Page 4 of Oddly Fine

“Right, right. But—yeah, no. I don’t think Beck and Connor were doing the nasty—” he told Hayes, shooting Beckett a questioning look like Beckett might interrupt him and announce, “Well, actually, we’re married with four kids.”

“Now ‘fess up, Navy! ” Loic commanded in a stern voice that was in direct contrast to his huge smile.

For the next minute or two, Loic remained silent, listening to Hayes. Beckett tried to focus on the game and block out their conversation. He knew Loic loved nothing better than to get a rise out of him, and Beckett certainly wasn’t about to—

“On his knees?!” Loic squawked, obviously quite shocked by Hayes’ remarks, as he turned to Beckett with eyes as big as saucers. “Damn, Beck! You’re kind of old for that!” he exclaimed, sounding impressed. “No shit—you know, I really shouldn’t be as surprised as I am that Beck’s a loud bott—”

“And that’s a wrap on my character assassination!” Beckett barked as he snatched back his earpiece in a blur of motion. Loic howled in protest. Beckett slapped the back of his head to shut him up. “If you girls want to gossip, then you can get your own goddamned earpiece!” he snarled with a frown, shoving the device back in his ear only to hear nothing but peals of laughter.

“Are you even watching the fucking game? What are they paying you to do up there? Does your boss know you’re wasting his money trashing your boyfriend when you’re supposed to be working?” Beckett was so pissed his voice had grown high-pitched, and he was almost shouting towards the end. Several people within hearing range were now giving him funny looks. Not all that surprising really, considering that unless you knew he had an earpiece, it looked like Beckett was talking to himself. But it wasn’t as if Beckett cared about them anyway.

“My boss is your boss, sweetheart. You want to call him and tell him what I’m up to, you go right ahead and put it on speaker,” Hayes stated without inflection, sounding like the robot that Beckett had once believed him to be.

Beckett, on the other hand, would do just about anything to avoid contacting Gill to explain the salacious conversation they’d just had. For one thing, Gill never believed anything he said, and for another, it was all just too goddamned mortifying to think about.

“When did you get like this anyway? Dammit! You used to be civil!” Beckett declared, flailing about as he sat back down and picked up his cup of beer, only to find that it was now empty, having gotten knocked over during his most recent tussle with Loic. “Fuck—this is definitely the wrong time to be sober,” he muttered as Loic howled with laughter and slapped his shoulder hard enough to rattle his teeth.

“Fuck right off, you treacherous cunt!” Beckett snapped.

“Who you talking to?” Hayes asked with a chuckle.

“You, him, both of you!” Beckett sounded aggrieved as he crossed his arms over his chest defensively.

Loic finally stopped laughing, but was still grinning like a loon.

“Tell Navy he still owes me a story.” Loic pointed towards Beckett’s earpiece.

“You’re never speaking to Hayes ever again. You two are permanently banned from seeing and speaking to each other, ever again!” Beckett frowned darkly, fighting the urge to pop Loic in the mouth.

“Come on, Becky—” Loic protested with a cajoling smile.

“Nope! Play stupid games, win stupid prizes,” Beckett announced in a singsong voice.

“Nothing stupid about you on your knees, Thérault,” Hayes said, voice low and suave, fully intent on getting Beckett all hot and bothered again.

“Daisy, I swear, if you don’t shut it, I’ll introduce you to my new favourite aromatherapy —chloro-fucking-form.”

Hayes merely chuckled warmly in Beckett’s ear and then fell silent.

“You’re super kinky, aren’t you?” Loic asked, scrutinizing Beckett’s profile, like he was trying to solve a puzzle.

“Papi, I swear I’ll smother your worthless ass, too, and you know I’m good for it,” Beckett vowed, his annoyance with Loic mixed with growing amusement at the sheer ludicrousness of their three-way conversation.

Loic laughed again but raised both hands in a gesture of surrender.

In mutual understanding, they turned their attention back to the game.

There were four seconds left before halftime and the home team was making one last desperate attempt to get a second field goal when Beckett’s phone buzzed in his back pocket. He automatically reached for it while keeping an eye on the kicker as the clock ran out. The clock hitting zero really didn’t matter though, since the ball was already in the air, sailing in a perfect arc towards the goal post. It was a long kick—but it looked good.

“Thérault,” he answered without checking his caller ID. He never screened his calls. From his perspective, if it was a goddamned serial killer calling to announce he was inside their condo, then that was information he could use in tracking the bastard down.

“How’s the game?” The voice was familiar, but it took a few seconds to identify his caller.

“Franklin?” he asked in patent disbelief, pulling the phone away from his ear to check the caller ID, which just said “private number.”

“Good to know you still remember my name.” He sounded much too serious for his response to be played off as sarcasm. “How’s the game?”

“How’d you know I’m at a game?” Beckett asked, baffled as he looked around, thinking his brother must be somewhere in the stands.