Page 12 of Red, White, and BearCat Blue

I reached out and grabbed him by the bicep again. “Old enough to know better then, dude. Come on.” I started dragging him toward the entrance gate where we’d paid to come in but he started wriggling to get free, digging his heels into the gravel.

“Let me go!”

“Ya want me to arrest ya sorry arse?”

“Arrest me for what?”

“Arrest you for what you have hidden in that coat,” Mickey replied, taking hold of his other bicep. Between the two of us, we were able to easily haul him through the gate as we headed toward the Camaro.

“What happens when you find out what’s in my coat?”

I glanced down at him. “What do ya ‘ave in the coat?”

He raised an eyebrow. “Hey, where’re you from? Like, England or something?”

I laughed. “I’m from Liverpool, mate.”

He nodded and the sudden smile that lit up his face was almost breathtaking. “Like Paul Hollywood.”

I rolled my eyes as Mickey began cackling.

“Bloody Paul ‘Ollywood,” I grumbled. Ever since Alain had gotten us all hooked on the Great British Baking Show, the guys teased me all the time.

“Hey, the man can make some bread,” the guy in my hold said.

“What’s ya name, anyway?” I couldn’t believe I hadn’t asked before.

“Cam.”

“Can?”

“Cam…C…A…M.”

“Oh…Cam,” I said, stopping at the Camaro as the door locks popped open. “What kind of name is Cam? Is it short for something? Cameron? Campbell?”

“Camden.” He rolled his eyes at me.

“Camden? That’s a strange name,” I said.

“Oh, yeah? And what’s yours?”

“Mars.”

Cam laughed. “And of course you think Mars is ‘normal.’” He made air quotes. “I guess your mom was big on the solar system, am I right?”

I laughed. “Ya ‘ave a smart mouth.”

He had the good sense to almost look embarrassed. “Sorry.”

“So, where’d the name Camden come from?” Mickey asked.

“Camden Yards. My mom was born in Baltimore, Maryland.”

“Big Orioles fan, is she?”

Cam rolled his eyes. “Isn’t everyone?”

Mickey scoffed. “Not even, man. I’m from New York.”