Avenging Angel (Pounding Hearts 5)

“Yeah, if only,” I say, and then I imagine myself force-feeding Jamey Silva a huge pile of dog shit, one turd after another until he fucking died.

* * *

Bree looks at both Casey and me in utter astonishment. After rubbing her eyes, she takes another look at all the discarded bags and empty boxes littering the kitchen table.

“I… I… How is any of this possible?” she asks, clearly confused. “I thought you ordered so much for leftovers or something.”

Resisting the urge to let out a massive, house-rattling burp, I frown. “I’m still feeling kinda peckish, actually. How about you, Casey?”

Casey leans back in his chair and rubs his slightly bloated stomach. “Eh, I could go for some pie right about now.”

“What?!” Bree looks at us both with revulsion. “You both ate more than I weigh and you want more food?!”

Casey looks over at me and I can tell what’s coming before he’s able to stop himself. A massive burp that actually shrinks the size of his stomach bursts from his lips. Poor guy doesn’t stop with one, either. A second one comes out and it’s even longer than the first one.

“Excuse me, I’m so sorry,” Casey says with an idiotic grin. “Yeah, some apple pie would be amazing right now.”

“Dude, I’d go for some brownies. Maybe the ones with nuts and chocolate chips,” I say and lick my lips.

God, I’d actually kill for a brownie right now. All those hot and spicy barbecue wings have got me needing something sweet.

“Oh my god!” Bree mutters as she turns in her seat, away from us, and starts rubbing her temples. “You two ate at least twenty wings each.”

“Twenty-three,” Casey says with pride. “So can we order pie or what?”

“Twenty-nine. Would have been thirty but you ate one of mine, Bree,” I say with a smirk.

“Are you serious?” She turns to give me a dirty look. “You’re begrudging me one of your wings? Counting yours, I had six.”

I shrug my shoulders. “Not my fault you’re a lightweight.”

“A what?” she asks with a growl.

“I think she’s a flyweight,” Casey says, and slumps back in his chair.

“Eh, strawweight,” I say while looking at Bree with grin.

“What the heck are you two talking about?” she asks.

“What weight class you’d be in if you fought,” I say.

“Oh god, you two need to get a… Hey, wait a second. Are you discussing my weight in front of me?” She crosses her arms over her chest, peering at us both. “Are you?”

Shit.

“Ummm, I need to see what movie we got for tonight,” Casey says before hopping up from the table and running out of the kitchen.

Fuck. I’m too old and sore to move as quickly as he did.

I offer her a grin, hoping it will placate her. “Only in the best of terms.”

“Oh really,” Bree says entirely too sweetly. “So let me ask you a question.”

I’m a dead man.

“Um, go for it,” I say carefully.

“Just how much do these strawweight and flyweight classes weigh?” she asks and it’s like she put powdered sugar into her voice.