I hate him.
“Don't start,” I growl, which of course makes him laugh harder as he follows me into the garage office.
He stands at the doorway, doubled over in laughter, and I turn to glare at him as more pink glitter falls to the floor. Christ. That shit is going to be everywhere.
“Are you coming, or are you going to stand here and laugh all fucking morning?”
He has to grip the wall when his body buckles from his laughter.
“Go on without me, Tink. I'll just follow your pixie dust trail. Peter Pan might need your help.”
I roll my eyes while clenching my fists.
“Fuck you,” I grumble, watching his body continue to shake with his mocking roars.
“Easy, boy,” he taunts. “Someone needs to calm down, and think happy thoughts,” he says, singing the last part in a child’s sort of tone.
Even I have to stifle my grin. The girl is crafty. I underestimated her. How is she breaking into all my stuff?
“Are you done yet? I thought you came here to get work done to your wife's car.” I cross my arms over my chest as he slowly straightens back up, his laughter only barely tapering off.
“As long as the Lost Boys can spare you, then yes. I'd like some stuff done to Ash's car before her birthday.”
I groan while rolling my eyes, and he laughs harder while taking a chair.
“I take it she won this round?” he asks.
By comparison, my tarantula prank sucks. And I was proud of that, too. Damn it.
“Yeah,” I grumble. Especially since I didn't see it coming.
We've been going back and forth, but she had to have planned this before she found the spider, considering I was there when she found the damn thing. Shit.
I refuse to let her win this prank war, and right now, the numbers are in her favor.
***
RYE
“What the hell is that?” Wren asks, wrinkling his nose as he walks in.
“Mayonnaise and donuts,” I answer, looking at him as though it should be obvious. I squeeze in more of the nasty filling, imagining the look of pure disgusted horror she’ll have when she takes a big bite.
The donut swells, and I take the tube out to move on to the next.
“Are you using a calk gun to do that?” he asks through a snicker.
“I didn't exactly have anything else on hand.” I shrug, glancing around my office like that should be obvious, and then I look back down to resume the task at hand.
“So the girl puts a dirty movie on the side of your house and blows up a bottle of ketchup in your kitchen, and your idea of revenge is to give her gross donuts?” he asks, shaking his head in disappointment. “Weak.”
He doesn’t even know about the glitter explosion.
The donut idea is weak. But I need time to fully form something massive.
“The donuts are just part of the prank,” I lie, trying to save face. “There's more to come. What are you doing here?”
I look up from my sad donuts that now don’t feel good enough for the war. Damn him for ruining this for me.