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“We can. Later.” At the confused look that crosses his face, I pick up his clothes and hand them over. “Sorry, babe, but it’sthe hunt.” I widen my eyes, begging him to get a move on.
Thankfully he takes pity on me. He climbs out of bed and yanks his pants on. “What the hell are we hunting?”
“Tacos.”
His hands fumble his pants button. “And here I was expecting birds, or … or …”
“Of course not.”
“Not that I don’t love the enthusiasm,” he says, waving a hand between me and Gabe. “But, uh,whydo the tacos need hunting?”
“I’m not sure I can support your marriage if it comes withthismuch negativity,” Gabe says, before tilting his head back into the hall and shouting, “Madden, put some clothes on. Hunt time!”
The loudbangabove us is a clear sign Madden’s fallen out of bed in his rush to get ready.
“I’m still so confused,” Émile mutters, shrugging into his shirt.
“We’ll explain on the way. Justpleasehurry.”
The three of us barely spare enough time to brush our teeth before jogging out of the house. Once a month, on a random day, at a random time, GP District has its taco hunt. Tac’obout Tacos is a taco truck that goes way back in the GPD and when the words “come find me” hit their social media, people stop what they’re doing and search. I don’t even know when it started, but one day my phone lit up with a screenshot from Xander and it’s been a monthly event for us all since.
“I’ve literally never heard of this before,” Émile says, jogging after us.
“Clearly not part of the cool kids’ cult.”
“Yes, well, Cambridge tends to frown on cult-like behavior.”
Gabe snorts. “You all still worship a king. If that’s not cultish I don’t know what is.”
“That’s the first time I’ve heard the monarchy referred to as a cult, and I can’t help but think there’s something there.”
I give Gabe a shove. “No deep thinking allowed. All brain power needs to be channeled toward where the truck will be.”
“How long do we have to find it?” Émile asks.
“No time limit. First person there gets free tacos for the rest of the month.”
His lips twitch with that laugh that’s always bubbling under the surface for him.
I pretend to be exasperated, but I couldn’t be further from it. “Yeah, yeah let it out.”
So he does.
And I’m not saying Ican’tlook away, but it’s pretty fucking hard to do.
“I got the map,” Madden says, jogging over to us. Despite the cooler morning, he’s wearing gym shorts, a tight T, and his Mariners cap on backward. But hey, I can’t see his dick for once, so that’s a win. “Last time it was over here.” He zooms in on the map on his phone. We’ve marked off all the previous locations, like we have some sort of plan in place, but really, it hasn’t been any help.
“Looks like that area down near Georgetown hasn’t been popular,” Émile points out. “Think it could be there somewhere?”
“It’s possible. It doesn’t go near Maple Park much either, though.”
“Yes,” Émile says, laying his accent on thick and posh. “But that’s because people in Maple Park wouldn’t be caught dead eating a taco, let alone one from a food truck.”
“Okay, so … take a gamble on Georgetown?” I suggest.
Gabe starts typing on this phone. “I’ll text the others to meet us there.”
We head for Madden’s truck and pile in before he tears away from the curb.
