Swing (Landry Family 2)

“Wingman?”

“Yeah. Wingman,” I say, putting three different flavors of coffee creamer on the door of the refrigerator. “That means it’s your job to be adorable and to say nice things about me when you can. But, you know, don’t force it. Just when the time is right. And don’t say anything about the texts on my—”

“I get it. You need me to make her fall in love with you.”

“In love with me?” I balk. “No, no, no. You don’t get it at all.”

The little shit smirks at me. If I didn’t know better, I’d think he was Barrett’s kid with that look. “I think I get it better than you do.”

“Fuck,” I sigh, opening a box of plates. They’re navy blue and heavy.

“We should wash those first.”

“What?” I ask, looking at him. “Where do you get this stuff?”

“Life. Haven’t you ever moved? You always wash things before you use them if you haven’t used them in a while.” He watches me before laughing. “Did you buy glasses too?”

“Yeah.”

“Didn’t you have glasses?”

“I’m not sure how many.”

He glances at the clock. “What time is she coming?”

“In about an hour.”

“Do you have any idea how to cook? Have you ever cooked at all?”

“Some,” I say defensively. “Look, I’m the adult here. You’re the kid. You put this shit away and I’m going to . . .” I pull up the recipe on my phone. “I’m going to bring a large pot of lightly salted water to a boil. Add pasta and cook for eight to ten minutes or until al dente, whatever that means, and then drain and reserve.”

Hux sighs. I do too.

Lincoln

The cake looks pretty good on the plate. Some of the icing got knocked off as I tried to slip it out of the box, but I fixed it with my finger. Then licked it off. That got me a look of disapproval from Hux.

“So you know what to do, right?” I ask, drying the glasses and setting them on the table beneath the lit candles.

“Yes. Be cute. Say nice things about you. And don’t talk about what’s on your phone or what I heard you say to the girl on the phone after Barrett’s election at the Farm.”

My brain races to remember what I would’ve been saying. “Did you mention any of that conversation to your mom?”

“No,” he grins. “But I Googled it.”

Putting him in a headlock, I rub my knuckles over his head. “You’re gonna get me in so much trouble.”

“Hey, Linc? I think the sausage is burning.”

As soon as he says it, I smell it. “Fuck!” I hustle across the room and start fumbling with the knobs on the stove. “That oil got hot fast.”

“Take it off the burner for a minute,” Hux suggests. “It’s what my mom does when the eggs start burning in the morning.”

I try it. It works. The sizzle quiets down a little and by the time it’s cool enough and I can put it back down and break it up with a big plastic spoon, it doesn’t look too bad.

Huxley starts to say something when the doorbell rings. Instead, he raises a brow. “You want me to get it?”

I’m flustered, my hands reaching for the onions and garlic and then looking at the door again. How can I crack a homerun with full count and not break a sweat, yet I don’t know which way to go right now?