"Patrick sure is getting tall," Sam mused, taking a swig of his beer.
I nodded. "Yeah. Your
kid is a midget compared to him."
Sam growled. "That's a load
of bull. Daniel is perfectly average."
"Yeah," I taunted,
"average. My boy's tall and
strong."
"Jacob..."
"Yes, sir?"
"Stop..."
"Sir,
yes sir!"
"Shut up."
"Of course, madam!"
"I'm
warning you, Jake..."
"I'm so scared! Sam's gonna get his
midget kid to beat me up!"
"Jacob---"
"Oh, I'm
terri---. OUCH!"
I rubbed the side of my face, wincing. "That
was completely unnecessary."
"Jacob, just shut up."
"I
can't help myself, Sammy-poo." I whined.
"Call me that again and I'll kick you into next week." Sam threatened.
"I'll---"
"OUCH!"
came a loud yelp. Sam and I dashed out of the garage and turned the
corner, only to find our sons wrestling in the leaves.
With a swell of fatherly pride, I watched as my son hold down Daniel and grinned victoriously.
"Go, Pat!" I cheered.
"Jacob, get Patrick off Daniel! He's squashing him!" Sam shouted. I laughed and pulled my little tank off Danny.
"Good going, Pat," I whispered to my son, directing him to the front door of the house.
Sam ushered Danny off and then glared at me.
"You need to learn better parenting skills, Jake," he told me seriously. I chuckled.
"Oh,
shove it."
"Make me, big man."
"Oh, I'll make you!"
I
tackled Sam into the leaves and punched him wildly, grinning the
whole time. I landed loads of square punches before I heard Patrick
say from the porch:
"What a couple of kids."
"I concur."
I heard Bella reply.