“Some people pay good money for that savory, smokey flavor, you know.”
“There’s a difference between mesquite and burnt electrical components,” I deadpan.
“Fiiine,” he huffs. “What do you want from downstairs? I’ll go down and make sure T-dawg has got the place under wraps.”
I give Gannett my order, and he gets up to head down to the pub. Before he goes, he looks over his shoulder. “Throw a Red Sox replay on or something. You can explain baseball to me when I get back.”
“You don’t know baseball? Weren’t you there at all Evan’s games back in high school?”
He grins. “Eh, I know enough to have a slight functional knowledge of the game. I’ve picked it up a bit over the last couple of years. But, let’s not overlook therealquestion there. You remember me from Evan’s games? I’m flattered! But, true test of your memory,wheredid you ever recall seeing me at all those games?”
I try to think back, but during all those games, my main concern was just playing well enough to earn that scholarship. I was laser focused, zeroed in on my ticket out. “Probably the snack shack, if I had to guess,” I tell him.
“Eeeh! Wrong-o,” he teases. “Underneath the bleachers, earning my title as best kisser at Ternbay Middle School.”
I snort. “Figures.”
He chuckles. “What? It’s a cool title to have!”
“Beats the one you currently hold.”
He cocks an eyebrow up. “Which is?”
“Peakedin middle school…” And, yep, I’m back on my bullshit too, I guess.
He narrows his eyes at me. “Respectfully, Crouton, go fuck yourself.” On that, he flips me off, and heads out the door.
A bang, a hiss, and some slight whimpering rouse me out of a dead sleep, and I jerk upright, wiping the drool off my stubbled cheek. I blink open my eyes to find Gannett hopping around on one foot while clutching his toes on the other, muttering curses under his breath.
“Fuck is going on?” I grunt, my voice gravelly from sleep.
“Three little pigs went down in the great war against your coffee table,” he grumbles. “Sorry, I was trying to slip off to go take a leak without waking you up.”
“Did you already piss yourself?” I ask, noting the giant wet spot on his jeans.
Confusion lines his brow, and he looks down at his pants. “Uh, no. That’d be from where you drooled all over me. You’re worse than a Saint Bernard, dude.”
“I fell asleep on your lap?”
He nods. “Sure did. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I need to go drain the main vein. Been sitting there for hours, holding it in.”
Now it’s my turn for my brows to zip together. “What the hell, you’ve been sitting there just letting me sleep… on your lap.”
He rolls his eyes. “In the words of Gordy Masterson,don’t make a big deal out of it,” he taunts, doing a piss poor jobof mocking my tone.
After he does his business and comes back out of the bathroom, he turns off the TV, starts shutting off the lamps, and gives me a little tap on my shin with his toes. “Come on, let’s get you to bed.”
I huff, but begrudgingly do as he commands. My body aches as I stand, still strung taut from all the stress of today. Once I’m in my bedroom, I start stripping out of my clothes. I’m down to my briefs, my thumb just under the waistband, when, out of my periphery, I notice that Gannett has followed me into my room. My underwear stays put.
“What are you doing?” I snap when he starts shucking off his clothing as well.
He regards me as if I have two heads. “I don’t usually sleep with my clothes on, and it’s not like I brought my jammies.”
Jammies? What the fuck? Is hefive? Also—why is he peeling back the comforter on my bed?
“You aren’t sleeping in here with me,” I grunt. Christ, I only asked him to stay here tonight so that I wouldn’t be alone, not so we could fucking cuddle it out or some shit.
“The fuck I’m not,” he balks. “Christ, the last time you had a night terror, you had practically strangled yourself in your bedsheets by the time I made it over here from the other room.”
