Page 3 of Oddly Fine

Loic squinted, looking puzzled as he studied Beckett’s profile.

“The fuck you on about? You were practically best friends with—jeez, what was that little fucker’s name? Pete? Davis? Damn, all you gringos look alike,” Loic complained with a frown, impatient and annoyed that he couldn’t recall the guy’s name. “Come on, you know the one. Freckles, red hair. You called him Lucky ‘cause he was the best shot in the whole Corps!”

Of course, Beckett knew all along who Loic was referring to. He just liked watching his friend get all wound up when Beckett refused to readily divulge information like Loic expected him to. It was a guaranteed source of amusement that he shamelessly exploited every chance he got. But this time, instead of dragging out the process, Beckett decided to play nice and put Loic out of his misery sooner rather than later.

“You shared your cot with him in Yemen!” Loic whined accusingly, his voice rising in frustration.

“Connor.” Beckett finally relented, causing Loic to smile victoriously at having successfully goaded Beckett into revealing the name. “Connor O’Donnell,” he stated with a grin, surprising himself at the wave of fondness that swept over him when he said the name aloud. It had been years since he’d thought of him. The fiery-natured sniper had been his shadow on one of their deployments and was never officially listed as part of Beckett’s team, but he’d been assigned to the operation because he was the best sniper the Corps had to offer at the time.

“That’s right. Hell of a name!” Loic agreed with a laugh. “Hey, come to think of it, did you have a thing for him?”

“A thing?” Beckett echoed without thinking, immediately regretting his naïve response as it dawned on him what Loic was really asking.

“A thing, Frenchie. Like—did your woody want to pecker O’Donnell?”

“Yes, Frenchie. Did your woody want to pecker Mr. O’Donnell?” Hayes asked, heavy on the innuendo.

Beckett began to sweat.

“Come on,” Beckett scoffed, but then began to wonder if there hadn’t been some interest. Nothing like what he felt for Hayes but—

“That’s not a no,” Hayes growled possessively in Beckett’s ear. He squirmed a little in his seat, helpless to stop his very physical response to Hayes’ obvious jealousy.

“Focus, Nancy—” he warned. “No one wants to get shot in the ass ‘cause you’re distracted thinking about mine!” Beckett commanded brusquely, shutting down any further discussion about peckers.

Loic looked puzzled for a moment before he suddenly noticed the tiny earpiece Beckett was wearing.

“Is Navy in your ear, right now?” Loic asked, excitedly.

“Bitch won’t let me out of the house unsupervised,” Beckett sighed dramatically as he nodded.

“Partly true—mostly because you’re a constant danger to yourself,” Hayes responded with an obvious smile in his voice.

“Let me talk to him!” Loic demanded, launching himself at Beckett and reaching for the earpiece.

“Fuck off, you lunatic!” Beckett replied, fending off Loic, and placing a protective hand over his ear. Thank God they were sitting at the end of the row, because otherwise someone would have gotten punched in the ensuing scuffle.

“Let me talk to Hayes! I have a shit ton of questions—” Loic declared, grabbing futilely for the earpiece. It was so goddamned ridiculous that Beckett finally gave up, reluctantly handing it over.

“Yo, Navy, you read me?” Loic asked, tongue-in-cheek, like a little boy discovering the wonders of his first walkie talkie.

Beckett couldn’t hear Hayes’ reply. With a sigh of defeat, he resumed nursing his beer, distractedly watching the home team battle their way towards the end zone.

“Happy to hear you’re healthy again!” Loic said, after a moment—not that Beckett was listening. “I know Becky’s a big fan of bullet holes, but you don’t have to follow the trend, you know—dumbass practically considers them a fashion statement at this point—” He laughed and turned towards Beckett while wearing a positively diabolical grin.

“Hey, Navy, do guys rub off on each other? Beck won’t tell me—crazy, how the guy went from manwhore to gay prude in less than a year,” Loic observed casually, as if discussing the local weather report instead of rendering his opinion on Beckett’s sex life. “Ah, come on, Navy, not you too! I always thought the SEALs were a bunch of jackasses, but I didn’t think they were prudes!” On that point, at least, Beckett agreed with Loic. The SEALs they’d encountered while deployed had all been full of themselves—for good reason, but still—and ludicrously arrogant about pretty much everything, including their sexual exploits. Beckett had heard more than a few stories that even made him blush.

“That sounds fair, yeah—” Loic remarked, eyes twinkling devilishly. “He wasn’t good looking or anything—not anywhere near as handsome as you—”

What in the hell was Loic going on about? Beckett narrowed his eyes at his friend, but Loic just grinned, clearly unconcerned that Beckett was less than pleased with him.

“Don’t be modest, Navy. That jawline would be totally killer in Hollywood—” Loic waited for Hayes’ reply and laughed again. “Yeah, no, so—O’Donnell was a 6 on a good day, but he was a charming bastard, I guess. He and Beckett got along like two peas in a pod. Pops would probably have been jealous, but we only met the Irish sniper after Chase had quit the Corps, so—” Loic drifted off, listening to Hayes’ reply. “No, no—” Loic said, shaking his head. “They didn’t really make kissy faces or anything—they were just bros sharing a cot, which—now that I say that part out loud, sounds a little gay, but back then—well—” he paused as Hayes responded. “Yeah—well, we didn’t know Beckett liked to wet whistles and taste the rainbow back then!” Loic chuckled and winked at Beckett.

Beckett groaned and slid down farther in his seat, feeling a hellacious tension headache coming on. Suddenly, his perfectly relaxing day at a football game with a cold beer had transformed into a living nightmare.

“You know, that’s a good question. I’ll text Devin and ask, but he never mentioned anything, even when the bet was ongoing.”

Suddenly, Beckett recalled that Devin—the third remaining member of their C.U.N.T. team—had wagered a bet that Beckett was gay a long time ago. It had cost his friends a pretty penny when Beckett come out to the team the previous fall. A few grand each, in fact. Devin had been overjoyed with his winnings. How the man had known about his true sexual nature when Beckett hadn’t even suspected it himself was a goddamned mystery.