“A group of owls is called a parliament. A group of seagulls is called a squabble. A group of sharks is called a shiver,” I chant, my boots propped on Caleb’s truck dash.
Caleb parks, comes around to my door and helps me out.
“A group of tigers is an ambush or streak.” My feet hit the ground and Caleb lifts me in his arms. I hook one of my arms around his neck and inform him, “A group of parrots is panda… pando…” I smack my lips and try again, “Pandemonium.”
“You drunk?”
“Maybe. Sorta. A group of wombats is called a wisdom.”
“You’re so f*****g smart,” he tells me and tosses me on the bed.
“You think I’m smart,” I murmur happily. I watch as his coat, shirt and boots hit the floor and then he’s on me.
“I know you are.” He unzips my coat, vest and peels them both off. “You don’t know y
