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Monte’s had his days sabotaged one too many times for them to be trusted alone.
After dropping my hot pink toothbrush in the yellow rainboots holder Slater randomly ordered for us one day while I was working, I give my appearance its final onceover.
This is the first time I’ve had to put on more than comfy clothes since I left the hospital, and while part of me is totally fine with that – the logical part that knows how exhausting it is to put this much work into becoming business casual – the other part – the one that thrives on the chance to be seen in fun colors and cute shoes – is relieved to be returning to normal.
Er.
Normal adjacent.
Goingintothe office where I can sit at an actual desk versus the world’s smallest kitchen table is at least a step in the right direction.
I adjust the bow on my tangerine, straight legged, suit pants prior to doing the same to my matching pair of round glasses. Convinced I’m now officially ready to join everyone else for breakfast, I slide my cell into my pocket and exit the area to head that way.
“This the weirdest shit I think I’ve ever seen you do,” Blu grouses from the island he’s leaning against. “And thisincludesyour really fucking weird tricks for removing splinters.”
Joining the conversation as I approach is easily done, “Are we talking about when he uses banana peels or baking soda?”
“Both,” Blu grunts at me yet keeps his attention on Slater. “And why do you do that? And why the fuck are you doing this?!”
“An increase in osmotic pressure results in the skin swelling up, forcing the splinter towards the surface for easier removal.”
“Why the fuck do you know that?”
“Because when you’re in the middle of hostile territory, sometimes you have to improvise.” Slater uses his index finger to slide the tablespoon of butter into his black beverage. “Like putting ghee in your coffee – or butter in some cases – which can increase energy, cognitive functions, and provide your body with better fats as well as carbs to help you achieve a higher performance for the day.”
“So, themilitaryis to blame for you turning a perfectly good cup of joe into something Betty Crocker approved?”
Giggles thoughtlessly leave me prompting my best friend to finally look up in my direction. His crooked grin is ten times brighter than the early morning sun and a hundred times better. “You think he’s funny?”
“I thinkthatwas funny.”
He twitches me the smallest glare before letting his eyes sweep my figure, visually savoring my lowcut, swooping neckline the longest. “And I think…” the beautiful blue letters falling into his coffee deepen in color along with density, “you look like an orange dreamiscle.”
Heat burns my cheeks in spite of Blu poking the situation, “Is that supposed to be a compliment?”
“It is when it’s his favorite ice cream flavor.”
“Isn’t it creamsicle not dreamiscle?” my other bodyguard ponders out loud.
“Creamsicles have an ice cream center whiledreamiscleshave an ice milk center,” I casually explain. “So, similar but different.”
Blu slowly shakes his head in amusement. “You and your desserts and him and his MacGyver shit.”
“Speaking of desserts,” Slater segues, “how about I take my favorite one on a long, backroad drive out to Sunshine Bend for lunch at this tasty little diner they’ve got there?”
Whether it’s the newfound confidence that comes from my brush with death or the newfound confidence that comes from pretending to be the girlfriend I’ve always wanted to be that gets me openly flirting back is unknown. “How about you can take your favorite dessert to do exactly thataftershe puts in some facetime at the office?”
“An hour.”
Not surprised at all that he’s negotiating causes me to giggle. “Five.”
The spoon in his possession drops into his cup in tandem with his eyebrows darting down. “Two.”
“Four.”
“Two and a half.” Slater slowly starts to stir. “And that’s my final offer, dreamiscle.”
Holding in the swoon over the new and unexpected nickname is damn near impossible. “Fine.”
