Wicked Whoopie Pies by Addison Moore (english novels to improve english TXT) 📕

by the hand and we hightail it up the street. We catch up to Charlie, and I lead us all the way back to Country Cottage Road by way of a trail that cuts through the neighborhood.

“Oh, thank goodness,” I pant at the sight of my sweet rental lit up like a peach. “Everett’s SUV is nowhere to be seen. That means they’re not home yet.”

“What if they parked in the garage?” Charlie points out.

Carlotta chuckles at the thought. “There’s not a shred of hope of anyone parking in the garage ever again. Little Yippy has amassed so much junk, half of it is taking up prime real estate in every nook and cranny. That’s why there’s no room for you at the inn, Cha Cha. So you can just turn all of that destructive hatred you’ve got for me and aim it at the baby, where it really belongs.”

“Carlotta,” I hiss. “Nobody has the right to hate Lyla Nell. She’s just an innocent child.” We run up the porch, only to be met with loud music pumping from inside. I give a few brisk knocks before Evie flings open the door.

Both Evie and I take one look at one another and belt out a scream at the very same time.

“What happened to your clothes?” Evie squawks.

“Never mind what happened to my clothes,” I squawk right back. “What happened to your clothes?”

Evie is dressed in a hot pink sequin bathing suit and she’s paired it with fuzzy knee-high boots that look as if they were ripped right off the legs of the Abominable Snowman.

Evie rolls her eyes and fiddles with her phone as the music cuts out, and the three of us slink inside.

Dash comes out of the kitchen dressed the exact same way while staring vacantly at her phone, and I spot Lyla Nell happy as can be in her bouncy seat tucked safely between Pancake and Waffles.

“No way! We’re trending!” Dash squeals and jumps.

“Trending?” I ask as I scoop up Lyla Nell.

Before either of them can clarify, the front door swings open and in walk Noah and Everett—both of whom stop dead in their tracks to take in the scene.

“What the hell is going on?” Everett asks in a panic. “Lemon? Did someone break into the house?”

Noah reaches for his gun, and I wave for him to stop.

“There is a perfectly good explanation for all of this,” I tell them before wincing. “But not one I’d like to extrapolate on in front of the kids.”

“Wassa matter, Foxy and Sexy?” Carlotta steps their way. “Can’t tell ’em apart in their birthday suits, can ya?” She hitches her thumb at my sister and me. You can each have one of ’em. The way they both like to run their mouths off, you can hardly tell the difference, which is which, in the dark. Heck, why not swap ’em out once in a while, too?”

I inch back at the woman who bore me. “Carlotta, have you been hitting Jimmy’s moonshine again?”

“That’s Daddy to you, Lot Lot.”

“Carlotta,” Everett thunders. “Start spilling the truth or your days under my roof are numbered.”

It’s a sad day when Everett feels he might get more of the real story from Carlotta than he would his own wife.

It’s as if he really knows me.

Carlotta sighs. “We thought we’d take Charlie here for a stroll around the neighborhood, and Ms. Hoity-Toity had to stop halfway and do her laundry. And then, this copycat”—she hitches a thumb at Charlie—“decided she wasn’t going to be one-upped in the moon tanning department. And well, you know I can’t resist a good dare.”

Everett stares over at me with that sober expression I’ve seen him implement in his courtroom a time or two.

“Evie, Dash, would you please excuse us?” he asks, but they’re too glued to their phones to notice the bevy of partially naked women taking up residence in the living room. Instead, they giggle and scream and laugh like mad before trotting down the hall on their own volition.

“We did it!” Dash shouts.

“We’re freaking dominating!” Evie matches her enthusiasm before we hear the pronounced thump of the door.

Lyla Nell gives a delirious giggle before her eyes grow heavy and her head tips toward my chest.

“Don’t just stand there, Foxy.” Carlotta pats him on the bottom. “Pull out your phone. I gotta see if the girls implemented my ideas. Hit up Evie’s Insta Pictures account, stat.”

Noah quickly complies, and what we witness next has all of our jaws rooting to the floor—and considering it’s not easy to shock either Carlotta, Charlie, or me, it’s a rather magnificent feat.

A video, about a minute long, features Dash belting out her debut song in the background. It starts off innocent enough with Dash holding both Pancake and Waffles, and Evie holding Lyla Nell, the three girls in a pair of warm, fuzzy looking sweats. Then the music picks up speed and both Dash and Evie squat to the ground, and when they spike back up, the cats and baby are thankfully safely in the background, but the two teenagers at the helm are now sporting far too much flesh and far too little pink sequins. They start in on a booty shaking dance that causes both Noah and Everett to look away from the screen and groan—and I think I heard a few threats in there, too.

“Evie,” Everett thunders as he heads that way. “Take this video down right now!”

I nod to Noah. “And on that note—could I ask you to watch Lyla Nell for a few minutes while I take a quick shower?”

“Where did you go tonight, Lottie?” He narrows those lawn green eyes over mine as he takes Lyla Nell.

“And put her in her PJ’s while you’re at it,” I shout as I make my way down the hall. “If she wakes back up, you can read her a bedtime story.”

“Someone’s got some explaining to do,” he calls after me.

Noah is right. Someone has some explaining to do.

But it’s not me—it’s whoever sent