The Revenge Plan
“Wick?”
He managed to loosely roll his face up and then grin goofily at me before slurring, “Hey, hey, it’s my HayHay.”
I blinked and then gaped at J.J. “Is he drunk?”
But even as I leaned in to smell Wick’s breath, I could tell he didn’t emit even the hint of alcohol. He hummed out a pleased sound, however, and nuzzled his face into mine as if he were plastered.
“No,” J.J. growled, hedging past me to lead Wick to the couch, where he and Bear let him fall onto the cushions gently. “He has a fucking concussion.”