Page 262 of Devil’s Disciples

“Cotton Candy.”

“That’s because they’re Cotton Candy grapes.” I tilted my head back. “Whenever you’re ready, I’m ready.”

He tossed the grape with expert precision. I watched intently as it rose, and then fell. With a wide-open mouth, I positioned myself beneath the falling piece of fruit, only to be hit in the chin by it.

“Damn it,” I said as it rolled into my arm pit.

I reached for the grape and hoisted it into the air.

“One to zero,” he said. “And, you can’t re-throw a grape. Get a new one.”

“Who says I can’t re-throw a grape? There aren’t rules.”

“I’m not eating a grape that smacked you in the chin. Get a clean one,” he insisted.

I laughed out loud.

“What?” he asked.

“You stick your tongue in a hole that I piss out of.” I chuckled so hard I had to catch my breath. “And you’re worried about a grape that hit me in the face?”

“Fine,” he said. “Throw the damned thing.”

I tossed the grape at him not to him. Nonetheless, he somehow managed to catch it in his mouth. After chewing it, he gave me a cross look.

“What the hell, Abby? You threw that fucker.”

“I didn’t know we had rules about speed.”

He scowled at me.

“Okay, let me make a few mental notes. No dirty grapes. Nothing over five miles an hour. Alright, I think I’m good for the next one.”

He picked a grape from his bunch and raised it. “Ready?”

I nodded.

“Two to zero,” he said.

He lobbed the grape into the air.

I leaned left, and then right. Despite being certain I was well within the grape’s path, it fell against my upper lip and then ricocheted off the arm of the couch. As it rolled across the floor, Porter laughed.

“Your fat lips get in the way.”

“You like them when they’re wrapped around your dick, Dick.”

“No need to call names.” He checked his watch. “This is just a friendly game.”

“How much time do we have?” I asked.

“Three or four minutes.”

“Is it three or is it four?”

He glanced at his watch. “Three and twenty seconds.”

I pulled a grape from the bunch and flipped it into the air carelessly, and without warning. Using his eight-pack of stomach muscles, Porter did a sit up, catching the grape in mid-flight.