Chapter Eighteen
By the time Macey arrives home, I’m exhausted. Wiped. Out. And ready to call the doctor for a f*****g vasectomy. It must show on my face because she gives me a look of sympathy as she drops her purse by the door. “Oh you poor thing.”
I glare at her.
“I’m sorry. I should have warned you. Sophie can be…” she searches for a word. Six come to mind, none of them polite, or anything you would tell a mother. “A handful.”
“Indeed.” Honestly, I’m grateful she didn’t die on my watch. And that I didn’t kill her, because on at least four occasions, I was ready to string her up by her toes. Cuteness be damned.
“Stay for dinner?”
Tempting, but no. I shake my head. “Sorry.” She looks so crestfallen, I nearly change my mind. But I need a break from Wild Child. “How about later?” As
