“You have,” I remind him gently, “But it’s classic Clancy, and you might want a copy for your bookshelf.”
He looks up at me, and his green eyes seem to clear a bit. “We watched the movie too, remember? You were about ten, and we did a whole Jack Ryan marathon.” He laughs. “You ’bout drove your Ma crazy talking like Sean Connery for a month.”
“A great day, comrades. We sail into history,” I quote in my best impression of the Scottish actor.
Gramps looks over at Juliette. “Terrible, right?”
She tuts and shakes her head. “I see why his mother was annoyed.”
I give them fake outrage. “Hey! Why are you two ganging up on me?”
My grandfather laughs like he’s having the best time of his life. He tips the top of his head toward Juliette. “I like this one, Reno. You should ask her out.”
A grin steals across my face as I meet her eyes. “She’s the prettiest woman I’ve ever seen, so maybe I’ll just marry her, Gramps.”
He looks back at Juliette. “At least I taught him something. His flirting game is much better than his Sean Connery.”
“Agreed,” she says with a smirk. “And if he proposes, maybe I’ll say yes.”
For the next five minutes, Juliette helps my grandfather select two more books from an indie author who also writes international espionage. “Make sure to let me know what you think about these, Arlo. I think you’ll really enjoy them.”
“I sure will. They sound like they’ll be right up my alley.”
We walk to the corner, and Juliette goes behind the small counter set up there, digging through a box of rolled up posters. I can’t help but stare at her ass in that skirt.
“Ah, here we go.” She holds up one of them triumphantly. “It’s the movie poster forThe Hunt for Red October.I thought it might be a good memory to hang on your wall since you watched it with Reno when he was a kid.”
Gramps looks pleased as punch with his new treasures, and I walk him back to his room. When he starts nodding off, I urge him to take a nap before heading back to the book fair, determined to help Juliette pack up when she’s done.
I watch as she flits around the room like a butterfly, smiling at everyone she meets. She points out the inspirational and religious section to a lady and then directs an old-timer to a stack of Louis L'Amour westerns. I crack up when a woman who has to be at least ninety asks where the reverse harem romance books are located. But Juliette doesn’t bat an eye.
She’s absolutely in her element. Sidling up to her, I tilt my head down and whisper, “What do I have to do to get you to wear this outfit at home tonight?”
Juliette eyes me up and down appraisingly. “I think a foot rub would do the trick.”
I give her a mischievous smile. “Dream girl, I’ll rub more than your feet.”
Chapter 45
Modern day Starsky and Hutch
It’sbeenfourweekssince Baylor Ward’s concussion. His doctors haven’t released him to play yet, which sucks for us because we’ve lost three games in the meantime. However, they have released him to come to tonight’s game.
We’re playing Boston, and we really need this win. I think it will help to have Baylor sitting on the bench with us. He’s a captain and a positive force for the team.
“All right, guys,” Coach Al says during his pre-game pep talk. “I need you all to up your game tonight. Shively is back for Boston after his accident.” His lip curls. “Just… remember who you are and play a clean game, okay?”
Shively used to play for Dallas but then was traded to Boston. After a car wreck, he’s spent the past two years in hospitals and rehabilitation. I guess that’s why the coach was reminding us to play clean. Maybe some of the guys had bad blood with Shively?
I mean, I’ve never cared for the guy. He never misses an opportunity to take a cheap shot on another player.
Baylor makes a snort of derision, and I think I’m right about the bad blood thing. My friend doesn’t mind mixing it up if things get chippy on the ice, but he never plays dirty, and he doesn’t tolerate anyone who does.
We take the ice. It’s a hard-fought battle, and halfway through the second period, we find ourselves up by one point. Coach changes the line, and I collapse onto the bench beside Baylor.
“I think we can win this,” I say, breathing heavily as one of the trainers hands me a squirt bottle of water. I spray some into my mouth and swipe the bottom of my face with the back of my hand.
Baylor’s eyes are locked on the game, his lip curled up on one side. “God, I wish I was out there. I’d like to teach that motherfucker a lesson.”
