“NO, TIGGY,” I said. “There were, like, two verses before he started singing about cheesy dicks and candlesticks.”
Tiggy glared at me as we sat in the garden, sunning ourselves. There was the hustle and bustle of the castle around us as wedding preparations went on and on, but we didn’t give a shit about that. Gary had decreed that Tiggy and I were so pale that we were haunting his dreams and forced us outside to get some sun.
“Dicks and sticks,” Tiggy insisted. “Every line was dicks and sticks.”
“I think you’re misremembering, my friend.”
“You dismembered,” he grumbled.
“Not the same thing. One is forgetting. The other is getting your head chopped off.”
“No,” he said. “I use correct word.”
I gasped and covered my heart. “Well I never. Are you threatening me, Tiggy?”
“Yes,” Tiggy said, sounding smug. “Dicks and sticks.”
“Fine. Dicks and sticks.”
“And Knight Delicious Face.”
“And Knight Del—wait, what?” I turned my head toward him, but he was propped up on his elbows, looking toward the castle. I followed his gaze and sure enough, there he was.
“I’ve never had a stalker before,” I told Tiggy.
“I stalk you,” Tiggy said.
“Erm. I don’t think you do.”
“Stalking is following. I follow you everywhere. I stalk you. I stalk you so hard.”
“Tiggy, that’s not—you know what? I am not even going to argue with
you on that. You can stalk me all you want. In fact, I am honored to have you as my stalker.”
Tiggy preened. “Pretty Sam. I’ll hide in bushes and stare at you.”
“Aww. You do that, buddy.”
“Knight Delicious Face isn’t subtle.”
“You can’t be called Knight Delicious Face and be subtle at the same time. It doesn’t work that way.” And really, he wasn’t being subtle at all. I was rather embarrassed for him, if I was being honest. And annoyed. And angry. And slightly turned-on, though I was loath to admit it.
Because he was standing at the other side of the garden, pretending to be interested in whatever the florists were saying to him (pointing out different arrangements of flowers for the wedding, hired because my mother had flat out refused to participate—she’s slightly vindictive, my mom is), but no one, and I mean no one, could miss the glances he kept shooting in our direction. It was getting to the point the florists were getting visibly annoyed with him because he obviously wasn’t paying attention to a single word they were saying.
He looked over at us again as one of the florists started in again on the power of petunias.
Tiggy and I waved sarcastically because we were awesome.
“What a dick,” I muttered.
“You love him,” Tiggy said.
“No,” I said. “I love only you.”
“And Gary.”
“And Gary.”