“
The boy from that morning stood idly in the doorframe, once again wearing that maddening smirk. “Mort doesn’t really believe in cooking,” he said, swinging into the room. He opened the freezer door and nimbly transferred a pie from the box to the microwave. “He calls it a waste of time and sulfuric acid.”
Lex attempted to disguise the mangled expression of intrigue and annoyance that had involuntarily appeared on her face. “And you would know because you’re his . . .”
“Pool boy.”
“There is no pool!” She turned to Uncle Mort, the ire rising once again. “What is he doing here?”
Uncle Mort heaved an overdramatic shrug. “What are any of us doing here, really?” he said, waving his hands philosophically.
“Jesus. You’re both evil.”
“That’s no way to talk about your uncle,” her uncle said.
“Or your partner,” Driggs added.
“What?” Lex squawked, a whole new stew of emotions bubbling over. Not knowing what else to do, she grabbed the salt shaker and hurled it at him, followed by the pepper. “You’re my partner?”
Driggs caught both items and began to juggle. “Yes, he is,” said Uncle Mort. “And in case you’ve forgotten, you still have a full week of training left—training that I can easily cancel and turn into a one-way ticket back home if you keep acting like a troglodyte.” Lex frowned, but lowered the sugar bowl she had readied. “So you two better find a way to get along. Now hug it out.”
“No way.” She eyed Driggs. “I’m not hugging that.”
“Oh yes you are.” Uncle Mort was enjoying this little show. “Befriend or else.”
She had no choice. Careful to avoid Driggs’s gaze, Lex reluctantly entered into the frosty embrace.
“You have no intention of befriending, do you?” Driggs whispered.
“I’d rather take a bath with a toaster.
”
”