Free Risk (It's Complicated Book 2) by Ann Christopher

pieces.”
    Angela cocked her head and cupped her hand to her ear. “Do I hear a nice word?”
    Maya’s lips thinned and disappeared. “ Please ,” she said nastily.
    Translation? Go to hell, Aunt Ang-la .
    Angela decided to ignore the tone. Relieved that they’d reached a truce, she quickly made the sandwich, poured a glass of skim milk, and plunked them down in front of Maya. But one look at the white milk had Maya’s lower lip ballooning again.
    “I want choc-late syrup.”

    * * *
    T he uneasy peace , such as it was, collapsed within the hour. Angela dressed Maya in yesterday’s clothes, grateful she’d had the foresight to throw them into the wash before she went to bed last night. Maya, who seemed as determined not to mention her parents as Angela was, settled onto the sofa with her dog.
    “Can I watch TV?” she asked.
    “Ah...” Angela said, frowning.
    As a general rule, she believed that children under the age of, oh, say, eight, should never watch TV. If and when she had children ( thanks again, Ronnie, you SOB ), she’d have them look at picture books and play with blocks and quiet toys in their rooms to develop their imaginations and creativity. Parents who relied on TV to baby-sit their children were lazy at best and neglectful at worst. But this one time it wouldn’t hurt anything if Maya watched half an hour’s worth of educational shows while Angela got dressed.
    “Sure,” she finally said.
    She quickly found the remote and flipped through the usual Sunday morning news shows looking for something kid-friendly.
    Maya watched with interest. “I want to watch Scooby Doo . Turn it to Cartoon Network,” she suggested helpfully.
    Angela paused to look at her. “Cartoon Network?”
    Maya gaped at her. “The kid’s channel. Push two-seven.”
    Angela hesitated. “Is that cable? I don’t have cable.”
    Before the explosion came—and judging by the way Maya went rigid, flung herself onto her back, and balled up her fists, it was going to be a biggie—the doorbell rang.
    Oh, thank God. Please let it be Justus.
    Nicely diverted, Maya leapt to her feet and ran into the foyer.
    Angela took a couple of quick steps after her, then faltered as she glanced hopelessly down at her tank top and boxer shorts.
    Normally she got up at six or six thirty, even on weekends, because discipline didn’t take the weekend off, ran on the treadmill for an hour or so, and was showered and fresh by eight. Today, she counted herself lucky she’d been able to steal thirty seconds to brush her teeth while Maya ate. A glance at the mirror over the hall table confirmed all her worst suspicions about her appearance.
    Ah, well. Nothing she could do about it now.
    Sighing and running her fingers through her wrecked ponytail, she opened the door.
    “Uncle Justus!” Maya streaked past in a flash of flying legs and braids. She launched herself at Justus, who stooped down in time to scoop her up and swing her in the air. Then he held her to his chest, her legs dangling.
    “Hi, baby girl!”
    He squeezed her tight, letting his eyes drift closed after he’d showered her grinning face with kisses. Opening his eyes again, he looked around for Angela and gave her a quick once-over when he saw her. His jaw tightened.
    “Hi. Hope I’m not too early.”
    “Hi,” she said uncomfortably. Why hadn’t she at least put her robe on before she opened the door?
    But Justus’s attention immediately shifted back to Maya. If he thought Angela looked bad, he kept his opinion to himself—thank goodness.
    “How are you, little girl?” he asked Maya, whose arms were wrapped around his neck. “What’s wrong with your face?”
    “It scratches.” Maya raked her short nails over her cheek.
    Huh?
    Angela took a good look at Maya and discovered she had several red welts dotting her face. What the hell? Had they been there all morning? She didn’t think so, but who knew?
    Justus shot her a quizzical glance.
    “I don’t know,” she said