The world is so unfair sometimes.
Dean moves his messenger bag from one shoulder to the other, and holds onto the strap with a giant mitt of his. The thing could span my hips no problem, and I’m not the tiniest of the tiniest, either, but made of pure Italian stock.
“Yeah. Let’s go get some stuff to eat. I’ve got a serious craving for a brownie,” he says, and leads the way to the escalator. I follow like a dumbstruck puppy, looking to my owners for guidance on how to act next. Never thought I would feel like a third wheel around Sera.
Shit, that came out wrong.
I keep my trap shut as we climb the escalators, Matty having raced upstairs without any of us really doing any of the racing. He’s still pretty cute when he lifts his arms in the air, all victory is mine! The whole mood is fucked to shit when Chicken Little asks for a brownie, too.
Sera shakes her head while biting her lip. I don’t know much about kids, but I think they respond to assertiveness, and Sera’s not giving off that vibe. She grabs his hand, and leans down close to him, talking to him in a quiet, calm voice, the kind I think people use to calm down scared animals.
Yeah, pretty sure that’s not going to work.
Matty shakes his entire body, like he’s about to have lift off, his hair flopping all over the place, and his face morphs into that of a spoiled little brat starting to whine.
Yeah, I’m never getting pregnant and popping one of those out. Never ever.
“Seerrraaaaaa! Please! I waaaaaaaaannnnnnnttttttt ooooooooonnnneeeeeeeeeeeee!” he whines, pulling on her hand with both of his, leaning back far enough that it looks like he’s actively trying to dislocate her wrist with his body weight.
And then I see it. I see Sera change, even if it’s only for a few seconds.
“You want to be tired after? How about that game of soccer we were going to play with your dad when he comes home, huh? How are you gonna play soccer, Matty, if you’re too tired and sick to kick the ball because of the brownie?”
Dean overhears this, and looks down at Sera like she’s the scum of the Earth.
“It’s just a brownie,” he says, voice rough enough that I can hear the tiny thread of danger to it. Dean would definitely cause some crazy ass damage if left to his own devices. I wonder if he’s ever trained to fight before. Hell, a build like his, one of pure strength, he’d be a coach’s wet dream.
Holy fuck, Delos just gave him a don’t-fuck-with-me stare and didn’t even blush. I blink a few times just to make sure I didn’t imagine it. Heh. Maybe MacLaine is good for her after all.
“He’s diabetic. He can’t have a brownie, it’s going to make him sick, alright?” Sera says through clenched teeth. She angrily swipes some of her baby hairs around her face away from her face and behind her ear. She looks back at Matty, and ignores Dean.
Time to pounce.
“C’mon,” I tell him, putting a hand around his giant bicep and giving a little squeeze. If he asks, I’ll tell him the truth – he’s male and I’m female and I wanted to touch, and maybe even lick, but we’re in public, and society makes up all the rules.
“I’ll buy you that brownie.”
Dean lets me semi-drag him away from a still-crouched Sera and a Matty who looks like he’s going to start crying. There’s a line to order, so Dean and I have time to get to know each other a little better. Just enough time for us to exchange phone numbers.
Except he’s distracted, and he’s staring through the board of chalk-written espresso beverages instead of trying to make a decision. He frowns and even that pinched part between his eyebrows is cute.
“That really sucks,” he mutters, almost to himself, almost like he forgot I was standing next to him. When I give him a smile to say, yes, I’m still here. He frowns down at me from his massive height.
“Poor kid’s diabetic. And I acted like a tool. Thought she was giving him shit because of the whole fat content thing, or she didn’t want him to get hyper or something.”
I shrug, struggling for words, something I usually never have a problem with. I understand the logistics of diabetes.
I get that some bodies have jerk pancreases that either stop working entirely or work so little they might as well give up entirely and stop being wastes of space. That causes shit to happen in the body and these people have to inject themselves, if they don’t have to take oral medication, to deal with food and regulate blood sugars. Conceptually, I get it. The theory is there on Wikipedia, but seeing Sera deny Matty a piece of chocolaty goodness is cruel.
“Yup,” I say, trying to make the word sound smart. I hate sounding stupid; it’s one of my pet peeves. That and assholes answering their phones when I’m trying to have a conversation with them.