He shut the notebook. “I know. Also, Keaton’s going.”
That didn’t surprise me.
I rubbed my jaw. “All right.”
“You got a problem with that?”
“No.” I shook my head.
“Good.” He studied me for a second. “I’m taking my best guys, and right now that includes both of you.”
I stood. “Thanks, Devon.”
He waved me off. “Go finish practice.”
When I stepped back onto the floor, Keaton was near the bags with Derek. He looked over, instantly read my face, and let a corner of his mouth lift before he returned to work.
I powered through the rest of practice on pure adrenaline. By the time I got home, showered, changed, and sat down at my desk with my laptop, the rush from Devon’s news had mellowed.
LA was a real shot at something I’d wanted for years, and I should’ve been riding that high a little longer. Instead, I was staring at job listings and reminding myself I still needed to figure out what the hell I was doing outside the gym.
That part quickly killed the mood.
I browsed job listings and spent the next two hours disliking most of what I saw. Security jobs that required night shifts every weekend. Warehouse jobs with hours that conflicted with training. Retail jobs that sounded miserable. Front desk jobs at a couple of places that sounded easy enough until I imagined myself sitting behind a counter, smiling at strangers all day. I immediately wanted to close the tab.
I scrolled for another twenty minutes before finally giving up and letting my head fall back against the chair. “This is bullshit,” I grumbled at the ceiling.
My gaze drifted to the clock on my laptop. Keaton still had a few more hours at work. I thought about texting him, but decided against it. He was busy working. I didn’t want to be that guy, especially since we were trying to keep whatever was happening between us from becoming obvious. So I closed the laptop, stood up, and paced my room instead.
Then I spotted the extra helmet sitting on the shelf, and a slow grin spread across my face.
I had an idea.
A little after one-thirty, I grabbed the spare helmet from the closet and the backpack I put a few things in and strapped them to the back of the bike before heading out.
The streets were mostly empty by then, with Sacramento mainly settled except for the bars and the late-night traffic still lingering around Midtown. I parked a little ways down from The Golden Tavern instead of right in front and killed the engine.
Then I waited.
A few people stepped out, laughing loudly and dragging their feet toward the lot. A guy in a Giants cap paused to light a cigarette and looked at my bike for a second before wandering off. A couple of minutes later, the front door opened again, and Keaton came out, holding his keys.
He locked the door, turned around, and paused. For a moment, he simply stared at me. Then his gaze flicked to the bike, the extra helmet, and back to my face. “What are you doing here?”
I pushed off the bike. “Picking you up.”
“At almost two in the morning?”
“You done closing?”
He slipped his keys into his pocket. “Yeah.”
“Sounds like perfect timing then.”
His mouth twitched, but he still seemed somewhat suspicious. “You really brought a second helmet?”
“I did.”
He walked closer. “Where are we going?”
