Page 19 of Papa's Bébé
“You do realize that you’re referring to me as your boyfriend, right?” Matthieu said dryly.
“Nah, I’m saying my friend,” Baron objected. “Don’t you want to be my friend?”
“I do not. And I also think that I might understand the French language better than you.”
“What are you talking about?” Baron asked, moving away from Matthieu to stand next to his brother. “I have great command of the French language. Took it for two semesters in high school.” He leaned his bent arm on his twin brother’s shoulder and smirked at Matthieu. “You trying to tell me that my French is no good? That wounds me, man. It bites deep.”
“You only took that class because you thought you were in love with Libby Stein,” Royal commented.
“Ahh, that’s right,” Baron said with a sigh. “Libby. Good times. So long ago.”
“It was last year,” Royal said dryly.
“Yeah, like I said. A lifetime ago. So what are you doing here, El Capitaine?”
“Are you calling me a rock?” Matthieu asked.
“A rock?” Baron asked.
“Like the one in Yosemite National Park?” Matthieu asked. “El Capitan.”
“Ahh, no. I was referring to your rank in the French Special Forces.”
“I wasn’t a Capitaine in the French Special Forces.” He had been a commandant, which was higher than a capitaine. But these two didn’t need to know that.
“Too bad. Do you know any explosives experts?” Baron asked.
“Why would you want to know that?” he asked. “And why not ask Ink?”
“Um, first, because Ink would never give me that sort of information,” Baron replied. “He’d think I wanted to know for nefarious purposes.”
Royal made a strange noise.
“And, see, I need some advice. I’m having a bit of trouble with this bomb I’m trying to create.”
He was joking.
He had to be joking.
Matthieu was worried that he wasn’t joking. “You cannot build a bomb.”
“Can’t I?”
“I meant that you will not build a bomb. Does Ink know about this?” he asked with alarm.
“Relax,” Royal told him. “Baron is just joking with you.”
Matthieu stared from one to the other. He wasn’t so sure. They could be joking or they could be secretly plotting to take over the world.
“He doesn’t believe you, brother,” Baron said.
“Very upsetting,” Royal stated. “I’m hurt.”
“I would be too,” Baron agreed.
“Either way, I don’t know any bomb experts,” Matthieu told them.
Baron smiled wide. He was in his usual attire of ripped jeans and a faded band T-shirt while his brother was wearing pressed slacks and a short-sleeved, dark-blue shirt.
