“Hi, grumpy face,” Gwyn says.
I continue my slide into the chair opposite her, my movements more akin to some wet, many-limbed sea cephalopod than a six foot plus, bearded behemoth. Appropriating her coffee, I settle myself into an inert lump.
“Analin break up with you again?”
My eyebrows jump. “Is it scrawled across my face in permanent marker? I may have called her by the wrong name.”
She snickers, the glee radiating from her face with all the power of the sun. “You’re more fun than Clue! Perhaps if you stop fudging relationships…”
“Thanks mom,” I say sarcastically.
(Written for The Prediction. Challenge words: clue, fudge, inert)