Seth scowled. “How do you arrange yours?”
“I don’t. Are you OCD, dude? And what the fuck kind of hanger is that?”
“Hey, I like things in order, and I don’t like wrinkled clothes.”
“You know this isn’t normal, right?”
Seth snorted. “And you’re the model of normalcy?”
Beck rolled his eyes but thankfully shut up.
He tossed a couple of suitcases on the bed. “I’ll finish the closet. Would you mind unloading my dresser? And keeping the smart-assed comments to yourself?”
The doctor yanked opened the first drawer. “Really, dude? What the hell?”
He leaned in to see what Beck pointed at. “They’re socks.”
“Yeah, arranged in precise rows. And your boxers are perfectly folded, organized by color, and standing in a…what the hell is this box thing?”
“A lingerie organizer.”
“Okay, this is beyond wrong, man. I know you’ve got that Queer Eye thing when it comes to shopping, but I think your X chromosome has made your Y its bitch.”
“Just because I’m not an animal…” Seth tossed him a glare. “Why don’t you pack the fucking clothes—neatly—and shut your ass up?”
Pinning him with a challenging stare, Beck pulled out the drawer and unceremoniously dumped it all into the suitcase. “How’s that?”
“Asshole.”
“You didn’t even twitch. I’m impressed.”
No, but his inner neat freak wasn’t happy. Seth settled for flipping Beck off before he finished unloading the closet. Once they’d emptied the bedroom, he grabbed his keys and hurried to the walk-in closet down the hall.
“Don’t tell me you’ve got more color-coordinated clothes in there,” Beck called from the doorway.
“No. Something way better.” He unlocked the door, flipped on the light, then stepped back to give the doctor an eyeful.
Beck’s eyes widened. “Holy arsenal, Batman. What the actual fuck?”
The doctor raked his stupefied gaze over the automatic and semiautomatic rifles, multiple shotguns, and numerous handguns lining the walls. Dozens of ammo cans were stacked in organized rows on the floor. “It’s my gun dungeon.”
“Are you prepping for an alien invasion? A zombie apocalypse? Or Armageddon?”
“Don’t be a fucking comedian. There’s nothing wrong with being prepared.”
“A box of condoms is prepared. This? It’s enough to squash most third-world countries and still have ammo to spare.”
“Isn’t it great?” Seth grinned. “Unless you have a problem with me stashing this stuff at your place?”
“No. I’ve always wanted my own illegal weapons cache.”
“Aren’t you funny? How about you stop yapping and help me pack all these in their cases?”
It took a long while, but they finally loaded up the SUV—storing most of his firearms in the hidden locker under the back hatch—before he pulled out of the complex and turned toward the freeway. He’d barely made it up the entrance ramp when the cars began hitting their brakes. Less than a quarter mile down the road, they came to a complete, bumper-to-bumper halt.
“Son of a…” Seth smacked his hand on the wheel. “I fucking hate the traffic here.”
“Like New York is any better?”