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Chase glanced down at the wet wipe in his hand and wondered what the fuck he was talking about. He turned to check his reflection in the driver’s side door mirror.
Jesus, he had more than just a bit of Sheppard on his shirt. His whole left side was splattered with blood and something brown. Possibly dirt from the bat?
Taking the wet wipe, he began wiping down his shirt before he realized that all he was doing was just smearing the crime scene further into his clothing. No. He needed a whole new shirt.
Then he remembered.
Walking past a confused Marc and Alex, Chase marched to the back of his car and popped open the trunk. He reached inside and pulled open his gym bag. Yes, the gym bag that had sat in his car for almost a week. The same gym bag that he’d forgotten to take into the house to wash his used gym clothes.
“Jesus, what’s that smell?” the blond one asked, glancing over Chase’s shoulder and into his trunk.
Why is it that when people smell something unpleasant, they always go in for a second whiff and then become determined to locate the source of the stench? It’s like people enjoy smelling nasty-ass stenches or something. It’s like when someone passes gas and announces it, then someone else goes in to confirm that, yes, the pig let one rip. Like seriously, people are fucked in the head.
Chase pulled his shirt out of his gym bag and took a whiff. Hmm, it wasn’t as bad as he expected. And unless someone was rubbing up against him, no one would probably even notice the smell wafting from him.
“It’s my gym shoes. Left my gym bag in my trunk a week ago and forgot about it,” Chase said, tossing a look over his shoulder.
Fuck these guys and their judgmental eyes. They were the ones kidnapping him. They could suffer through his man-stench for an hour.
“Gross, this one’s just like that guy who owns that auto shop. What’s his name? Brian? Or Beerhead?” Alex asked, turning his nose upward and walking back toward his husband.
“Brody. The one with the Daddy kink,” Marc answered, watching Chase as he took off his Sheppard-stained shirt and swapped it out for another equally offensive shirt. At least this one wouldn’t get him arrested.
“Yeah, that’s the guy,” Alex answered, snapping his fingers.
“He’s gotten better since his Daddy started laying down the law. He almost has him house-trained.”
The little blond one burst out laughing.
Chase closed the trunk and followed his two mystery men into the pub.
The cheery blond one walked to the back of the pub and slid into the darkest possible booth he could find.
No, that’s not creepy at all.
His guard dog slid in next to him and proceeded to puff out his chest as if warning any possible suitors that the man sitting next to him was taken and belonged solely to him.
Chase rolled his eyes at Mr. Possessive and slid in on the other side of the booth. Within seconds, an overly cheery waitress appeared at the foot of their table, asking what they would like to order.
“I’ll have a mojito, whatever beer you have on tap for this guy, and I’m guessing some sort of European beer for my friend across the table,” the little golden retriever ordered.
The waitress looked over at Chase, and he nodded.
“Whatever light European beer you have is good for me,” Chase clarified.
“Oh! And can I get an order of nachos for the table, no jalapenos, and can I get an order of that poutine thing you Canadians all go crazy for? What is it?” Alex asked, eyes beaming with excitement.
The woman laughed. “I take it you guys are visiting?”
“Yeah, we’re from Brooklyn, but this guy’s local,” Alex added, ever the chatty Cathy.
“Well, a poutine is basically fries with gravy and cheese curds on it. And yes, it’s fucking delicious!”
Alex’s eyes gleamed, and his smile almost swallowed his head. “That sounds amazing. Yes, one of those!”
“Oh, and if you’re into sweets, I highly recommend that you try a BeaverTail before you leave Canada.”
Chase burst out laughing at the horrified look on Alex’s face.
