Asher is oblivious, moving over to nudge Beck’s arm next. “You’re getting soft, Becky. That pile-up was just another Tuesday morning for me.”
The nickname earns Asher a soft laugh from Beck, who seems to relax a bit. He’s been wound a little too tight since I met him, or perhaps closed off is a better way to describe him. I don’t know much other than he went through something young in his career that stuck with him, like a repeating nightmare that never quits. But since he’s got a permanent fuck off look on his face any time he’s not dealing with a sweet little grandma patient, I choose to wait until he comes to me before I ask any questions.
“I know you’re not using a female name to imply Beck is weak,” Larsen challenges Asher, one of her perfectly manicured brows rising with the dare. “You’re insufferable, but you’re not ignorant.”
“Is that a compliment from the Iron Lady?” Asher sets his whiskey down long enough to wrap his arms around Larsen and pick her up. I think he’s about to spin her around when she pins him with a death glare and he chuckles, setting her back down. “Ease up, Lars. You know I’m only messing with the boy.”
“Bravado is often a mask hiding a deep sense of inadequacy,” she says coolly.
“Nothing inadequate here,” Asher retorts, flexing one of his massive biceps with a grin. “You’re looking at Mr. January, remember?" He winks. “Cover guy.”
“Oh, great.” Larsen laughs, finishing her drink.
We all know Asher is talking about the Tampa Firefighter Calendar he got roped into modeling for last year. While the calendar was just for fun back then, it brought in a ton of unexpected funds that Asher’s station was able to donate to charity. This year, Asher decided to organize the calendar from start to finish, and he named the Burn Foundation as the primary charity.
“You know you loved it, Lars. Tell you what — I’ll even get you a signed copy of this year’s calendar. All the guys. Gals, too.”
“Now I have something to look forward to,” Larsen deadpans as she retrieves a twenty from her billfold and slides it across the bar. “On that note, I’m calling it a night. I’ve got an early morning tomorrow.”
“Hey, that’s not fair!” I protest. “I just got here. I was dragged here against my will. If I have to stay, you do, too.”
Larsen just waggles her fingers at me, and Beck chuckles, tapping the bar and nodding at me and Asher. “I’ll walk you out,” he says to her, and when he puts his own twenty down, I realize he won’t be back, either. “Don’t get too wild without me,” he tells us.
“Lightweights,” Asher teases as they walk off.
“Like a resident nurse,” I add.
Beck flips us off over his shoulder, and then they’re gone.
“You’re lucky I invited Owens, or I’d be bailing on you, too,” I warn Asher.
“Maybe it’s you and your buddy who are the lucky ones. Hanging out with Mr. January, remember?”
He goes to flex again but I slug him in the arm.
For a while, we watch the sports highlights on the TV above the bar. If the Tampa Bay Lightning was playing tonight, Asher would definitely be on his own, because I’d either be at the game, or screaming at my own TV in private.
Hockey is about the only thing in the world that can get me worked up, and with a championship team on our hands, my noise level when watching the games is somewhere around death metal concert and three-ring circus.
“Hey, I know I joked about it, but… are you doing okay? After the accident last week.”
I shrug. “I’m fine.”
Asher arches a brow. “That’s convincing.”
“I don’t know. I have the same kind of attitude you do about it.” I frown again. “Which I’m not sure is a good thing, but it’s true. It’s just another day in the hospital. I specialized in trauma when I was in Chicago for this exact reason, so that when I was called in, I could be calm and do my job.”
“Hear, hear,” he says, clinking his glass with mine. “Still… you seem a bit off this week.”
I scratch my neck, another shrug lifting my shoulders. “Just have some stuff on my mind.”
Stuff being a blast from my past I was most definitely not expecting.
Before Asher can ask for details, my best friend, Dane Owens, claps me on the shoulder and takes the seat next to me.
“Sorry I’m late,” he says. And then, to Harold, “Jai Alai, please.”
Harold nods and fixes Dane up with a beer, and after his first long sip, I introduce him to Asher.
“I can’t believe it’s taken us this long to meet,” Asher says. “West here talks about you like you’re his lover.”
“He wishes,” Dane teases, pinching my side as I sock him in the arm like I did Asher.
Dane and I were roommates in undergrad, and I have him to thank for every ounce of fun I ever had while in college — probably every girl I had sex with, too. If it wasn’t for him dragging me away from my textbooks and out to party, I would have been perfectly content to focus on school and spend any free time I had watching conspiracy theory documentaries.
And the same way Dane made sure I wasn’t a total bore, I made sure he didn’t fly off the hinges. The man gets bored faster than a little kid in a bank lobby, which used to mean changing his major every three months, and now means he’s hopping from one job to another.
I think I know just how to settle him this time, though. He’s a talented security guard, he just hasn’t found the right fit. And now that Bayside Regional is hiring… I’m doing what I can to get him on with us.
“Any update on the gig?” he asks, reading my mind.
“Not yet. But should be soon.”
A grunt is his only response, and then he and Asher are chatting it up. I knew they’d get along easy. They’re both annoyingly charming and too goddamn handsome for their own good. Birds of a feather.
Before they can get into measuring dick sizes, I let my mind wander, absentmindedly stirring the straw in my drink with my eyes on the TV screen above the bar.
Amanda Parks.
Young, I correct myself.
I’ll never get used to that.
The last time I saw her, I had my car loaded up to head to college and she was standing in my best friend’s driveway, waving me off with tears in her eyes. She probably felt like I was a second son.
I, on the other hand, had very different feelings about her.
I met her son, David, when I was a senior in high school. He was a sophomore, and I watched him get bullied from the sidelines for a week too long before I stepped in and called an end to it. I had respect at our high school — mostly because I hadn’t learned to tame my temper yet, and when I blew up? Well, it wasn’t pretty.
I took David under my wing after that, and the more we hung out, the more I liked the kid. He was smart, funny, and he had goals, the same way I did.
Of course, when I stayed the night with him for the first time, I realized why.
His father was a piece of shit alcoholic, and I watched more nights than I wanted as he got belligerent and verbally abused my best friend. David took it in stride, always saying that wasn’t his real dad, that he’d be better in the morning when he was sober. I didn’t believe him, but it wasn’t my place to judge.