Page 19 of Direct Action

“I’m kickin’ your freeloading ass out of my house,” I grumbled.

“Freeloading? When’s the last time you stepped foot into a grocery store, or took out the trash, or mowed the lawn?”

I held up my hand to stop Gavin from saying more, but the damage was done.

Aiden jumped on it faster than a rat up a drainpipe.

“Damn, I must’ve missed the wedding announcement.”

Gavin and I simultaneously flipped Aiden off.

“I think they’re cute,” Calli put in. “All domesticated, sharing chores.”

Never being one to let a good shit-talking session go to waste, Fallon jumped in. “I just want to know how you two keep your tighty-whities straight. Is this a bootcamp situation and you’ve stenciled in your names, or do you just share?”

“Maybe they color code,” Mason speculated. “Gav gets white and gray and Ryan get black and pink.”

“That tracks.” Beckett uncharacteristically joined.

My gaze slowly moved to Beck. Seeing him sitting at the table with the team was surprising in and of itself. Him participating in slinging good-natured insults was another level of shocking. He’d been living in one of the houses on the property, helping with the upkeep of the range and buildings but keeping to himself. After spending years undercover in a motorcycle club in Coeur d’Alene, Idaho, Beck held himself apart and rarely said much about his time under, but we knew he was struggling with some of the things he’d been involved in.

The lawman forced to be a criminal.

It was a tough pill to swallow, and Beckett Yates, being a good man, was understandably choking on it.

Beck at the table was a good sign.

He’d be a welcomed addition to the team if and when he was ready.

“Maybe we can stop talking about Gavin and Ryan’s boxers and focus on work,” Pete, always the voice of reason, suggested.

“I pegged Ryan for a briefs kinda guy,” Calli stage-whispered to Cat.

“Actually, it’s Fallon who does the pegging around here and he gets testy when someone insinuates differently,” Catarina told Calli.

Pete let out a harried breath and looked between Mason and Jack. With a raise of his brow, he clearly communicated he wanted his men to get their women in hand. Cat narrowing her eyes on her somewhat new boss stated plain she didn’t misinterpret the look.

“Got something to say, Pete?” Cat pressed.

“Nope. I got nothing,” he muttered, but then decided he did because he continued. “But just to say, Ryan’s got to get to the Plank, Gavin apparently has a lawn to mow and groceries to buy, and I’ve got calls to make, so if you ladies wouldn’t mind holding off discussing who pegs who, that’d be helpful. And for your trouble I’ll tell you we called Fallon Shit for Brains for a whole deployment while we were in Germany.”

“Shitty for short,” Mason educated.

Fallon groaned while the rest of us busted out laughing.

“The good old days,” Aiden said through his laughter.

“Sure, if eating meals that refuse to exit and sand fleas are what you consider a good time,” Mason noted.

“Right. Sand. Let’s get back to why Ryan walked in here looking like his balls were chafed,” Gavin the asshole proposed.

I’d rather talk about Fallon’s misadventure into scat porn. Which, if the look on his face was anything to go by, he wasn’t all that fired up to explain his accidental discovery and subsequent nickname.

“She’s working there because she’s got money troubles,” I told the room.

“Did you explain why we were there?” Pete asked.

“Didn’t get that far before she fell asleep.”