sipping at a glass of white wine. “You can’t just raise every time, Clyde.”

The older man scoffs. “I can if I want to.”

“It’s not a great strategy,” I say by way of announcing myself as I wander into the kitchen. Both of their heads snap in my direction—Gwen’s eyes wide, Clyde’s narrowed.

“You’re just mad because I’m the one up playing poker with her,” Clyde says. “Plus, giving me a kidney doesn’t mean you get to tell me what to do. That wasn’t in the contract.”

My lips wobble. I’m too inebriated to keep my amusement at bay right now. “I’m not telling you what to do. Just offering a little advice.”

Clyde rolls his eyes at me and pushes himself up with a stiff motion. “Here’s my advice. Stop being such a chickenshit and take over my hand. I’m going to bed.”

With that, the older man punches my chest—hard—on his way past. “You kids have fun.”

“You should stay,” I try feebly. Mostly because the prospect of being alone with Gwen is daunting and thrilling all at once. And I’m far too unencumbered right now to make good decisions.

But Clyde is already hobbling down the hallway. “I’m sick of your company. You’re extremely negative, you know?” He turns and glares at me over his shoulder. “Allergic to fun these days. It’s like living with Eeyore.”

I choke back my laugh. “I thought I was Oscar the Grouch!” I call back, pulling out his vacated chair to take a seat.

“If this were really a trash can, your panties wouldn’t be so twisted over a little dust on the floor.”

“You’re a slob, Clyde,” I volley good-naturedly.

The only response I get is Clyde flipping me the bird without looking back, and this time Gwen wheezes a laugh from behind her fist.