Page 67 of Force At Third

“My bad. Make that three; they’re thirsty, too.”

Date Night

13

Saturday

After ending the call, I walk in circles, trying to figure out how to get myself out of this situation and stop these ridiculous bubbles of laughter from popping up. Nervous laughter? Exhaustion? Locke.

“Gwendolyn York, we’re awfully parched. Should we come out and?—”

“Stop calling me that.” I pout. Yep, pout.

“Sugar Bear better?” He chuckles.

I open the fridge and grab two bottles, not four, then march my ass back into the living room and drop one on his lap.

“Gwen or York, like everybody on the planet, including my mother.” I shove myself into the opposite corner of the sectional, cover up, and grab my tablet.

“I’m not everybody else.”

“Okay, and that … that stops. I need to focus. As you know, this isn’t a joke. My job is not a joke. What we do is important, and right now, it’s crucial that I?—”

“Never thought it was a joke. Also never thought it was as fucking dangerous as it obviously is. I’d tell you I don’t like it, but when you went all badass on Bennett, I felt like we were sitting around my folk’s table in eleventh grade. Popped wood and all. It was hot.”

Frustrated, I throw a hand in the air. “You just can’t?—”

“Fine, no wood-popping talk, Gwen or York.” He shakes his head. “Never could get down with York because I thought your dad was a giant fucking tool for not remembering?—”

“His last?—”

“I know. It’s Cabot,” He cuts me off. “Your old man is loaded. That doesn’t make him less of a dick. When I found out Cabot was his name, I thought, Damn Locke, maybe that’s why she dumped your ass. You didn’t pay enough attention to shit like that; ask enough questions about things that were important to her.” He shakes his head. “Can’t call you York. I can try to use Gwen as long as you stop talking to me through other people.”

I pull my knees up to my chest and rest my chin on them. “I’ll do that as long as you stop.” I take a minute to ponder what it is precisely I’m going to ask him to stop since it has, in fact, been me who’s been walking my ass next door.

“Knowing some of what’s up, your focus is the priority.” He turns toward me.

I hide a smile against my knees because I really want to tell him he just squished my “friends.”

“I know what you’re thinking, Gwen,” he exaggerates my name. “But they’re over there, sound asleep, probably dehydrated, but I have a feeling they’ll be okay.”

I bite back a smile as I look up at him. “Please tell me you didn’t really think I was talking to myself.”

“Look, I would if I could”—he grins and shakes his head—“but that would be a lie.”

“You’re so full of shit.” I find myself grinning, too.

We sit like that, smiling at each other, and it feels like we’re in study hall back in Walton, no words necessary.

I finally break our stare, grab the remote, and toss it to him. “You played good tonight.”

“Good was just enough. When we were on the road?—”

“You raised your average. Your focus was as fierce as it was …” I stop talking as I sit back and straighten out my legs. “It’s better than it’s been in a long time, but you know that.”

“Not gonna say I’m not tickled pink that Gwendo—Gwen noticed.”

“Yeah, well, once a baseball fan, always a baseball fan,” I say as I tap on my messages to see if Wren or Echo have gotten back to me.

---