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The worst part is they won’t even tell me which child it was who bit her. I bet it was one of the Kardashians’ kids.
That gets her moving. I’ll have her making lattes before she knows it. Ryder can thank me later … or lecture me about child labor laws. One or the other.
Only, I’m not cool. Nowhere near cool. I feel it happening. The vomit rising. My gut churns, and my throat seizes up. There’s nothing I can do to stop it. And that’s how I end up throwing up all over my idol’s shoes.
They’re crying, I’m crying, half the frickin’ rec center is crying. Then I meet Ryder’s gaze. He’s not crying. Nope. He looks pissed.
“Wait, there’s a gay dress code? Is this why I can’t find a relationship? I dress wrong?” “It’s exactly why. Didn’t you get the memo in the monthly newsletter?” “Maybe I should check my spam folder.”
“Cash and I never did anything outside of the studio. He has the emotional reach of a vibrating dildo.”
“You can borrow my clothes,” Kaylee says. “Lyric wears Daddy’s clothes all the time. They’re going to get married like us!”
“Good to know where you’re at.” I pull back so I can look Kaylee in the eyes. “But would you be okay with Lyric being here more?” She nods vehemently. “You’re all right with Daddy having a boyfriend?”
“You always tell me boys can like other boys,” Kaylee says. “And boys can wear dresses! Chase wants to wear one of my other Elsa dresses to my party.”
“Speaking of your boys,” Harley prompts. “You wouldn’t happen to know where Mason is, do you?” Cameron looks at his phone which is most definitely not ringing. “Oh, shit, I have to take this.” He walks toward the house with his phone pressed to his ear. “I’ll get it out of him,” Harley says with determination.
The kids start with the Ooh, ooh, oohs. I join in with the first verse, and everyone in the backyard erupts into laughter. Yes, I’m singing an Eleven song. And I’m not spontaneously combusting. Who knew?
