Page 28 of The Mayor and the Mystery Man

I reached for the pizza slice Cal offered, but he snapped it back.

“It was a long time ago.” I made another attempt and was thwarted again.

“The fact that you sang ‘Nookie.’ Nay, the fact that you even knew the lyrics to a Limp Bizkit song…I feel like I’m meeting you for the first time.”

“Surprised I have such good taste in music?” I swiped the plate from his hand. It had Batman logos around the perimeter, fitting since we were celebrating his son Josh’s birthday.

Dusty and I were surrounded by screaming, sugared-up nine-year-olds. Cal and Russ hosted the birthday party at LeapWorld, an indoor amusement park with obstacle courses, go-karts, jungle gyms, and the pièce de résistance: epic gladiatorial platforms where kids (and adults) tried to bump each other off pedestals using oversized foam poles. LeapWorld was pretty much a rite of passage for Sourwood kids. Ari and Lucy had their birthday here years ago.

I sat at a kids' picnic table with the Single Dads Club, minus Russ, who was monitoring all the kids like an umpire, especially his son Quentin. Quentin was on the scrawny side, and according to Cal, Russ had a habit of being a bit overprotective with him. Cal gave us a sneak peek at Josh’s birthday cake, shaped like the Batman logo.

“Josh is going to love that,” Mitch said, his burly body comically hunched over a tiny table. We all looked ridiculous, like Gulliver crashing a Lilliputian party.

“I’d wait until the very end of the party to feed the kids cake. Otherwise, this place is going to be covered in puke,” I said from experience. It was a good call having every inch of this place covered in plastic. LeapWorld could be hosed down each night.

“Don’t change the subject.” Cal shut the cake box. “Why didn’t you tell us you were in a band? I don’t remember you playing in high school.”

“I didn’t. I picked it up in college.”

“Let me guess: to pick up girls?” Cal asked.

“No,” I said at the same time Dusty said an emphatic, “Yes!”

I cocked an eyebrow at him. Traitor.

“You should keep playing. I can host an open mic night at Stone’s Throw,” Mitch said.

“I don’t think I can still play. It’s been a long time.” I waved off the music talk. Lots of people did stuff in college that they stopped once they entered the real world. Playing in a band was fun when I was twenty, though it was quite a rush to relive those memories. “Thank you for bringing that up in the interview, Dust.”

“That was a great article,” Cal said, pouring himself a cup of Coke into a matching Batman cup.

“You have no idea.” I squeezed Dusty’s arm, my hand lingering for a second. My appreciation knew no bounds—and neither did my impulse to touch him, apparently. “I’ve gotten so many great messages from people saying how cute we are, asking if I can perform at the next town meeting. Most importantly, the first round of polling came in this morning, and I’m slowly closing the gap with Rita.”

“Mission accomplished.” Dusty clinked Batman cups with mine.

“I could not have done it without you. Have I mentioned how glad I am you're here?”

Dusty looked away, his cheeks blushing. Shit, I should’ve rephrased. Light switch, light switch, light switch.

But the thing was, I meant every damn word. I was so happy Dusty was here. Not just for the article, but having his support and spending more time with him has made campaigning enjoyable. Dusty came with me to other campaign events this week, and we had a blast. All politicians should campaign with their best friends.

“My pleasure. I have lots more embarrassing stories to share,” he said with a playful threat.

“Please give us all the embarrassing stories,” Cal said.

“Oh, I will. I have to dole them out thoughtfully, like morsels.”

Cal hi-fived Dusty. “We finally have someone to take you down a peg, Leo. The world makes sense again.”

Dusty had met Cal and Mitch over the years when he swung by town. They all got along, which was something I was nervous about when different friends met. Mitch even offered Dusty a bartending gig in case he was staying in town.

He politely declined. He still planned to return to the West Coast, which made my heart sink. And not because he’d given my public image a shot in the arm.

“I’m gonna hit the can.” Dusty stood up and rubbed a hand through my hair.

“Why do you keep insisting on messing up my hair?”

“Maybe I’m making it better. You ever think about that?” He smirked and left.

---