“She’s having a rough night. Can you go over there and help? I know you’re tired and all?—”
“I thought ‘now isn’t the time,’” I say, using a faux female voice. She’s too far away to pull my hair or wrap her hands around my throat when I throw her words back at her.
“I’m not asking you to fuck her. I’m asking you to go play catch with Linc or color with Monroe.”
I chuckle, and she groans.
“I’m on my way.”
“Really? Thanks, Hayes. And it’s not like I need to say it, but keep your dick in your pants, okay?”
I shake my head, even if she can’t see me. “I’ll try, but sometimes he’s got a mind all his own. He just pops up, you know?”
She pretends to gag. “I’m trying to eat my dinner here.”
“Go and have a great podcast.”
“Thank you! Love you.”
“Love you too. I’ve got your best friend handled.” She doesn’t laugh, which spurs my own chuckle. “Fucking hell, Callie, relax.”
We hang up, and it’s then I realize Easton and Decker are waiting for me by the door. Shit, the dinner. Easton will probably tell me to bring Leighton and the kids just to punish the DICs, but I’m not gonna do that.
“Sorry, guys, I’m out.”
“Out? You can’t be out.” Decker is the first one to object, which is surprising.
“The best friend?” Easton asks.
I filled the two of them in after I saw Leighton at the funeral.
I nod.
“Bring them,” he says.
I’m a little amazed at how well I know Easton for only being friends for six months.
“Nah, but order my steak and all the sides and give it to Ruby or something.” The woman who owns the bar on the street level of our building has a gruff exterior, but once you get to know her, she’s not that bad.
Decker shakes his head, not giving me shit about this. “Do you need us?” He turns toward the exit, and Easton and I follow.
“No, I got it. I’ll probably just order pizza, then freshen up on my stay-within-the-lines coloring skills.” I’m not sure that’s all I’ll be doing. I’m guessing if Callie called me, Leighton must be losing her mind, since Callie’s been very clear—she doesn’t want me anywhere near her best friend.
“You should invite them to a game. I’d like to meet this best friend,” Easton says, grinning.
“We met her,” Decker reminds him.
“We did?” His dark brows draw down.
“At the hospital, when Tweetie had his baby.”
The three of us are friendly with some of Chicago’s professional hockey players.
We stop outside the stadium, since we’re now headed in separate directions.
“The strawberry-blonde? Didn’t realize that was who it was.” Easton’s eyes widen. “She’s way out of your league.”
Decker slaps him in the chest with the back of his hand. “And on that, I’m out.”
