Claiming My Father’s Best Friend
“If I ever see you again, one of us is going to die.”
“Jesus, Pete,” I snort. “Could you not be such a queen and quit the drama? But then again, you always did love theatrics.”
“Out!”
I start toward the door,
“Wait,” Peter calls.
I glance over my shoulder.
“I hope you fall down and die,” he deadpans.
I grin. “Sorry to disappoint you, but I plan on living forever. You’ll just have to suffer.” I pause, then add with a wink, “If you’re going to waste a wish, at least aim higher. Like... finally getting richer than me.”
Bab Populer