Penelope raises her eyebrows and her mouth gapes open. She smiles from ear to ear and says, “you, little one, are too cute.”
“Does that mean you agree? He was pretty sad when you said no the first time.” Kailee says.
“Well, now that I have your permission and ice cream is on the table, I don’t see how I could possibly refuse.”
6
Bad News
Detective Marcus Hargrowealways has a good line ready. That’s part of his appeal. Invite him to a party, and you know you’re getting at least two witty comments: one when he shows up and one when he leaves.
He went to the same high school as me and my sister, Bethany. He pursued her for a while, which has always made me edgy around him.
It caught me by surprise when he walked into the station’s common room, ducking his head as he passed through the doorframe.
Right behind him, our new probie—that’s right, our house got some fresh meat. The kid’s name is Chase de Vries, and he just got out of the academy. He’s got blonde hair, which hangs over his forehead, blue eyes, and a friendly, open face. Full of spirit and optimism—like any rookie. Seems like a nice enough kid. But being nice isn’t what makes a man a firefighter, so the jury’s still out on whether he’ll fit in with the rest of the crew.
We’ve put him through his paces, showing him the ropes, busting his balls, and getting him hammered at The Pulaski. So far, the kid’s done a good job of absorbing the humiliations that go with being a probie. But there’s a lot of ball-busting to be done before I can say that for sure. Sometimes, probies seem committed to the job, but then, after a few weeks of getting yelled at and bossed around, they crack.
Marcus looks around, amusement twinkling in his brown eyes. His head is completely shaved, and his beard is as dense as one of those hedges outside of a rich person’s home—trimmed with meticulous care into a perfectly smooth shape. Today, he’s wearing a grey suit with a black turtleneck underneath, no tie. In each ear, there is a sizable diamond stud.
He breathes in deeply through his nose. “Ah, the smell of testosterone and desperation—there’s nothing quite like it on a Sunday morning.”
And there’s your opening line.
I scoff quietly. Marcus closes his eyes dramatically, and fills his lungs again with testosterone and desperation, apparently. The probie’s watching him with a grin spreading across his dumb, eager face.
“Come on, probie,” I say, pushing myself up from the couch. “Less gawping, more mopping.”
The probie’s boyish face rapidly goes through a series of panicked expressions. I ignore them all, and turn my attention to Marcus, approaching him with an artificial smile.
“Marcus Hargrowe, long time no see, man. How have you been?”
I offer my hand for a handshake
Marcus’s grip is bone-crushing. I pretend not to notice, doing my best to match his strength.
“Fantastic, brother,” he says, a self-assured and relaxed smile spreads across his face. The handshake ends—to my relief. “I heard you made lieutenant. Congratulations. That’s quite an accomplishment, Jax. Hey, by the way, how’s your sister? She healthy?”
I frown. What does that even mean? Healthy? What a weird thing to say.
“She’s married and doing well,” I say.
“I heard. DeStefano beat me to it,” Marcus says, jokingly. Dennis comes up to the detective. They embrace. “My man,” Marcus says, stepping back and gripping Dennis’s shoulders. “Lookin’ fit as a fiddle.”
Dennis and Marcus play basketball together. On the court, they’re competitive and at each other’s throats, but off the court it’s all love.
Dennis smiles. “It’s good to see you, Marcus. What brings you in?”
“Well, I heard Manny was doing dishes, and I just had to see it for myself. Yo, Manny, you lose a bet or something?”
“Pfff,” Manny says. He’s standing in the kitchen drying his hands on a dish towel. “First of all, I do dishes all the time. Secondly, yes, I did.”
“Aw shit,” Marcus says as he leans over the counter to give Manny a quick man hug—arm wrestling grip followed by a quick pat on the back with the other arm. “Sounds like there’s a story there.”
“Not really,” I say, crossing my arms across my chest. “Manny thought he could get any girl’s number. He couldn’t. Now he’s doing dishes for a week.”
“Manuel, mi amigo, what happened? Are you losing your touch?”
