Page 101 of Rebel Bride
“You grew up in the Midwest.” I leaned against the wall and gestured with my water bottle at Jason. “Over ten years in Bean Town and you’ve become one of them.”
“It’s gonna be strange to be back here, that’s for sure. Gotta start thinking like a Chicagoan before the fans start giving me hell.”
“That’s easy,” I said. “Pound Ann Sather cinnamon rolls like they’re going out of style.”
“Say pop, not soda,” Conor offered. “And jabber on about all the different Wackers and how it’s ‘like a maze down there on Lower!’”
I had a surefire one. “No ketchup on your dogs.”
“Truth,” Conor said. “And knowing where the lake is at all times is a Chicago superpower.”
“Deep dish is for tourists.”
This observation from Jason ground the city tips session to a halt.
“Are you fucking kidding me right now?” I yelled. “Pequod’s is the best.”
Jason made a face. “Like all deep dish, it’s overrated.”
So that was his hill. Interesting.
Conor pointed at the tunnel. “Get your deep-dish hatin’ ass back to Boston, dude!”
We all laughed and said in unison, “And it’ll always be the Sears Tower!”
Jason parked his deep-dish hatin’ ass on the wall beside the gate. “Hopefully I’ll be playing with family because that’s one of the reasons I’m doing this.”
“Not the twenty million other ones.” Conor pulled at his helmet strap.
“Money’s not everything, Connie.”
“But it sure as fuck helps. Okay, I’ll pick up the baton here, Uncle J.” Conor eyed me. “Speaking of multi-million-dollar contracts, what’s happening with yours, H? Still leaning towards the Sunshine State?”
“Who tells you this stuff?”
“Oh, people love to confide in me.”
“I don’t.”
My brother pulled off his lid and dropped it on the bench. “Let me guess. You’re thinking of staying in Chicago because a certain coffee-drinkin’, Motors-lovin’, doggie-walkin’ hottie is back on the market.”
“Why would I tell you anything when you’ll just blab to the rest of the family in Group?”
“I don’t blab. I dispense carefully curated breadcrumbs because it’s more fun that way.”
Jason shook his head. “You’re a sneaky little fucker, you know that?”
Conor smirked. “Just like to stay ahead of the goss. And on the topic of steaming hot Double Bergamot Earl Grey, I heard Franky St. James is looking for a sperm donor and the Seanster said nopity-nope.”
How did he do it? “Who’s your source, asshole?”
“Never you mind. Color inside the lines, please.”
Sighing, I turned to Jason. “Did Sean say anything to you about it?”
“Just that he and Franky are friends and it would make things weird.”
We all agreed on that score. Yet Franky thought they were close enough to make that request.
