“Oh shit, what are those?” “Fuck no. Those are min—” I reach out to grab the plate, but not before he swipes a donut and spins, barreling out of the kitchen doorway and back into the living room. He places the pastry between his teeth and gives me a salute then flips his middle finger at me before turning the corner. “He’s insufferable,” I mutter. “You’re the one who brought him home,” Mom agrees. “I heard that!”
