Eat Crow (Cheap Thrills Series Book 6) by Mary Moore (novels to improve english .txt) 📕

Every moment I could take with her was something that soothed my soul. For seven years I’d had something eating away inside me, missing her and hating myself for what’d happened. Now that she was back, it’d changed to wanting and needing her.

She was the one person who’d ever made me feel whole. And I needed her back.

I just hoped she didn’t have that damn dog with her.

Chapter Four

Bexley

It was just a house. Houses existed everywhere.

So why couldn’t I just walk up to it? I had the keys in my hand and knew how to unlock a door—

“You doh,” a deep voice with what sounded like blocked sinuses said behind me, making me jump. “Dust pud the key in de lock and open dit.”

Turning, my jaw dropped when I saw Logan. His face was pink, but it was his eyes. Holy shit, they were swollen and bright red.

Instinctively I reached out to touch his face, then turned it to the side to look more closely at his eye. “What the hell happened to you?”

Pulling a tissue out of his pocket, he blew his nose loudly. “A kid wid pepper prays.”

“A kid with pepper spray?”

With his sinuses cleared slightly, it was slightly easier to understand him. “Yeah. Dey dot it wad a fog bomb, but pigged up da wrong oned.”

“Jesus,” I breathed, watching his eyes start watering again. “How many did they throw?”

“Dree, in a smalled room.”

“Three?” I winced when he nodded.

I’d been downwind when an old lady maced a guy she thought was trying to steal her purse, and that shit was no fun. Three of them in a small room? Damn!

“Have you seen a doctor?”

Taking pity on him with how hard he was squinting, I pulled my pink mirrored Ray-Bans out of the neck of my t-shirt and passed them to him. He didn’t even think about it, he just popped them on his face and sighed.

Not waiting for an answer to my previous question, I pulled my phone out. “Stand still. I want a photo of someone wearing them whose face matches the color of the lenses.”

Humor—it was what we used to have all the time, and I was hoping the awkwardness between us would go away if I brought it back. And, because I was slightly twisted, I really did want the photo, so I took it with him giving me the middle finger.

“Now that’s one for your Christmas cards this year,” I snickered, holding it up so he could see it too.

The grin he flashed would’ve made me sigh, even with the bad juju hanging over us, but the small line of snot making its way out of his nose made me cringe.

“You might wanna…” I pointed under my nose, staring at the patch that was growing.

Why wasn’t it dropping down? Surely gravity would do that?

Pulling out the tissue again, he wiped, but on the wrong side. “Danks.”

“No, the other side. Dear God, Logan, catch it before it goes in your damn mouth!”

The most puke-worthy thing happened then. He wiped the correct side, but a string attached itself to the tissue and followed it.

My stomach compressed at the sight, making a “hurgurt” noise come out of me at the same time as I covered my mouth.

Turning his back to me, he blew his nose loudly and then turned around again and shrugged. “Dorry. It’s liked my dinuses are workinged overdime.”

As gross as it was—and as someone with a weak constitution when it came to stuff like that, it was hell—it’d defused the emotions I was feeling at the prospect of knowing I was going into Pops’ house for the first time since he’d died.

“Are they going to be like that for long?”

“Only ‘til my deyes dop watering and my dose dops’d doing da snod ding.”

“Did they give you any idea how long your nose would take to stop doing the snot thing?”

Shaking his head, he tried breathing through his nose and grimaced when that ended up with snot going into his mouth. Remembering how sick stuff like that made me, he held his hand up and turned away again to do whatever he had to do. A six foot three inch tall man blowing his snotty nose was still as gross as a kid doing, and I’d argue my ass off if anyone said otherwise.

Enough. I couldn’t stand and watch this for much longer, or I’d throw up. Head colds were torture for me because of this, and when we were at school, I’d had to leave to be sick when someone had one a lot. Don’t even get me started on when I had one myself. It was pure hell! I liked to think I’d outgrown it, but this was proof I hadn’t.

Glaring at the front door, I made my choice. “Okay, I’m going to do it. I can do it.”

A large hand gripped my shoulder comfortingly and also gave me strength. “Wand me do comed wid you?”

Glancing over it, I smiled gratefully at him. “Would you mind? I’ll understand if you’re not up to it.”

Pointing at the pink glasses still on his face, he shook his head. “I’m good, dese help.” Then, looking around us, he frowned. “Where’d Doyle?”

Smirking at how much Pops’ dog hated him, I winked. “He’s at home with Mom and Dad, so you’re safe. I didn’t want to upset him by bringing him here just yet.”

When he rolled his eyes, I squared my shoulders and walked up to the door, and somehow managed to get the key into the lock even with a shaking hand.

The smell of him and a million memories of being here with Pops hit me at once, and it was like losing him all over again. I felt pain and happiness, and like I wanted to cry and laugh at the same time.

None of it felt real, even the funeral.

I just wanted him back, and it sucked that it’d never happen.

Only just holding back the tears, I walked into the living room and saw