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“Actually,” he grunts. I let him up, and Caleb lowers his head, looking through his eyelashes. “I came to borrow Captain.”
Throwing my hands up, I complain, “Oh my god, lady-killer. You’re going to put me in the ground or jail. Get out of here. Have her home by ten, or your ass is toast.”
Caleb pulls a leash from his pocket and calls Captain. He clips onto her collar and starts for the back gate. “See you later, Dad. If you want any good book recommendations, let me know.”
The half-kid half-man walks away with my dog, leaving me to process the strangest conversation I’ve ever had. Either the kid’s crazy, or I am because after thinking about it for a while, I go inside to get my phone.
I usually text my friend instead of calling, but I don’t feel like waiting for a response.
The call rings twice before Bastien answers. “Why do I get the feeling I won’t like what you have to say.”
“Don’t be such a princess,” I grouch. “I need a favor.”
Bastien grumbles. “If it were anyone else, I would have already hung up. I still might. What do you want?”
“If you and the missus don’t have plans tonight, I want you to have Chelsea meet you for beers.”
“Why the hell would I do that?”
And here’s where it could all go south. “I need an in.”
“You need an… What the hell is this? High school?” Bastien roars.
I’m basing this whole strategy on my kid’s hypothesis, so I answer, “Something like that.”
Bash doesn’t say anything for a bit. I’m this close to begging when he finally responds. “Look, man. You’re my best friend, my brother, but I don’t have the patience to play matchmaker between you and Chelsea. Especially since she despises you.”
“She doesn’t. Even Birdie says so, remember.”
At the feminine murmuring in the background, I presume she’s confirming my claim. “Fuck,” Bash mutters. “You should know I’m only doing this because Birdie’s making me. I’m going to laugh my ass off when Chelsea doesn’t show. You’re buying the beers either way.”
“Deal. Oh, and don’t tell Chelsea I’m coming. I’m not asking you to lie to her. Just leave me out of the conversation. And don’t invite anyone else. Wait. Invite whoever you want.”
“God. I’m beginning to get a headache. I’ll text you after I get my head examined.”
Bastien hangs up before I can thank him. Honestly, I feel bad for the guy. I would have told me no.
I spend the next half-hour pacing the floor, waiting to hear back about tonight. My phone pings with a new message, and I nearly rip my uniform, trying to get the damned thing out of my pocket.
Shit! It’s a political spam message. Either I or the phone is about to crack when it vibrates again. Finally, it’s from Bash. Seven thirty. Same place.
I shower, change, and drive to the Taphouse over an hour early to eat and do some homework. The waitress removes my dinner dishes when I finish and blanches when I ask for a drink menu. My team and I are here so much that Margo and the others know our drink orders by heart. “What the hell’s gotten into you?”
“I’m allowed to try something different,” I answer.
Margo has just returned with the requested menu when Bash and Birdie walk in fifteen minutes early as requested. “Um. What are you doing?”
I look up from the menu to Bastien’s side-eye glare. “I’m trying to decide what drink I want.”
Bastien lifts Birdie’s hand to his forehead. “Con enculé,” he barks. “If you’re trying to punk me...”
Bastien Laurent’s French cursing is usually entertaining, but not when it’s aimed at me. “I swear, I’m not. Just sit down, shut up, and act normal.”
“Yeah. Like you’re doing?” he tosses back.
Birdie lifts onto her tiptoes and kisses Bastien’s jaw. “Hey, big guy, let’s sit down, and you can buy me a drink.”
The badass former SEAL melts looking into her eyes. Bastien kisses Birdie’s nose and smiles. “I’ll do anything you want, Petit Oiseau.” Gesturing to me, he says, “But that asshole’s buying the drinks.”
