The Crazy Rich Davenports Box Set: Books 1-9: The CRD Series: Season One

By Shannyn Leah and Kelly Moore

The Crazy Rich Davenports Season One, Books 1-3

Dare To Enter

It's complicated.
What's complicated?
My life!

Six kids, two stepchildren, a dead husband, a nanny with multiple personalities, and a crazy wig-wearing, drug-selling, sex addict mother is only half the story.

Just when I decide to get my act together by putting down the bottle, my daughter decides to throw a party. 

This is bad, very bad. 

 

Hot Mess

Ever had one of those days? You know the one…where everything seems to be fighting against you. I can't even get off the toilet without it biting me in the ass! 

Well, that's my life! Everyone wants a piece of me, and I'm fed up. It's time to fight back and gain control over this dysFUNctional family of mine.  

No more drinking. No more sex.  I'm keeping my legs crossed. Jeez, I already sound boring. I can do this! But I swear, if one more secret is exposed, I'm going to be wrangled in the sheets with a hot cowboy again.

Our parties never go as planned. I can feel the mayhem brewing.

Just when I'm ready to throw in the towel when it comes to men, in walks a hot cowboy that kicks my libido in the nuts!

Maybe I'll survive the party…

Fat chance of that.

 

The Loon

Who says just because I'm old I have to be a fuddy-duddy? I still like to have my thatched cottage prodded by my silver fox's Action Jackson.

My daughter calls me a sex addict. Well, she's a prude. I mean, I am sort of a sex addict, but what I do with my Netherlands is none of her business.

Lucy walks around here saying her life is C-O-M-P-L-I-C-A-T-E-D.  Did I spell that right? My eyes aren't what they used to be. Anyway, I try to make her life as easy as possible. She doesn't thoroughly appreciate my wig-wearing, drug-selling ways. Those little blue pills make me a shitload of money. Not to mention, the appreciative smiles I get from men sporting a boner.

Now, if I could keep from getting arrested and having to bribe the men in blue with my stash, or the promise of a little funky-funky on the side, my profits would soar.  Then again, I've rather enjoyed the handcuffs I stole from them…

 

F%#king Screwed

Damn! Shit! Bone a duck! I'm so screwed!

 

Don't Wake the Dead

Why is this entire family worried about my cherry? Maybe I like being a virgin. Maybe I haven't decided whose side I'm playing on. Why can't it be both?

 

Then There Were Four

Why can't I be normal? Slutty Pepper and her teenage ways have me hot and bothered all the time...

 

 

I Promise to Obey Nothing

Troy or Cash? The choice should be easy....

 

Boos and Booze

A halloween party you won't soon forget!...

Binge read the entire first season. Nine books in all.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Shannyn Leah
• Release date: Jul 28, 2019
• ISBN: 9781393001126

Shannyn Leah

USA TODAY BESTSELLING AUTHOR, Shannyn Leah welcomes you to her small town of bad boys and smart, sassy heroines. Contemporary romance with the perfect blend of humor, heart and heat.  To be notified when new books, exclusive excerpts and contests are released, join her mailing list here: http://www.shannynleah.com/newsletter-and-secret-access-club.php

Book preview

The Crazy Rich Davenports S1, E1-9

The Crazy Rich Davenports S1, E1-9

Kelly Moore

Shannyn Leah

Edited by

Kerry Genova

Copyright © 2019 by Kelly M

All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

Created with Vellum Created with Vellum

Contents

Warning

Character Profile

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Afterword

About Author Shannyn Leah

Also by Shannyn Leah

About Author Kelly Moore

Also by Kelly Moore

Warning

If you are looking for a sweet, sensitive book, don’t read this one It is a totally inappropriate book about a completely dysfunctional family. The F word flies free along with many other curse words. So, if you are looking for a happy ending you are looking in the wrong spot. Feel free to get drunk while you’re reading it, and prepare to wet yourself laughing. If sex scenes are not your thing - move on. But, if you have a sense of humor and like a raunchy comedy - you’re in the right place. Join in on the craziness of The Rich Crazy Rich Davenport Family.

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Dysfunctional doesn’t even come close to describing the Davenports. Wild, crazy, and out of control comes to mind. Lucy - the mother of six kids likes to drink and have wild and crazy sex with…well, you’ll have to read to see. Yaya- the grandmother is the craziest of them all. She likes to sell little blue pills and is a wig-wearing, crazy, sex addict grandmother who rides a moped and hides her stash in the produce. And, if you think these are crazy characters, wait until you meet the rest of this messed-up family.

Character Profile

Welcome to the strangely wild and funny series - The Crazy Rich Davenports

If you love sexy scenes, a bit of bad behavior, and don’t mind bad language - you are in the right place.

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Dare to Enter the craziness of this wild and dysfunctional family.

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Meet the Davenports - these are the POV’s you will meet in the pilot.

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Yaya and Pops. Parents to Lucy Davenport - the mother of a brood of children. Yaya is not your typical sweet grandmother. She’s rich, but acts like she’s poor and finds creative way to make money. She loves colored wigs, black nail polish and bright red lipstick. She is one of the funnest characters either one of us has ever written.

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Lucy - the messed up mother of the brood of Davenport’s. She lost her husband a year ago and it’s taken her this long to get her life back on track - at least she tries until she’s dealt another blow.

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Ford - is the oldest of Lucy’s children. He’s in college, very smart, and handsome, but his downfall is his love for Daisy - the nanny, who has many secrets.

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Gemma - She’s the sweet and innocent of all the clan.

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Daisy - is the Nanny for the younger Davenport children. She’s a complete mess and has many different layers to her. You will enjoy getting to know her…them.

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Other children you will read about in this book:

Imogene, Mark Jr.

Bets, Bryant, Frankie, Twins - Erik and Evan

Other characters - Slutty Pepper and Tommy the Zombie Hunter and many others.

Dare To Enter S1E1

Chapter 1

FORD

IS IT CHEATING if you have sex with your girlfriend’s split personalities?

She has three that I know of—that any of us know of—and I’m not about to screw Tommy the Zombie Hunter. But, I mean, when I wake up next to Slutty Pepper, and she’s working on my morning hard-on, wouldn’t it be rude to jump away and tell her she’s not Daisy?

Because, in actuality, it is Daisy’s body, Daisy’s eyes, and Daisy’s hand…only sometimes her mind temporarily strays a bit off track. Slutty Pepper never stays around long, and she’s usually too tired to pop up—like my erection—this early in the morning. She prefers to prowl the evening like a wild teenager who also happens to be eight years younger than Daisy’s age of twenty-five.

That means Slutty Pepper is three years younger than me. Is this illegal? If Daisy’s legally twenty-five, but her split is not of age, does that make this morning’s rendezvous in Daisy’s bed illegal?

Oh damn, this is too confusing first thing in the morning when Slutty Pepper is pumping up and down on top of me.

Yes, Ford, yes! I cup her breasts—again, Daisy’s breasts—and listen to her shout my name as we both succumb to the pleasure. She digs her nails into my flesh and squeezes my chest so tight I make a sound of pain. 

You like that, Ford?

Oh fuck. Slutty Pepper’s eyeing me like I’m a candy she’s going to devour. I’d say it’s a good thing, but I know with Slutty Pepper it’s never good.

I have to get ready for school. It’s as good an excuse as any, and it’s the truth. I should’ve stayed in my dorm room last night, but being the university is in the same town as my parents’ house—now my mom’s house—sometimes it’s nice just to hang out at home with my siblings and their nanny, my girl, Daisy.

Slutty Pepper shoves my chest down, and I bounce off the bed. She leans down and presses one finger against her lips as she purses them out more than Daisy does. She’s the complete opposite of my sweet Daisy, and I shouldn’t be under her.

I won’t tell if you don’t tell.

Double fuck. She’s talking about telling Daisy. Her personalities talk inside her head, and lord only knows what trouble Slutty Pepper could stir up. Daisy didn’t deserve the hassle of them cheating—again.

Damn Slutty Pepper is too persuasive.

I try to sit up, and this time she wraps her arms around my neck and bounces on my lap. Let’s have a shower.

I’m going to be late.

What’s wrong with being a little late? She almost swallows my ear and bites my earlobe hard as she pulls away. She whispers some goddamn sexy shit she wants to do to me in the shower, but I’m feeling guilty.

Again.

You’d think I’d learn the first time. Or second. I mean, how many times has my dick been in this personality? It’s too early in the morning to count. 

Another time. I lie—or tell myself I’m lying when really, I suck at resisting Slutty Pepper. When she wants something, she’s a go-getter and too damn hot. A hot side of the girl I like. 

I lift her off my lap and set her on the bed. 

Oh, Ford. She opens her legs and slides her hands between her breasts, down her middle, heading to the warm and wet waiting area below. Daisy doesn’t have to be downstairs for an hour. Let’s play.

I grab my clothes from the floor, half-ass pulling my pants up my legs and hurriedly struggling to push my hand through an arm before I change my mind and dive down below.

See you later, I say, making a beeline toward the door. I practically run through the main living quarters—all decorated in calming yellows and beige, matching Daisy’s personality. As I shut the door, I can hear Slutty Pepper moaning in a wave of pleasure she’s bringing to herself. I press my back against the door, closing my eyes and ordering my body to stop reacting. Encouraging Slutty Pepper will get me into deep shit. She always manages to get me into deep shit. 

I open my eyes, hoping to hell I have some control over myself and find my younger sister staring at me. She taps her socked foot on the plush carpet, and her brown pants match her straight dark hair which she’s pulled into a tight ponytail. One of her hands is firmly planted on her cocked hip, bunching her white flared sweater. Her eyes, the same blue as mine, look ready to skin me alive, and she looks more awake than a person should at this early hour.

You screwed Slutty Pepper again, didn’t you?

I’m not going to lie. I mean, I’m standing here getting a hard-on all over again listening to the screaming moans through the door.

Well, I’m not going to sleep with Tommy.

At least Tommy has morals.

He believes zombies are real. He literally killed a squirrel in the backyard last week. Shot it to death. With a BB gun. Daisy made us have a funeral and everything for it. Closed bag, so it wasn’t bloody or gruesome for the younger kids.

And Slutty Pepper doesn’t believe in the pill, so I hope you covered Slutty Mini Ford up because we don’t need more kids running around.

Kids? Hell no. I’m twenty and in the second year of my studies in bioengineering. Kids are not in my picture. Not my own anyway.

My parents had a litter of six, and my dad had two with the wife before my mom. Since my dad’s unexpected passing almost a year ago, my mom’s in denial and we’re damn lucky to have Daisy keeping the kids sorted. Unless I screw it all up and she packs her, Slutty Pepper, and Tommy’s bags up and walks out the front door. 

I follow a steaming angry Gemma down the hallway.

What are you even doing here? I ask. She has a dorm room too, thankfully not anywhere close to mine. She drives me crazy enough with the amount I see her already.

She turns, and I almost run into her. It’s Friday. She says it like there’s some underlying meaning I’m supposed to understand. All Fridays mean to me is Slutty Pepper will be planning on sneaking away to a club come midnight, and if I don’t control the situation, it won’t be my dick inside either of them. Not that I care what or who Slutty Pepper does. It’s not like Daisy is out having sex with random people, but Daisy’s been worried lately, which is how Slutty Pepper and I started hanging out in the first place.

It is Imogene’s birthday and Mom’s throwing her a party—tomorrow.

I make a face of disgust at the mention of the first siblings, my half siblings. The all-time famous Imogene and Mark Davenport Jr. Talk about stuck-up assholes. With fifteen years over me and Gemma, those two dimwits had been raised with a silver spoon in their mouths, on a pedestal, and groomed to be the heirs of the family business.

Mom’s not throwing her a party. Mom won’t even know what day today is. She likes the bottle more than Slutty Pepper and the new gardening guy. Who would have known that cliché was so true?

Gemma turns and starts walking again, and I follow her through the wing of our mansion. Yes, I’m rich, my siblings are rich—filthy rich actually, but there’s no way I’m about to let all of us grow up into snot faces like the first siblings. We aren’t entitled to our trust funds until we turn twenty-five, so as of now, we live off our mom. Which we could really take advantage of if we wanted; she pays very little attention to what’s going on around the house since our dad died.

No, everyone thinks Mom’s throwing her a party. The first siblings, the other grandparents. Plus, Uncle Jacob and Aunt Jane are coming.

Oh great, a whole big, loving family get-together. Not what I want to be doing on my Saturday evening.

They all think Mom’s planning it, but really it’s us.

It’s not me.

It’s tomorrow, and yes, it is you.

We walk down the double stairs to the marble-floored foyer. 

I’m busy. This is very last minute to spring on me. My sister’s going to be lucky if I even show up. It depends on the time. If Slutty Pepper comes out to play, I will be out of here.

I texted you last week with the details.

Thinking back, yes, I think she did send me a text I ignored. I have school. You have school.

Grandma and Grandpa Davenport are both coming to the party.

I would rather sleep with Tommy than entertain those people. My father’s parents are a perfect example of the first sibling’s future.

Gemma smiles at me. Unfortunately, I have a list for you and sleeping with Tommy isn’t on the agenda. My sister shoves the list against my chest.

I would sleep with Tommy. Our grandmother, on our mom’s side, who we call Yaya stops beside us. She tilts her head, nicely adorned with a purple wig today. Medium length, spiky at the bottom and flared bangs. The color is quite the contrast against her red lipstick and painted black nails. She’s the complete opposite of Grandma Davenport, and I can see she’s packing a large purse today which means she’s selling street Viagra in the old-age home again. Friday Fun Day she calls it. The thought of it terrifies me. A bunch of horny old men chasing the old ladies down the halls. Nasty.

Yaya contemplates for a second as a grin crosses her face, and I know I won’t want to hear whatever is about to come out of her mouth. You know, if I swung that way and wasn’t married to your bastard grandfather. By bastard, she means normal, and I know that she really adores him in her own way. My grandpa Miller, better known as Pops, is the only sane person in this house. Who, by the way, has broken into the guesthouse again. 

Pops lives in the guesthouse, Yaya. Gemma shakes her head down to the handful of paper she’s holding.

I have potential tenants for the guesthouse.

I wrap my arm around Yaya and give her a squeeze. She’s built like a fighter, but she’s still my Yaya. Yaya, you can’t rent out Pops’s house.

I need the money. She slaps my chest. She doesn’t need the money, but she came from the other side of the tracks and has her mind set in poor mode.

Gemma sifts through the papers in her hand until she finds one and holds it in Yaya’s direction. Your list.

Yaya points her finger at the list. I have errands to run today.

Good, run these while you’re at it. Gemma waves the paper in her direction.

It’s Friday Fun Day.

Gemma shakes her head. Work around it. This is your list, and I need you to get this stuff—today.

Yaya finally takes the paper. Two suckers reeled in what looks like a huge list of errands. I would ask my sister why she hadn’t hired a party planner, but I already know she doesn’t want to be pampered like the first sibling.

Looking down at my list, I’m telling you, at this point, I’m all for a party planner. I have classes, as do you.

Do it after or during. We both know you sleep through class anyway. Don’t mess up those lists, she says, walking away. I’m depending on you. Mom’s depending on you.

You just don’t want to embarrass yourself in front of the other grandparents! I shout after her. I’m tempted to crinkle up the note and toss it in the urn beside me, but I’d never hear the end of it.

The other grandparents are coming. Yaya sounds less impressed than I am.

Yeah.

You know what would be fun? She wraps her arm around me, and we start walking toward the kitchen for some breakfast. I’m sure I don’t want to know her idea of fun, especially with the devious way she asked.

I doubt it.

If we spiked old man Davenport’s drink with a high dose of some Viagra.

I laugh. I can’t help it. This shit is coming out of my old grandmother’s mouth, and I know she’s only half kidding.

No, I say, but how can she take me seriously when I’m laughing my ass off.

Why not?

The fact that she has to ask is a problem in itself. I stop before the kitchen and turn to her. No spiking Grandpa Davenport’s drink.

She shrugs.

Yaya?

Yeah yeah, okay.

Promise. I hold my hand out, and she only eyes it.

Don’t you have errands to run?

Promise.

She huffs her disappointment. Fine, but when we’re sitting around bored out of our minds, remember, I had entertainment planned, and you ruined it.

I try not to laugh, but a smile definitely reaches my eyes. Fair enough. I better get on this list. Who knows what Gemma has me doing. Try not to give the poor guys at the home a heart attack today, okay?

Darlin’, when you’re my age, dying during an orgasm is the way to go.

Yuck. Gross. Too much, just too much. I turn and wish Yaya’s laughter is because she’s teasing, when really, I know she’s dead serious.

Chapter 2

YAYA

JUST BECAUSE FORD is all grown up and banging Daisy or whoever the hell she is, he thinks he can tell an old lady what to do. Old Grandpa Davenport is so getting Viagra in his drink! I yell back to the house as I climb behind the wheel of my 2000 silver Lincoln.

I need to invent a drug to subdue the rocket between Ford’s legs. If I have to listen to him and Piper…Pippen, no that’s not it. I strum my black painted fingernails on the steering wheel, trying to come up with her name. I have gotten rather forgetful in my old age, but you would think with her name being screamed repeatedly through the night by Ford, that I could remember it.

Pepper! That’s it. That’s the slut’s name. I straighten my purple wig, then put the keys in the ignition. The tires screech on the driveway as I speed out, leaving black marks on the concrete. Digging between the leather seats, I find the remote that controls the gated entrance, and it swings open in time for me to race out and make a sharp turn onto the road.

Old man Cooper slams on the brakes of his fancy Mercedes Benz, honking his horn. In the rearview mirror, I see his lips contort into a few choice words.

I have an answer for that. I laugh and roll my window down, sharing my crooked middle finger with him. He honks again, and I push the pedal to the metal and leave his cranky ass far behind.

Finding my favorite oldies tunes, I crank up the music and pull my ePen from my bag and suck in the flavor of my favorite weed. It helps the ache in my bones. Hmmm…who am I kidding? I like the way it makes me feel. I roll the window back down and blow out the white puff of smoke.

By the time I make it to the retirement village, I have a pretty good buzz going. God knows I’ll need it to try to forget all the awful things I do. I didn’t use to be like this. I was once a sweet and innocent girl…well, maybe not so innocent. I’m guessing a sex addict will never be innocent.

Grabbing my bag and my box of goodies, I slowly get out of the car and straighten my dress over my once shapely body. An apple is still a shape, just not one that I’m liking very much.

Hey, Mabel. She’s manned the front desk for years and loves Fun Day Fridays because she knows it means she will be spending some boner time with her husband.

Her wrinkled face crinkles further into a big smile. I’m sure glad it’s Friday. The boys will be happy to see you.

Who are you kidding, Mabel. The women are just as happy. I lay my bag on the counter and pull out a baggie. You might want to share this with the ladies. I hand her the bag full of KY Jelly. We don’t need the men getting blisters on their man parts because of too much friction. I laugh as her face blushes red. One of the glorious benefits of getting old is drying up in the VJJ area.

The men are already in the dining area waiting for me with cash in hand. Good morning, Eleanor, Albert purrs.

I wink at him, knowing good and well that in about thirty minutes, he and I will be getting it on in one of the janitor’s closets. His wife is crippled and not able to satisfy him anymore, so I gladly make the sacrifice. Albert may be old, but he can still move his hips.

REAPPLYING MY BRIGHT red lipstick in the rearview mirror, I can’t help but smile recalling the closet shenanigans with Albert. He banged me so hard my wig fell off. That’s what I call a good day.

I stuff all the cash into different compartments of my purse and see the long list Gemma gave me. She’s such a sweet girl, but she needs to lose her virginity to get that stick out of her ass. She’s always trying to do the right thing, and at this point in my life, I’m all about the wrong things. A girl has to have a little fun.

My old Lincoln resists as I shift it into drive. It makes a clunking noise as I leave the parking lot. Smoke comes out of the engine, but the car still moves, so I ignore it and head to the party store.

The neon lights of the storefront are gaudy compared to the rich town of Arbour’s Crown. Even the name is pretentious. The windows of the building are all blacked out, probably because it’s an adult super-center and not really what Gemma had in mind for my shopping.

The wheel of my shopping cart keeps pulling to the left, and I run into a display of plastic dildos that spill onto the tiled floor of the store. I pick up a couple packages of purple ones that match my hair and stuff them in my purse before the store clerk comes over to pick up the display. I flash him my fake innocent smile and move onto another aisle.

Finding a few items on the list, I pay and head for the real party store to appease Gemma. Gemma really fits her; she’s such a gem. She’s my favorite of all the little delinquents in the brood my daughter created. I don’t know how she turned out so well, with a drunken mother for an example. I guess my good morals and stylish sense has rubbed off on her. Spit spews from my mouth, as I laugh at my own joke.

My car continues to sputter as I pull back up into our driveway. Gray smoke spits out one more time as I shift into park.

My dear, sweet husband, Maxwell—but I like to call him Max—is outside working on his precious flower bed. He wipes his hands on his jeans and heads straight toward me with a not-so-happy look. A look I should be used to by now because I’m always pissing him off. Sighing deeply, I get out of the car.

What the hell is this? He’s got a piece of paper fisted in his hand.

An eviction notice. I laugh and kiss his cheek, then wipe the red stain from his face.

It’s a For Rent sign I found in town on the window of a real estate office.

Are you looking for a place to rent? I bat my fake eyelashes.

This is our address. He points to the piece of paper.

You are the only one living there, and we could use the money. You’ve been too stubborn to move into the house with me. Besides, the money is to help the kids. Their father died for Pete’s sake. I throw my bag over my shoulder and head for the front door.

These kids don’t need anything but a good example. He follows on my heels.

That’s the perfect reason for you to move into the house with us. You living in the guest cottage of this house doesn’t make sense, especially since I moved out and into the main house after Mark died. They need you. I know I’m being manipulative, but I want the income, and I already have potential renters.

I stop in my tracks when he grabs my elbow. You know I would give these kids anything they needed.

Good, it’s settled then. They need you. I playfully swat his still-handsome face. I do love him deeply, and I’m not sure why he’s put up with me all these years. He’s been a good husband, and I’ve been a rotten wife, and I know it. I have a few little blue pills leftover if you are interested. I waggle my tattooed eyebrows at him.

He grins, and I know I’m forgiven as he wraps his strong arm around my shoulder. After a little roll in the hay, I’ll help you move your things into the house.

As we make it to the landing of the stairs, our daughter Lucy is stumbling out of her room. Her choppy auburn hair is in disarray, and her eyes are half closed. She doesn’t wear her hangover well. The family dog, Roscoe, is trailing close behind her.

Good morning, sunshine. My naturally sarcastic personality rolls off my tongue.

She flips me off and kisses her father. Good morning, Dad.

Morning, sweetie. There’s a pot of coffee already made for you.

Thanks, Dad.

Taking his hand, I pull him away from her. You need to talk to Gemma about the party you’re supposed to be planning. Your father and I have some business to take care of right now.

Chapter 3

Lucy

MY DAUGHTER IS planning a what now ?

What is my senile, crazy mother talking about? And why is my dad so blind he can’t see what a nut she is? They’re off to pop pills and bang for the next however long that crap keeps a man hard.

Ugh.

I shudder because who wants to picture their parents going at it like wild rabbits? And I don’t have to go far for the images. They damaged my younger self with past sexual rendezvous I walked in on. A six-year-old shouldn’t see their parents naked and humping on the kitchen table—where we all sat and ate family meals…it’s just not right. 

I groan as the thumping pain of my headache intensifies. I need coffee and some Advil, so I head toward the kitchen where my dad already has a pot brewing for me. He was my reliable parent growing up. I could always count on him while my mother was off developing some wild entrepreneurial idea that never worked. The closest she’s ever had to success is smuggling the Viagra into the retirement village now. Thank god I met my late husband and married into his filthy rich family to escape the downhill path of what my life could have been.

I snicker as I bring the warm mug to my lips. His parents loathe me, accusing me of being a gold digger. I don’t blame them; I’m nothing like his first wife who’d come from a wealthy family with a wealthy background. But once I showed my late husband another side of life, nothing his parents tried to say could tear us apart. Then enough kids later, to ensure I’d be set for life, and I’m happily living the dream.

Mom, don’t sit on Frankie!

I jump up at the sound of my youngest daughter’s warning, and the hot liquid spills out of the mug and lands on the front of my silk nightgown.

Shit! I pull the wet material away from my skin, making gasping sounds.

Dollar. Bets, short for Elizabeth after her stuck-up grandmother Davenport, scoots into a seat next to mine. She looks at me with brown eyes as dark and deep as her father’s, and my insides crumble. I loved that man. As much as I wish and pretend I married him for his money, I’d fallen head over heels for him. Now I only have memories of him and the matching eyes of my children, except for the older two. They have my father’s blue eyes.

I lean my upper body forward to keep the material off my skin and grip the back of the chair, taking deep breaths as not to strangle my favorite child. Yeah, I play favorites. You would too if you had six to choose from. 

Bets, Frankie isn’t real. He’s her imaginary friend, and at six years old, my daughter needs to outgrow this childish game.

Not if you sit on Frankie.

I’ll kill Frankie for you, Mom! My second youngest comes barreling into the kitchen, and a dart flies by my head, hitting the back of the chair. Done. Frankie is dead. Bryant snickers an evil sound, and I don’t even want to look at what ridiculous outfit he’s wearing today. At the same time, his loud voice is piercing my already spinning head. All I want is a cup of coffee in silence. Why can’t I have a peaceful cup of coffee?

What is today? Friday? Saturday? It has to be Saturday because the kids aren’t in school.

Oh lord. That means two full days of…this.

Bryant, inside voice. He’s dressed in all black and a costume I don’t recognize. I can’t keep up with his daily villain changes.

You missed. Bets sticks her tongue out at her brother. Because you’re a terrible villain.

Oh yeah! Bryant climbs on the table, pointing a dart at Bets, and to be honest, I’m not sure if it’s fake or real.

Bryant, one…two…three…

Daisy. Thank god. I love Daisy. She keeps me sane in this shit-show of a house. She held this family together when I could barely get out of bed in the mornings. This is saying a lot because she has so many issues of her own, but she held it together, and for that, I will always be grateful.

Bryant jumps off the table, but not before making a slicing motion across his throat, a warning to his sister. Bets rolls her eyes and offers Frankie a cookie. I’m still not sure if Frankie is male or female. I’m living in a zoo, I swear. 

I finally sit beside un-gendered Frankie—and get a sip of coffee when my eldest daughter gracefully sweeps into the kitchen to interrupt me. I’m getting a coffeemaker in my room. That’s my goal for today.

Mom, we are going grocery shopping today for Imogene’s party.

My second sip of coffee spews out of my mouth, all over the plate of cookies.

Shit, Bryant says. 

Dollar, Bets says and pats her pouch where she collects our money for swearing.

Bryant! Daisy raises her voice, but only to the precise tone she’s mastered with my kids. She’s a lifesaver I’m telling you.

Bryant gives Daisy a questioning look that is hard to take seriously when his face is caked in layers of black face paint. What? Mom said shit and didn’t pay a dollar.

If the kid does everything I do, we’re all doomed.

And it has to be that small organic shop in the village because she won’t eat anything that’s not organic. Gemma slaps a piece of paper on the table beside the drops of coffee, and the loud thump rings my head.

How would Princess Imogene ever know real organic from not organic?

Mom, focus.

I’m trying, but this conversation is not holding my attention whatsoever. I sip my coffee.

I’ll give you a half hour to drink your coffee and have a shower.

No. I twist my body away from my daughter and her list.

Mom, you’re throwing Imogene a party. Gemma comes around in front of me. It’s small. Just us, Grandma and Grandpa Davenport, Uncle Jacob, Aunt Jane, and Cash are coming.

Cash? When did he get back into town? My husband’s brother has been living as far away from this family for as long as I can remember. I don’t blame him; his parents are haughty, demanding people. Cash is the last person I have to worry about right now.

Why are we hosting a party for Imogene? I ask. She’s not my child. She’s not even a child. She’s a snot-ass grown adult.

Dollar.

Bets! I yell. I’m going to owe a hundred dollars by the end of this morning’s gathering, and at this rate, you need to change your rate to a quarter.

Bets levels a serious look at me. I am saving for bunk beds for me and Frankie.

I roll my eyes, but the motion brings another round of dizziness. If I could remember last night, I’d bet I had a good time. 

Everyone has a list. Gemma waves papers in front of me. I’m tempted to throw them in the curse jar. You and I are on grocery shopping duty.

I can barely stand, and she wants me to walk down aisles fighting for the ripest tomato.

Give Daisy the list.

It’s a PA day for the elementary school kids, so she has her hands full keeping them out of trouble.

Don’t you think it’s a little late to be planning a party for tomorrow? I ask, grasping at any straw to eliminate tomorrow’s disaster and a disaster it will be. It’s never a smooth, easy time with my in-laws and my husband’s demon spawn.

Gemma plants a firm hand on her hip, and I see her nose twitch with annoyance. I want to tell her to let the beast inside her out, step past her sweet little facade and fucking scream bloody murder, but then I’d likely owe thirty bucks in the jar.

Yes, Mom, I do. You were supposed to have already planned this. If you wanted Daisy to go grocery shopping, you should have planned it for Thursday while the kids were at school, and if you wanted a party planner instead of having Yaya get the loot bag and decorating supplies, again, you should have planned it months ago.

Yaya got the loot bag favors? My lips curl with amusement. This is a recipe for disaster that might be the only thing worth attending dinner for. Look out for erect penises everywhere.

Don’t try to change the subject. You were originally in charge of this. Not me. I’ve been in school.

I stand and touch my worried daughter’s face. So young and not a wrinkle on her smooth skin. Oh, the days of youth. I miss those carefree days.

Sweetheart, I’ve told you before, and I’ll tell you again, stop focusing on school and find a rich husband.

If she keeps glaring at me the way she is right now, she’ll have wrinkles before she nails a decent, rich husband. As of now, she’s a Davenport, young, gorgeous—more so if she’d lose the cardigan and spritz her straight hair—she could have her pick of the men. Maybe we should be throwing a husband-hunting party and inviting all the single, wealthy men.

I don’t need a rich man. I have money. I want a career.

I lean in. I don’t think you can confidently say that without popping your cherry first.

Mother! Gemma looks at her siblings, but they’re too preoccupied with Bryant’s arrows. I’m now convinced by the pointed tips that they’re real.

Good morning, everyone. My daughter’s eyes land on last night’s fun. I don’t let her ogle him alone. I didn’t hire Rye because he’s a good gardener. I hired him because I wanted to touch, lick, and devour that hard, hot body of his. I am single now, and it’s been a year of mourning.

Mission accomplished. As many nights a week as I can…now if I could just remember those nights…

Did I hear we’re planning a party? Rye asks.

We’re. As if he’s part of the family. He’s not the sharpest tool in his garden bag. A pushover, too easy, and dumb. He’s a big dumb hunk that can lift me and bang me against a door like a beast. I bite my lower lip as my body starts reacting to the idea, giving me even more reason to skip grocery shopping and drag this boy—he’s decades younger than me—back to my bedroom.

Gemma’s planning a party, I say, looking between my daughter and my play toy. Her parted mouth and small breaths indicate how bad she has it for this piece of fine male specimen. She’s trying not to stare at his naked torso, but really, who can resist taking a look. Daisy. Apparently, Daisy can resist a peek at the goods. If Slutty Pepper were here, she’d pounce on poor Rye right in front of all of us.

The thought gives me an idea. 

Aren’t you, Gemma? I hit the back of her shoulder with mine to get her tongue moving. 

She clears her throat. I’m helping my mother plan a party for Imogene.

Oh, we’re having the family over. Should I remind him he’s not related to us just because we’re screwing? That’ll be nice.

I roll my eyes. Clearly, he’s not related to us, or that sentence wouldn’t have come out of his mouth. 

What do you need me to do? He walks around the table and stops in front of me and Gemma. I hear my daughter’s tiny gasp. He folds his arms over his bulging, tattooed pecs. It increases his hotness.

Purrrr.

But I have another plan. A plan that will save me from leaving the house today and give my daughter a shove in the right direction.

I—I didn’t make you a list. Even her small voice sounds like a virgin.

I have the day off. So if you need me to do anything. His voice always has that low, velvety smooth tone that warms a woman’s lower part of the body.

This is where I step in. I touch Gemma’s arm with one hand and Rye’s arm with the other. Rye, would you be able to help Gemma with the shopping today? She has a list of organic foods she needs to pick up, and she’s sort of in a rush.

I know Rye is down-to-earth, a vegan, and a huge fan of fresh fruits and vegetables. He really does love all kinds of gardening, but he’s certainly better in my bed than the flower beds. But his talented fingers under the sheets makes up for his lack of pulling weeds. Besides, I hired Santiago to come when everyone’s asleep and fix the outdoor flower beds. No one knows, and I’ll keep it that way.

I would love to. He pushes his long hair behind his ears and nods with excitement.

Gemma, will that work, sweetheart?

Gemma bites her lower lip and looks at me with furrowed brows then back to Rye, and they ease with her shy smile. This act would turn the best of men on. If you don’t mind.

Rye shakes his head. No. I would love to take you. I know the perfect market. I’ll drive. Let me get changed. He reaches over and touches my daughter’s arm, and her face turns a cute shade of red.

I’m not about sharing my men with my daughter, but this big dumb goof isn’t a permanent fixture in my life, and Gemma needs a good lay. A few pushes from me and these two might be shacking up in less than a month.

When he walks away, I can hear my patio chair and a glass of wine—a cup of wine a day helps with hangovers, right? No, maybe I’ll need a few then. 

Gemma turns to me with that frown I swear she reserves just for me. I’m not Slutty Pepper. 

She might not be Slutty Pepper, but she’s definitely Horny Gemma. 

Chapter 4

Gemma

S MELL THESE. I lean my nose in the direction of the fruit Rye is holding. Do you smell how fresh and ripe it is?

I can only smell whatever scent is called Rye. He smells good. So good. The whole interior of his hippie Volkswagen van, complete with a bed in the back and books, smelled outdoorsy and soapy. I’ll be honest, the books surprised me. I didn’t peg Rye as a reader. I can’t seem to get enough of his smell. I’m going to dream about this smell—and the rumpled sheets on his bed. 

He sets the fruit in a pile already stacked in the shopping basket.

I’m trying my hardest not to stare. I don’t remember it ever being this difficult to not look at someone, but the boys at my school don’t walk around in tank tops, and they don’t have arms built like Rye. Huge, thick arms bulging with a trail of tattoos I’m curious to explore…with my mouth.

I choke. On my own breath! Or spit. Am I drooling?

I wipe along the bottom of my lip just in case.

What is wrong with me? I blame my mother and Slutty Pepper. They’re both bad influences. Yaya’s not much better. 

What does my mom expect? That I’m going to sleep with the same guy she does?

Yuck.

Gross.

Just gross. 

I’m waiting for love, love like my mom and dad had, and honestly, I’m not in a rush to find it. I have goals, and none of them include sleeping with my mom’s male mistress. Is there a name for him? And is he considered a mistress if she’s not married?

She would’ve never cheated on my dad when he was alive. They were the real deal. True love. I would know the difference after watching my Davenport grandparents’ arranged marriage fail. And in some messed-up way, Yaya and Pops have the real thing too. I see the way Pops looks at Yaya, and it’s the same way my dad used to look at my mom. Real love.

Rye moans as he picks up a tomato and holds it in front of him.

Is he serious?

My brain tells me to run to the car. This guy’s brain is half-baked. Good thing he has looks or he wouldn’t have anything going for him. 

I scold myself for being judgmental. I’m better than that. Sort of. I judge my family. All. The. Time.

Touch this. Rye thrusts the large, round tomato in front of me. When I only stare, trying to set boundaries in my head as not to end up another Davenport in his bed, he reaches for my hand and covers the red vegetable. Or fruit.  Screw the details. I’m not arguing this topic when I can’t even think straight.

His hand completely covers mine, and when I still don’t respond, his fingers apply pressure. Do you feel that? Fresh. Ripe. Subtle. Ready for the taking.

I’ve never flirted with a guy before. I’d rather read a good book than listen to some immature pickup line that sounds as if it came from a tacky eighties teen movie, or ghetto—sometimes the pickup lines are disgusting. 

But this—with Rye, right now—this is so different. 

Do you feel it?

I feel something. 

I nod, and a small uh-huh passes my lips in more of a whisper.

That’s a good one. His deep, smooth voice travels to a place nothing has ever stirred before.

I’ve never had an orgasm, never kissed a boy or held hands in the hallway. This hot pounding like a wildfire in my panties is an entirely new feeling. And my breasts, they’re tingling, and I want his hand on them. Lord, I’m getting so hot and so tight and so turned on. He’s turning me on in the produce aisle with a tomato.

He takes his hand away. A wise move considering my insanely behaving body. Good, now you pick one. He steps back and smiles as if this was the most casual experience. 

Oh no. Maybe it is casual. Of course it’s casual. We’re shopping in public for crying out loud. Am I that introverted that I don’t know how to be casual?

I swallow down the…whatever is rising in my throat and attempt a smile. My lips shake, and I feel foolish, so I duck my head down to concentrate on tomatoes.

What am I looking for? What did he say? Will he even remember?

I touch a few, give them a gentle squeeze and turn them over as if examining them when really, I’m working on leveling out my breathing.

The last time I went grocery shopping was with Pops. I remember liking it, but we pay people to shop and cook for us. I wouldn’t even be here if it wasn’t Imogene’s birthday. I’m tired of her and her brother—my half siblings, but trust me, blood is the only thing that makes us family—acting like my mom doesn’t deserve the house my dad left her or the money in her bank account. I’m tired of the other siblings feeling entitled to more than their portion of our father’s money when he died.

That’s why this party has to be perfect. My mother needs to appear as if she has herself together—even though we all know she doesn’t. My Davenport grandparents have loads more money than we do all combined, and I worry about them partnering up with my other siblings to take away our money, our home, and our lives. We reside on old Davenport property, a house that’s been in the Davenport family for generations, and it’s on Imogene’s radar.

They’re all ruthless.

It’s one dinner. If we get through it smoothly, we won’t see them again until Thanksgiving.

This one. I hold up the tomato, and he again covers my hand with his. He firmly compresses and twists the tomato in my hand. 

He smiles at me. Perfect, Gemma. You have the touch. He takes the tomato and puts it in the basket. There’s this awesome documentary on the food industry today. It focuses on the dangers of a diet high in meat. If you’re interested, I can set you up with it.

I’m not sure how to take his offer: casual, a date—so I nod.

Great! We can watch it tonight. I will grab some organic popcorn since we’re here and maybe I’ll be able to convert you tonight. His enthusiasm is startling and sort of exciting at the same time as he takes off down the aisle. If this man thinks I’m sleeping with him, it’s not happening. I pick up my pace to keep up with his long legs.

It’s not happening. It’s not happening. Is this how Ford feels when Slutty Pepper comes out to play? He plans on not doing it, but then BANG, they’re both naked, and there’s no turning back.

Yeah, I have one messed-up family. How the heck are we going to pull off normal when we’re all falling apart? Speaking of which, Ford better be getting his list finished.

I pull out my cell phone and shoot off a quick text to him. We will get through this party if it kills us.

Chapter 5

Ford

IDON’T HAVE time for Gemma’s damn list, and I certainly don’t want to be sitting in biochemistry this morning. All I can think about is being buried inside the warmth of Daisy. My dick gets hard in my jeans, and I shift in my seat. The other students momentarily glance my way and then back to the instructor down in front of the class.

Mmmm…Pepper…I mean Daisy. I cover my hardening crotch with my hand. I know she’s busy with the littles today. That’s what I call my younger siblings. It’s a hell of a lot easier than naming all of them. I’m sure she has her hands full with Bets and her imaginary friend.

I love watching Daisy with them; she’s so sweet and has those perky pink lips…and perky pink nipples. Damn my dick is even harder. How is that possible with as many times as I fucked her last night.

Looking around the boring classroom, students are either entranced in the lecture or scrolling on their phones, not paying one bit of attention to me. Slowly, I start rubbing myself, up and down, up and down. I can already feel the tingling sensation pulsing up my spine. Biting my lip, I close my eyes and picture Daisy’s tits bouncing up and down as she rides me into next Tuesday. The front of my jeans soak as I grab my cock hard and swallow down my moans. When I finally stop pulsating, I open my eyes to find that no one is the wiser. They are all still lost in their own little worlds.

What the hell is wrong with me? I know I’m supposed to be a horny teenager, but it’s more than that. I guess the apple didn’t fall far from the tree. At least Yaya’s crazy tree. My dad once told me that she was a sex addict and Pops made her go to therapy, where knowing Yaya, she was screwing the therapist. I recall asking Pops why he stayed with her and his answer was because he loved her. No other reason was given.

Maybe I should see a therapist. God knows my entire family is crazy. I could be worse. I could be a druggie or sadist serial killer. I should be proud that my biggest flaw is being a sex addict. My dick starts to stir again.

I grab my books, cover my wet crotch, and scoot out of the bench seating, heading outside. Pulling my phone from my pocket, there is only one person I want to talk to. Hey, Daisy. How is it going with the littles?

Those two are a handful. I finally had to separate them. Bryant aka Mr. Cold today, froze Frankie to the wall with his ice monocles. Bets was screaming at the top of her lungs in a high-pitched shrill that would kill a dog’s ears.

Yeah, Mom needs to get a handle on Bryant and make him quit wearing those damn costumes.

She tried. She made him go change clothes, and he came back downstairs stark naked. He said if he couldn’t be in costume, then he wouldn’t wear anything.

I can’t help but chuckle thinking about it. What did Mom do?

She mumbled something and then took out a stash of cash and put it in the swear jar. I think she even made up a few new words and yanked Bryant upstairs by the ear.

Where are they now?

She debated taking him to work, but Pops intervened and said he wanted to take him shopping for some new clothes.

I don’t think taking a comic villain to TheComicStore is a good plan. Doesn’t she realize that every time he goes there, he comes up with a new villain? The last time he stole her credit card and ordered costumes off Amazon.

Hey, why are you calling me? Shouldn’t you be in class?

I was bored out of my mind, and all I could think about was you.

Me or Pepper?

You. So much so that I came in my pants.

You’re kidding. She laughs.

No, I’m not. I look down at the darker color over my crotch. I need to come home and change clothes. I lower my voice to something sulkier. Do you think maybe we could get a few moments alone?

You know I’m working.

Yeah, I know your rule of not messing around when you’re watching the littles, but I really need you to make an exception.

Sounds like to me you’ve already taken care of your need.

What I need is to be inside you. I open the driver’s side door of my brand-new, beefed-up Dodge Ram truck that I bought with my trust fund monies.

You can wait until tonight. Bets is all distraught over Frankie. I’ve finally got her calmed down, and I’m taking the two of them to the movies.

Bets and Bryant?

No silly, Bets and Frankie.

Why do you play along with her? You know Frankie isn’t real. I bang my head on the steering wheel.

For whatever reason, Bets needs Frankie to be real, and until she’s ready to let Frankie go, all you’re going to do is make things worse for her.

You mean like having three personalities? She doesn’t say a word, but I can hear her anger coming through the phone. I didn’t mean that, babe. I love you. Silence is ringing through. Are you ever going to tell me what happened to you? I’ve taken psych classes. I know something really bad happened to create Pepper, Tommy, and whatever the other one is.

Maybe one day, but right now, I need to help Bets so she doesn’t turn into me.

I hear dead space. Hello. Daisy? Damn it. I’m so fucking stupid. I have a 4.3 grade point average in bioengineering, but I’m a stupid shit when it comes to my girlfriend. Hell, is that even what she is? Neither one of us has ever put a label on it. All I know is that no other woman interests me like she does. I could never fall for mundane or ordinary, and Daisy is neither one of those things.

Jerking my truck into gear, I squeal out of the student parking lot. In the rearview mirror, I can see one of the university security guards writing my license plate number down in his black pad. He should know it by heart. He gives me a ticket every other week.

I don’t slow down, heading across town to where I know Daisy will take Bets to the movies. I just don’t know which one they are going to see. Being that school is out, there are a lot of kids here and the line to buy tickets is long.

I hop over the velvet red rope and skate in behind a couple handing tickets to the ticket taker. I walk into one of the dark theaters with a kid’s movie displayed on the sign. The previews are showing, and the movie is already packed and dark. Walking up and down each aisle, flashing my phone light, popcorn hits me in the head. One of the parents starts yelling at me to turn off the light.

Sorry, sorry, I say and head to the next movie. I find them in the very back row of the packed theater. There are no open seats, but I scoot by the patrons until I’m standing in front of Daisy. Except, it’s not Daisy; it’s Tommy.

He’s wearing his favorite camouflaged hat on backward, a gunner green button-down shirt, and a pair of jeans with holes in the knees.

What the fuck are you doing here? I ask a little too loudly.

Hey, watch your mouth, a kid next to me says.

Pulling out my wallet, I hand the kid a twenty-dollar bill. Go sit somewhere else.

He looks at me and shrugs, then snatches it out of my hand. I take over the seat he vacated.

Come on, Daisy. You can’t be that mad at me that you turned into Tommy, I say, quieter this time.

Hey, Ford. I didn’t know you were coming with us to the movies. Bets leans forward and offers me some popcorn.

Surprise, I say.

The surprise is on you. I’m betting you were looking for Daisy and you got Tommy the Zombie Hunter. She laughs.

Eat your damn popcorn. She sits back and stuffs her mouth full as the movie starts.

Daisy, I’m sorry for what I said, I whisper.

Daisy ain’t here.

Tommy, just let me talk to her. The movie blares with guns shooting and people screaming. I look up to see it’s a zombie movie. What the hell, man? Bets is too young to see this.

Never too young to start them hunting early. Them damn zombies will take over the world if you let them.

I must be living in a paradoxical world where everyone is insane. I reach over and take Bets by the hand, and she yells.

Let me go! I want to watch the movie.

I’m taking you home.

No! I can’t leave Frankie! She’s screaming and reaching back like she’s trying to grab a hand.

The sheer fear on her face stops me. Get Frankie, and let’s go!

I apologize all the way down the stairs to the moviegoers, with Bets stomping loudly behind me. I don’t stop until we are at my truck. Bending down to her level, I get a good look at her tear-filled eyes and her jutted-out lip.

You should have called me the minute Daisy turned into Tommy. You know you’re not supposed to go anywhere with him.

But, we wanted to see the movie! She huffs and crosses her arms over her body like a child.

She is a child, I tell myself to calm down. I will take you and Frankie to another movie. A kid’s movie, but not that one.

What about Tommy?

Tommy will be fine.

Can we go see the Minions 3?

Sure. I ruffle her hair, and we head back into the theater.

---

***

---

TWO HOURS LATER, I’m carrying a sound asleep six-year-old out to my truck. Tommy is leaning against the hood with his arms crossed. I don’t say a word as I lay Bets in the back seat and shut the door.

I walk over in front of him. I want to talk to Daisy, I demand.

"I done