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His hummed amusement appears prior to him having another bite of the treat. “Well, Maya just found out she’s pregnant, so Raquel, head of the department, is going to be on the hunt for her replacement asap.” I open the door for our exit. “I can put in a good word. Possibly get you off the shore and into the deep blue. I like your vibe.”
“You surf.”
“Strictly soul.”
“Someone who surfs for fun and purity, not necessarily chicks and glory.”
“We all surf for chicks.” He playfully winks as we round the corner into the main lobby.
Like I’m expecting, J.T. is leaned against the closest wall, scrolling on his phone, patiently waiting for my arrival. The second he catches sight of me standing what is obvious he deems as “too close” to Calen, he stands completely upward.
Harshly clears his throat.
And kicks his chin a little higher like a pufferfish desperate to appear more threatening than he really is.
Rather than be intimidated, Calen simply tips his head in J.T.’s direction. “The ex?”
“The puppet.”
An unhappy glower is instantly given to me. “Always a pleasure to see you too, Catwoman.”
“Why does your tie look like you just came from The Scarecrow’s funeral?”
“It’s polka dotted!”
“It’s fucking toxin yellow.”
“Calen,” he abruptly interjects with a friendly open palm before I can intervene.
“Reese.” The handshake is firm. Intimidating. “You work together?”
“Hopefully soon,” escapes my lips on a waggling of the eyebrows.
“Hopefully,” Calen echoes between bites. “I’ll catch you around, Brynley.”
“Bryn.”
He lets the corners of his lips curl upward on his last chomp. “Bryn.”
J.T. impatiently waits until Calen is completely out of sight to snip, “Trolling for Batman’s replacement, already?”
I hit him with an unimpressed look and fold my arms firmly across my yellow uniform covered chest. “What are the rules for hanging out, Puppet Boy?”
Guilt almost immediately covers his hazel gaze. “No talking about Wes.”
“Correct.”
“But-”
“Don’t make me cancel this custody agreement.” Humor gracefully hops into my tone. “Especially not tonight. I finally convinced Vanessa to watch Star Trek with us.”
He pauses whatever it is he was originally going to say to inquire, “And she’s really not single?”
“Really not.”
“This really isn’t one of those ‘I don’t want you to date my friends and possibly fuck up our friendship’ moments?”
“Nope.” An amused head tilt is given. “This is totally one of those, she’s practically married to a Fed who looks like a blond Simon Peck.”
