Текст книги "Deliver Her from Evil "
Автор книги: M. L. Steinbrunn
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Текущая страница: 11 (всего у книги 14 страниц)
Royce
Olivia proved to be quite the handful, but in the best way. We had so much fun, but between breakfast, dress-up, our mini rock concert, and a few art projects, together we completely destroyed Carly’s house. I had to take Liv to the Ryans’ house just so I could get the place cleaned up before Carly came home and saw the mess. She would flip, and I would lose any future chance I might get at hanging out with her.
I framed the pictures Liv drew her and put them on the kitchen table, vacuumed, and dusted…the whole nine yards. Once late afternoon hit, I rushed out to get dinner and a few movies, as well as movie snacks, since I didn’t know what time she would be home. I figure I would rather be here sooner rather than later.
Spreading the Chinese food takeout boxes across the table, I lay out two plates for the two of us. I don’t know what she likes, or even if she likes Chinese food at all, but I went with it. I mean, who doesn’t like it? Besides, I ordered just about everything on the menu, so she would have a few options.
Just as I place the movies and candy on the kitchen counter, the doorbell rings and I freeze. For a solid minute, I have a mental debate on whether or not to answer the freaking door. It could be Vivian needing something for Liv. I’ve technically overstayed my invitation, so it could just as easily be some nosey neighbor checking on the creepy-looking guy prowling the house.
“Oh fuck it, Grandma down the street can call the police if she doesn’t like me,” I say to myself, dropping everything and heading to the front door.
I open the door and am immediately met with a dirty look. Apparently, Grandma is really a thirtysomething businessman in a suit.
“Who the hell are you? Where’s Carly?” the man asks.
“Well, hello there, pops. I’m Royce,” I say, attempting to be respectful, but I can already feel this conversation spiraling downward. “Carly’s not here right now. Can I help you with something?”
His lips purse at my last comment. “Who are you?” he coldly asks again. “And where is my fat bitch of a wife?”
My face heats up and my fingers ball into fists. How fucking dare Jack show up on this doorstep, and not only talk to me this way, but to be so disrespectful toward Carly. He has some fucking nerve.
I take a deep breath to calm my temper. A brawl on the front porch will definitely get the cops called, and would only hurt Carly’s divorce case. So instead of my hands, I opt for my words. I am a songwriter/poet after all.
“Like I said,” I say casually. “Carly’s not here. But as the current guy fucking your wife, I’d be happy to let her know you stopped by,” I add with a sly grin. His eyes widen, but before he can respond, I slam the door in his face. It was a lie, but it feels like a really good lie. That guy’s a douche and it serves him right to think his wife isn’t pining away for him, but instead is getting railed by some hot piece like me.
There is a brief moment of silence before an eruption…the calm before the storm. “How fucking dare you?” he roars. “You’ll pay for that. She hasn’t heard the end of this. Let her know I’ll be back.”
I glance out the front windows to see him race down the driveway to his car. He slams his car door and peels out into the street. I wave politely, but am met with a not so polite hand gesture.
“Asshole,” I mutter as I turn and head back into the kitchen to finish dinner preparations. I barely get the candy arranged before I hear the front door open and Carly’s tread through the living room. I lean against the counter, plaster a smile on my face, and wait for her to enter the kitchen, except she doesn’t come into the kitchen. I wait and wait, but nothing.
I push off of the counter and follow her path of stripped off shoes, jacket, and purse down the hallway to her bedroom. Music is filtering through the house, not my music, but I’ll let that slide.
When I finally reach her bedroom, I stand briefly in the open entrance and view the bundle of energetic movements before me. She has stripped down to her bra and panties and is dancing all over the room like some sort of teen dance party.
I cover my mouth to hide my smile. She is so free and happy; I don’t want to interrupt. I sure as hell know I shouldn’t be watching, but I can’t pull myself away to walk back down the hall to where I should be.
Reaching my hand up to knock on her bedroom door, she catches sight of me in her dresser mirror. My eyes must bulge out of my head, because Carly freaks out.
“Ahhh!” she screams. “What are you doing here?” Carly immediately reaches for a pillow on her bed to shield herself with.
“I was bringing dinner over, remember?” I offer, somewhat stammering at the fact I got caught peeping on her.
“I didn’t think you would already be here…in my house,” she persists. “Can you please at least turn around?” she begs.
“You know, I’ve seen you like this before, right? It’s not that big of a deal,” I say, trying to put her a little more at ease. Shit, I see tits on a daily basis when the band is performing. I’m continually offered a diversified portfolio of pussy; a little bra and panties action isn’t going to throw me into some tizzy.
She scowls at me and a little begging whimper escapes her lips.
Now, that does have me a little flustered. Damn, if it isn’t the sexiest fucking sound I’ve ever heard. Carly begging is a beautiful notion, and I let the scenarios play out in my head.
“Royce!” she finally hollers sternly, gaining my attention once again.
I roll my eyes and turn around so she can get dressed. “Don’t make such a big deal about this, Carly. You don’t have anything I haven’t seen before. It’s just girl parts.”
Dresser drawers slam open and shut hastily. “Yes, but they are my girl parts.”
“Ah, and what beautiful girly parts they are,” I tease.
I’m met with silence as she finishes putting on her clothes, and I feel almost insecure about my comment. I’m not lying about my assessment of her body; she really is truly gorgeous, but I’ve discovered that Carly is the type of girl who doesn’t believe the good things about herself. Probably from too many years with that dickweed Jack. She’s doesn’t take a compliment well, and it’s not because she doesn’t appreciate them. It’s that she doesn’t know how to let them sink into her heart.
“Let’s go, peeping Tom,” she jokes as she smacks me in the chest with her pillow and steps into the hallway.
I grip onto the pillow and let out a small chuckle. I stand frozen in the doorway though. Feasting upon the delight of her ass in yoga pants as she trots down the hall to the kitchen, I just stand and enjoy the visual splendor.
Women always think smaller is better. I couldn’t disagree more. I don’t want to grab onto bones. I want meat, thick bubble butt muscle that can withstand a spanking now and again. Carly certainly has it, and now I find myself needing a minute to give my mini meat time to stand down.
“You coming?” she asks over her shoulder.
I snicker under my breath at her question and move the pillow to cover my lower half. “Um, be there in a minute,” I say, clearing my throat.
Grandmas waxing lady parts, grandmas waxing lady parts, I think to myself. Finally, I take a deep breath, chuck the pillow back onto her bed, and run to catch up to Carly.
“Can we turn the music back on and dance some more,” I say as I run past her and slap her delicious ass.
She startles and squeals. “You know that is sexual harassment, or something?”
“You bet your ass it is,” I slyly say with a wink as I backpedal into the kitchen.
She shakes her head at my childish behavior, and I can’t help but laugh. This woman is my friend, albeit a status I would love to elevate, but a friend at the moment nonetheless. I can only imagine the weight of the stress in her life right now; how she’s not cracking from the pressure is beyond me. So any little comic relief I can provide, I will gladly oblige.
“Holy crap, did you buy the entire restaurant?” she asks, looking around at the copious amounts of takeout boxes piled on top of her table. “As good as this smells, my hips will forever pay for it and they already can’t take another hit.”
I lightly grab her elbow and turn her toward me, pissed that she would insult herself the way she does. “First, I didn’t know what you liked and I didn’t want you to have to just settle on something. Second, if you wanted to eat every damn morsel in the restaurant, I would be absolutely okay with it. In fact, I would pass you the fucking fork. And third, your hips are perfect. You are perfect. So, please don’t insult yourself in front of me; it only pisses me off.”
Her eyes search mine, looking for any untruth in my speech. It’s like she’s daring me to take it all back and call her the horrible names she’s apparently been called in the past.
She backs away from my grasp, pulls out a chair, and sits down at the table. “Well then, let’s have dinner,” she finally announces.
“Well, all right then,” I say with a nod, following her lead and sitting next to her.
She opens the boxes and scoops out small portions of everything available. They are so small that there is more plate showing than not. I follow behind her and scoop out the same entrees and place bigger piles of what she’s chosen on her plate.
“You had to know that wasn’t going to fly,” I explain when she frowns at me. “If we are going to clog up our arteries with unhealthy grease tonight, then we are going balls to the wall.”
I fill my plate and shovel a forkful of Low Mein noodles into my mouth, letting the droppings hangs from my lips before I slurp them back in. “Now eat, woman,” I add, pointing my fork at her.
She smiles, taking a large heaping forkful of food and shoves it into her mouth similar to how I just had. “Oh, my God,” she mumbles closing her eyes with her mouth filled. “This tastes so good,” she adds, covering her mouth and wiping her lips with a napkin.
“Told ya,” I laugh. “So, how did the meeting go?” I inquire now that she’s more comfortable with me and we are eating casually.
“You know, I never in a million years thought that fostering or even adopting through foster care would have been an option for me. After meeting Leah, though, I just can’t let her age out of the system the way Campbell did.”
“What do you mean?” I ask. Campbell is one badass chick, but I know very little of her past. She keeps it professional, which is fine by me. Besides, Casen handles most everything band related with her. Still, my interest heightened.
“She was close with a foster family that she lived with briefly growing up, but she never was adopted. When she turned eighteen, she aged out of the system. Sure, the state helped to set her up with some programs to get her started, but really, she was on her own,” she explains, the pain and sadness for her friend showing across her face.
“She had no family. We girls and Brooks became her family, but you could tell she always felt like she was a burden, that the holiday invites were charity or pity invites, even though they were the furthest thing from it.”
“So did you guys help pay for things like parents would?” I ask. It seems pretty mindboggling that Campbell would have just been unleashed upon the world like a tether in the wind. How that seems fair to do to a kid is unsettling.
She laughs. “You know, that is the one area that Campbell is very different from the typical kiddo in the system. Her parents died and the people who were supposed to care for her turned her over to the state. Well, she had a trust set up for her when she came of age. It was for her only, and it was a very large sum of money. Every few years, a little more is sent to her.”
My fork stops midway between my plate and mouth. “Whoa! So Campbell is some rich sugar momma?” I ask, stunned.
Carly giggles and nods. “I guess you could say that.”
“Converse and tattered jeans, rockabilly, Led Zeppelin listening, Campbell is, what, like a millionaire?” I clarify, still unable to eat.
“Yup, but no one else had access to the money, so no one wanted her. That’s how she ended up in the system so long,” she says before taking a drink of her water.
“That’s fucked up,” I spit out, pissed that people would put money before kids. If something ever happened to one of my sisters and I had to take care of my nieces and nephews, yeah, it would be difficult, but I sure as hell would do it. With or without a payday on the other end. You do it because it’s kids.
“It is,” she says softly. She then hesitates for a moment before continuing her story. “So, when she introduced me to Leah, it was like seeing a younger version of Campbell, minus the trust fund, of course. She is a great kid, and I can’t help but want to provide a home for her.”
I take a long look at her, examining her hopeful expression, letting her words wash over me before responding. “You know Leah is not Campbell,” I finally tell her. “And you can’t save every kid you meet.”
Her head snaps up to meet my eyes, her brows pulling together in dissatisfaction. “I know that,” she says defensively. “I just want to help. I want to do for a child, even if it’s just one child, what no one did for Campbell. There isn’t anything wrong with that.”
“Your heart is in the right place. I just hope you know what you’re getting into,” I advise.
“It’s kids, you never know what to expect,” she laughs. “Anyways, I have signed up for the class that potential foster parents are required to take and they have scheduled the visit to approve my home; then it’s just a waiting game. Eventually, I’ll possibly be able to adopt her since all parental rights have already been severed.”
“How long does this all take?” I ask, surprised at the hoops someone would have to jump through. I guess I always assumed it would be a relatively quick and painless process. A kid needs a home, someone is offering a good home, done deal in my book.
“As long as we don’t hit any snags, anywhere from one to two years for everything to be done, but the initial placement for fostering can happen within a few months.”
“What does the ex have to say about all of this?” I ask, taking another heaping bite.
She sets her fork on her plate and scrunches her face. “I don’t really care what he thinks anymore,” she murmurs slowly, staring down at what’s left of her meal.
“Thank goodness for that,” I pop off, pushing away from the table. “He stopped by here earlier, seems like a gem of a guy,” I add sarcastically as I gather our plates and take them to the sink.
“What?” she screeches, her eyes wildly searching mine.
“Yeah, he wasn’t very happy to see me here, so I made sure to send him on his way with something to remember me by. He’ a complete tool, by the way.”
“What did you do?” she inquires hesitantly.
“Don’t worry about it. I just let him know the divorce is his loss and there are plenty of guys willing to take care of you in areas that he fell short.” I wink at her, but she just rolls her eyes.
“Oh, geez, I’m going to hear about that one.” She blows out a long exhale and roughly rubs the pads of her fingers across her forehead, her stress showing through. “I just want it to be over so we can all move on. He’s being so mean. I don’t know how much more of him I can take.”
I lean against the counter and watch the waves of despair and tension radiate from this gorgeous woman. She is so caring, so loving, even fun, but here she sits with the weight of the world on her shoulders because of a man. It’s a man’s job to take that worry away, not create it.
Jack is a piece of shit for making her feel this way and I want more than anything to make that stress disappear.
I want to make her laugh. I want to be the reason for every smile, every happy tear, and content sigh. She deserves that whether she believes it or not.
I pick up the bag of Starbursts and toss it across the room to her. “Grab your shoes and jacket; I’m showing you a good time tonight.”
“What about the movies?” she asks, fumbling the bag before finally tucking it in like a football.
“Fuck the movies, we need to get crazy.”
Carly
“Putt-Putt golf? That’s your idea of crazy?” I tease as we pull into the parking lot of Putter’s Pride.
He slides the stick shift into park and looks at me with a confused expression. “Since when is mini golf not killer?” he asks. “I offered fun, and I fully intend on following through.”
I laugh and shake my head as we both step out of the car and move to the entrance. “I have to admit, it’s been a long time since I’ve done this and I’m not very good at it, but I’ll give it a shot.”
Royce grabs my hand and squeezes, but then halts in the middle of the parking lot.
“Wait, we’re forgetting something,” he says before racing to the car and back to my side again. “We can’t leave the candy behind,” he tells me, handing me the bag and taking my hand once again. I haven’t held a man’s hand, other than Jack’s, in years. The foreign feeling causes me to pull away with uncertainty.
“Relax, Carly,” he says, pulling me back into his grasp. “We are here to enjoy each other. I won’t take anything from you that you won’t already want to give me.” He smiles reassuringly, his boyish charm setting my mind at ease.
He shakes my arm until I let out a smile. “Come on. It’s on like Donkey Kong, little lady,” he says, pulling me through the entrance.
We stop at the front counter and Royce dings the bell to alert the attendant of our arrival. We have to wait for someone to rent our clubs from, but no one answers. I step out onto the course to look around for someone, but the course is pretty deserted. Only a small group of college-aged girls on the far end. Royce gets severely impatient, bouncing his hand continuously on the bell.
I elbow him in the ribs and he bends over and groans pretending as though he’s critically injured. “Oh, stop it. You’re fine,” I laugh as I nudge him.
“Hello? Anyone here?” I shout into the back employee area.
We are met with strangled moans and grunts, sounds of papers and boxes falling onto the ground, and then the unmistakable shrill of a woman enjoying herself.
“Oh, my God, people are doing it back there,” I whisper, pointing to the back area of the building.
Royce perks up, all fake injuries magically healed, and rushes to the employee door where I’m standing.
He bursts into laughter. “Maybe that’s part of the employee benefits package,” he jokes.
“What do we do?” I ask, walking back around to the front of the counter. “Should we leave?”
Royce grabs score cards, golf balls, and clubs from behind the counter, and throws a twenty on the register. “Hell, no. We came here to golf. I’m pretty sure they could care less if we just helped ourselves. I think they would prefer this to us interrupting whatever they have going on back there,” he adds with a smirk.
A loud strangled noise of a couple climaxing spills out from the doorway and I want nothing more than to get away from this uncomfortable situation. “I’ll meet you out there,” I say over my shoulder as I walk out of the clubhouse and onto the course. I can’t get out of there fast enough, and Royce just chuckles at my discomfort with our predicament.
Just as I reach the first putting obstacle, my embarrassment level spikes to an all-time high. My eyes widen and I search for anything to look at other than what is in front of me, but I fail miserably. Walking out of the backdoor and onto the course are our sexcapade culprits. The middle-aged man is extremely large and looks as though he just got out of the shower. However, I know it’s sweat and not water rolling down his cheeks and neck. He’s tucking his collared shirt into his sweatpants and wiping his face off when he notices me.
I turn away from him as quickly as I can and act casual, hoping Royce will join me and we can start our game like we didn’t just see, or rather hear, the most unprofessional and inappropriate thing ever.
Nope, Royce walks through the main entrance arm in arm with our woman of the hour. Her hair and makeup look as though they have been recently corrected and smoothed out. She has the tell-tale post-coital glow and she looks as though she couldn’t care less that we just heard her scream out Mr. Putt-Putt’s name.
I admit to myself that I’m slightly jealous of seeing her cougar paws all over Royce. He’s not mine, but there is a voice in my head screaming, Warning, back off woman. I claim that man for myself. At the very least, I want her to unhand him and reattach herself to Captain Sweatpants.
“Look who I found,” Royce drawls with a crooked smile. “Wanda here said we were more than welcome to grab whatever equipment we needed and go ahead and start our game.”
She rubs her hand up and down his bicep and giggles. Actually giggles like an immature school girl. “Sorry I was indisposed when you all came in. I am just so embarrassed. Welcome to our little establishment. I sure hope you two enjoy yourselves.”
Lies, lies I tell you. She’s not sorry, nor is she embarrassed. She is feeling rather good and satisfied. My eyes zero in on her exploring hand and I quietly hate her. In fact, I want to hit her with my golf club. Royce notices my squinted eyes and grimaced expression and shoots a befuddled look back to me. When I attempt to correct my expression, he smiles at my dismay.
“Thank you for your help. I think we’ll get started with our game,” Royce tells her while politely taking her hand off his arm.
“Absolutely. Just holler if you need anything. Bob and I will be around,” she offers before leaving to join him at the side entrance. I watch her as she walks to him and explains her meeting with us. They both then wave to us, which only makes the entire exchange even more uncomfortable. I quickly throw my hand up and down in a stiff pathetic-looking wave and turn back around to face Royce.
His arms are folded across his chest and his smile is plastered from ear to ear.
“Well, that was awkward,” I immediately tell him.
“Mmm hmm,” he enunciates slowly, unmoving.
“What? That was seriously ridiculous. I can’t even believe we are going to stay.” I move past him, ignoring his suspicious grin.
“You were jealous,” he finally announces.
“I certainly was not!” I defend, snatching a club and ball away from him and preparing for the first obstacle. He may have a slight point. There were a few pangs of jealousy coursing through me when I saw sex-crazed Wanda fawning over him, but those feelings don’t matter. I’m in the middle of a divorce and I’m trying to hold my life together. The last thing I need is a romantic distraction, especially one like Royce. He’s the lead singer of a band, not exactly father material.
“Okay, whatever you say,” he chuckles following behind me.
Taking a deep breath, I grip the rubber on the top of the golf club and focus on the little white ball on the green. I size up the hole at the end of the course on the other side of the windmill obstacle, my eyes bouncing back and forth from the ball to the hole.
Royce’s arms snake around me and his tattooed hands cover mine. I feel his chest press against my back and his head dip into my neck. I’m startled and I freeze, unsure what to do.
“If by chance you were jealous, all you have to say is yes, Carly. I would never let you regret that decision,” he whispers.
My heart feels like it’s going to pound out of my chest, my breath catches, and I’m left completely speechless. My head is telling me to push him away and set boundaries, but my body rejects the notion.
He lightly kisses my cheek and then moves away as quickly as he appeared. I hear him open the bag of candy he brought with us and unwrap some Starbursts as I take my first swing. I watch as the little ball rolls down the course and stops nowhere near the hole. It smacks against the front of the windmill and bounces back down the course.
“You want a do-over?” he asks, struggling with a mouth full of Starbursts.
I spin around to him. “No. It’s your turn; it’s only fair.”
He gives me a nod and digs into the candy bag, pulling out a few squares of goodness and places the bag on the ground. I move out of his way so he can take his stance at the start of the course, but he grabs my hand and places a pink wrapped candy in my palm.
“Dessert,” he says with a smile before moving away from me.
He stretches his body in an over exaggerated fashion, reaching the club above his head and twisting his midsection back and forth. He carries on with this for several minutes until I finally can’t help but laugh.
“Oh my goodness, shoot already,” I giggle.
He bounces back and forth on the balls of his feet while stretching his neck. “You can’t rush genius; I’m preparing my body for battle,” he explains in jest.
I smile, throw my hands up in playful surrender, and back off the course. He finally drops his ball and slides up next to it, aiming at the hole at the end of the course. He pulls the club far in the air close to his head and brings it down to the ball, stopping before striking it. He continues this motion several times before finally allowing the club to hit the ball, sending it sailing onto the next set of obstacles and interrupting the game of the only other people at the establishment.
“Man, I was so close,” he says defeated. I laugh, appreciating his boyish attempt to make me feel better about my abysmal athletic showing. “At least we have more candy,” he adds, handing me another pink Starburst before throwing a yellow into his mouth.
I gather my golf ball, abandoning this obstacle and we walk to the nearby course to retrieve Royce’s ball.
“Sorry about that, ladies,” he tells them as the very attractive blonde slides his ball into his hand. “We were getting a little out of hand over there.”
“It’s no problem at all,” she coos with a perky smile. Her two friends whisper together behind her, before pulling her arm toward them and whispering into her ear. Her eyes shoot back to us and then her smile brightens. I’ve been around the band enough times to know what that look means…Royce has been recognized.
“You’re famous, right?” the girl asks. “You’re the singer for Absolution.”
Yup, there goes our night.
Royce looks to me for the green light to acknowledge his famous status. I’m not exactly excited about it, but I go ahead and give him an approving nod. After all, this will only take a few seconds and then we can get back to our game.
“My name is Royce. Are you ladies fans?” he asks with an appreciative smile.
The girls jump up and down and pat down their hair in an attempt to make themselves more attractive. “I knew it!” the leader exclaims. “Can we get a picture with you?”
She slides her finger across her phone a few times to open the camera on it and shoves it to me. “Thanks, we’ll only steal your brother for a second,” she tells me before turning to look adoringly at Royce. “Unless he would like us to steal him a little longer,” she coos.
“He’s not my brother, but sure. Squeeze together and I’ll take the picture for you,” I tell her, waving my hands around like I’m directing traffic to get them to stand together.
They squeeze in tight, and the gorgeous blonde kisses his cheek. I quickly snap the picture. “Got it, looks good,” I say with fake enthusiasm, expecting her to back away from Royce. Instead, she keeps her arm wrapped in his and pulls him down to whisper something in his ear. He sneers and then looks to me, which only prompts a frown on my face. Her hand glides up and down his arms lovingly, but I fight the urge to march over to her and break her arm, opting instead to let the jealous emotions bubble under my skin.
“Um, thanks, but I’m going to have to pass. I already have plans for the evening,” he says, pulling his arm from her gasp.
“If you change your mind,” she begins to say before looking back to me and then lifting up on her toes to whisper in his ear again to finish her sentence.
He nods and she giggles, but I want to throw up right there on top of both of their shoes.
The college coed crew turns to walk back to their course, excitement mixed with every step. I can’t help but grin. As jealous as I was and am, I remember what it was like to be young and invincible. Rewind ten years and those girls could have been me and the girls, with Jen serving as our blonde leader.
“Did you really think she was his sister?” I hear one of the girls ask.
The blonde laughs and shakes her head. “No, but I had no other explanation why someone like him would be with someone like her. Look at her, it’s like she didn’t even try.”
My smile slowly dwindles. I look down at my yoga pants and tank top and run my fingers through my hair, which has fallen flat from the day’s stress.
They’re right.
Jack was right. Who would want me?
Why would someone like Royce, who can have his pick of women, and has taken advantage of that fact, ever choose someone like me? The most I could ever hope for with him is a friendship.
My throat constricts and burns as my revelation coils itself around my psyche. The tears threaten to spill over my lids, but I hold them back.
Royce moves in front of me, but I can’t manage to lift my head to face him.
“I just want to go home,” I murmur, my voice straining.
He places his fingers under my chin and lightly forces me to meet his eyes. “I’ll take you anywhere you want to go, as long as I get to be with you.”
A tear escapes and I hastily wipe it from my cheek. I nod, affirming I want to leave, but instead of leading me back to his car, he grabs my hand and turns it palm up between us.
He places a pink Starburst in my hand and closes my fingers around it.
“Don’t ever let anyone treat you like a yellow Starburst, Carly. You’re a pink. You’ll always be pink to me.”
“Really?” I ask hesitantly.
“More than you know,” he says before delicately kissing my forehead.
“Besides, pink Starbursts are always better than pink tacos,” he jokes with a slide glance as he pulls away.
A strangled laugh breaks free. “Thank you, Royce. I needed that.” His ability to take the pressure off of a situation is something I’ve come to appreciate about Royce. Jen thinks he’s childish and hates how he makes a joke of everything. In this moment though, there isn’t anyone else I’d rather have with me.
