I stomped in between them. “Good thing I don’t need a bodyguard. I can save myself. Especially if the two of you are going to fight like children!”
Brandon and the others gasped but tried to cover it with coughing.
It didn’t work.
Chapter Twelve
The next day, I was beyond irritated. Every time I saw those two together, my hopes rose, my wolf perked up, and, inevitably, were dashed on the rocks of stubborn males. Why couldn’t they see we were all born to be together. Me as their mate and they as brothers. Twins! Weren’t twins supposed to be the best of friends, feeling one another’s joy and pain, almost halves of a whole?
But I’d run these thoughts through my mind so many times, and if there was a solution in my power, I had no idea what it might be. I adored Tris, but I also adored Samson, and the two of them had made it clear they saw no peace between them. From time to time, a slight bit of wavering from one or the other of them, sure, but never at the same time and never long enough for me to act on it.
With less than zero patience left, and almost as few fucks, I decided I wanted an evening without either one of them in my mind or my presence. I got home from running errands and sent Tris a text: Please don’t come over tonight. I need a break. Just that and no more. He could make of it what he would.
I powered my phone down, and paced into the house in search of a date who wouldn’t drag me through hours of controversy. Who’d loved me my whole life and put my interests first.
I found her sitting at the kitchen counter, paging through a magazine. She had a real thing for cookbooks and shows and the glossy pages of volumes like the one she was reading now. Yet, while she was a great country cook, I didn’t think she’d added any new recipes to her repertoire, ever. Probably not since the 1960s, judging from the wide array of Jell-O molds containing everything from pineapple to whipped cream to celery to chicken livers. And, weirdly? I’d never seen anyone turn them down. Somehow, if she made them, they were yummy.
“Gigi?” I spoke softly so as not to startler her, but when she turned, smiling, I knew she’d realized I was here all along.
“Hello, dear. What would you think of a gelatin mold with a little of…wait, let me look at this again…cannabis? There’s a recipe here for a chilled salad with fruit, and I think this could work.”
Cannabis?
“Gigi, what are you reading?” I scooted to her side and closed the magazine to see the cover. “Pot Delights? Where did you get this?” A glance at an address label at the bottom of the front cover told the tale. “This is for our neighbor down the street. Did you steal their mail?”
She waved a hand. “Don’t be silly. We got it by mistake, but you know how I enjoy reading recipes. According to the publisher of this fascinating magazine—I think I’ll subscribe right away—there are many healthful benefits to this plant. Have you ever tried it?”
I blinked at her. My Gigi was asking me if I’d tried pot? And, looking at her open, interested expression, I realized she wouldn’t judge me if I said I had. Still, it wasn’t a conversation I was ready to have just now. I really wanted a simple, uncomplicated evening with my grandmother. Not a crazy old lady who was planning to get high on gelatin and peaches or something.
No.
Just not tonight.
“Gigi, I thought maybe we could go out to dinner together tonight? If you’re free?” And maybe I can burn the book while you’re asleep later. She wasn’t kidding about the subscription. She had a ton of them, and some had already caught up to her here. More quickly than I thought something like that could happen. The stack on the table by the couch was already a foot and a half tall. “We can go anywhere you like.”
She pushed the magazine away and beamed at me. “What a great idea. Why don’t we go for Chinese in the little place the next town over? The one we passed on our way shopping that day? I’ve heard it’s very good.”
Heard? I tried to think who she’d talked to besides Tris and me. Could have been him, I supposed, but then she had the ability to go places on her own, and, for all I knew, she spent the days I was at school hanging out with other crazy old lady shifters, making up recipes for hash blondies and heroine martinis. Pot Jell-O? I’d been willing to eat the chicken liver kind—although I usually tried to eat around any meat bits, which was a challenge in Jell-O.
Still, I pasted on a big smile that quickly became real. “That sounds fun. I haven’t been there, either, but I could do with some dumplings.
“Oh if you want those, dear, there’s a recipe for dumplings in this magazine, you use ground pork, something called cilantro, onions, some spices”—”
“And marijuana.” I sighed. “Let’s just go. We can eat whatever you started for dinner here tomorrow night.”
She giggled. “I didn’t start anything. Why would I when you and I are having a ladies’ night out? After dinner, let’s go to a movie or maybe the casino on the outskirts of the town? I hear the new slot machines there are really wild.”
Pot, slots…and she was hanging out with someone who recommended restaurants. And apparently casinos. Did I even know my grandmother?
I started for the bathroom to freshen
