“Is that a compliment from the Iron Lady?” Asher sets his whiskey down long enough to wrap his arms around Larsen and pick her up. I think he’s about to spin her around when she pins him with a death glare and he chuckles, setting her back down. “Ease up, Lars. You know I’m only messing with the boy.”
“Bravado is often a mask hiding a deep sense of inadequacy,” she says coolly.
“Nothing inadequate here,” Asher retorts, flexing one of his massive biceps with a grin. “You’re looking at Mr. January, remember?" He winks. “Cover guy.”
“Oh, great.” Larsen laughs, finishing her drink.
We all know Asher is talking about the Tampa Firefighter Calendar he got roped into modeling for last year. While the calendar was just for fun back then, it brought in a ton of unexpected funds that Asher’s station was able to donate to charity. This year, Asher decided to organize the calendar from start to finish, and he named the Burn Foundation as the primary charity.
“You know you loved it, Lars. Tell you what — I’ll even get you a signed copy of this year’s calendar. All the guys. Gals, too.”
“Now I have something to look forward to,” Larsen deadpans as she retrieves a twenty from her billfold and slides it across the bar. “On that note, I’m calling it a night. I’ve got an early morning tomorrow.”
“Hey, that’s not fair!” I protest. “I just got here. I was dragged here against my will. If I have to stay, you do, too.”
Larsen just waggles her fingers at me, and Beck chuckles, tapping the bar and nodding at me and Asher. “I’ll walk you out,” he says to her, and when he puts his own twenty down, I realize he won’t be back, either. “Don’t get too wild without me,” he tells us.
“Lightweights,” Asher teases as they walk off.
“Like a resident nurse,” I add.
Beck flips us off over his shoulder, and then they’re gone.
“You’re lucky I invited Owens, or I’d be bailing on you, too,” I warn Asher.
“Maybe it’s you and your buddy who are the lucky ones. Hanging out with Mr. January, remember?”
He goes to flex again but I slug him in the arm.
For a while, we watch the sports highlights on the TV above the bar. If the Tampa Bay Lightning was playing tonight, Asher would definitely be on his own, because I’d either be at the game, or screaming at my own TV in private.
Hockey is about the only thing in the world that can get me worked up, and with a championship team on our hands, my noise level when watching the games is somewhere around death metal concert and three-ring circus.
“Hey, I know I joked about it, but… are you doing okay? After the accident last week.”
I shrug. “I’m fine.”
Asher arches a brow. “That’s convincing.”
“I don’t know. I have the same kind of attitude you do about it.” I frown again. “Which I’m not sure is a good thing, but it’s true. It’s just another day in the hospital. I specialized in trauma when I was in Chicago for this exact reason, so that when I was called in, I could be calm and do my job.”
“Hear, hear,” he says, clinking his glass with mine. “Still… you seem a bit off this week.”
I scratch my neck, another shrug lifting my shoulders. “Just have some stuff on my mind.”
Stuff being a blast from my past I was most definitely not expecting.
Before Asher can ask for details, my best friend, Dane Owens, claps me on the shoulder and takes the seat next to me.
“Sorry I’m late,” he says. And then, to Harold, “Jai Alai, please.”
Harold nods and fixes Dane up with a beer, and after his first long sip, I introduce him to Asher.
“I can’t believe it’s taken us this long to meet,” Asher says. “West here talks about you like you’re his lover.”
“He wishes,” Dane teases, pinching my side as I sock him in the arm like I did Asher.
Dane and I were roommates in undergrad, and I have him to thank for every ounce of fun I ever had while in college — probably every girl I had sex with, too. If it wasn’t for him dragging me away from my textbooks and out to party, I would have been perfectly content to focus on school and spend any free time I had watching conspiracy theory documentaries.
And the same way Dane made sure I wasn’t a total bore, I made sure he didn’t fly off the hinges. The man gets bored faster than a little kid in a bank lobby, which used to mean changing his major every three months, and now means he’s hopping from one job to another.
I think I know just how to settle him this time, though. He’s a talented security guard, he just hasn’t found the right fit. And now that Bayside Regional is hiring… I’m doing what I can to get him on with us.