Chapter 11
The weekend passed agreeably enough, in a boozy blur of hot tub visits and cocktails between meals that would have done any Amish housewife proud. While there was no way for Bob-Gunnar to joke about being the only cook in a town that bred housewives like there might be a 4H badge for doing it, he could surely compete for the title of the best. There was still a jock under there somewhere, but it was no wonder his linebacker physique hadn’t been able to keep ahead of the extra weight if this was how he was feeding it every day. Breakfast was a meat-and-syrup affair hot on the heels of the wake-up call of the staunch aroma of Bob-Gunnar’s coffee, and before the dishes were in the sink, Mikey Shaw had rolled up on the porch and proceeded to stick to Thumper like glue until bed tim
