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“I know; I was only saying—”
“Good,” Jem said. He adjusted himself, and it was much more, um, graphic without the underwear. Then he caught Tean’s eye and smirked.
“Oh my gosh,” Tean said, and the words sounded a little choked as he fumbled for the door handle.
But getting out of the Jetta didn’t improve things; the fresh air was, well, not so fresh. It smelled like fresh-cut wild onions and animal scat, like citronella-scented fuel from the guttering tiki torches, and the heat was a crushing, sweaty fist that clamped down on every inch of exposed skin. Sweat broke out everywhere, immediately.
“I changed my mind,” Jem said. “I don’t want to be a supportive spouse.”
“I guess I should have seen that coming.”
“I want to lie in an ice bath, naked, and watch90 Day Fiancé,and never go outside in this swamp ever again.”
“Your, uh, you know, would probably freeze.”
“Like a freezie-wienie. No, a wiener pop. Hey, that might be fun.”
“It wouldn’t be. It would be agonizing. There would probably be necrotic tissue, diminished, uh, engorgement, skin grafts.”
“The engorgement would be fine, thanks.”
Tean scowled at him. “I thought you were going back to the resort. I thought you weren’t going to be supportive.”
“And to answer your question, I assume you’d come in occasionally to warm things up. And feed me bonbons.”
Tean sighed and started across the lawn.
“Is that a yes about the bonbons?”
“I’m getting a drink. I’m going to get drunk.”
“What about wiener-pop sex at regular intervals? No, ma’am, not you, but I’m flattered.”
Tean ducked his head and walked faster.
Tinkling laughter suggested that Jem had, once again, gotten away with it. Whateveritwas. And however he managed to do it.
At one of the cash bars, Tean bought himself a Coke, and he got a local IPA for Jem—something called 4 Hands. The slushy sound of shifting ice came from behind the bar, and when the bartender—a young guy with a thin mustache—set the cans in front of them, condensation beaded on the aluminum.
Tean and Jem moved to the side, to allow the next thirsty veterinarian to step forward, and they found a quiet spot along the side of the welcome center. For several minutes, Tean watched the conference-goers circulate. Some of them had already grouped up, a phenomenon Tean was familiar with from other conferences. Other attendees fluttered around—either because they were genuinely social, or, more likely, because they saw the opportunity for networking. A fair number lurked at the perimeter, many of them alone; before Jem, that would have been Tean. Then he thought of Missy, and Hannah, and other friends who insisted on dragging him out of hiding, and he realized that wasn’t quite true.
Thinking of Missy brought a fresh wave of worry. Last night, under the fluttering aggression of the fluorescents, still reeling from the fight in Yesenia’s room and Missy’s arrest, Tean had seen no problem in the idea of working with six total strangers. If anything, he’d been grateful at how quickly the plan had coalesced, at how their various interests had aligned.
Twenty-four hours later, though, reality had settled down on his chest, a weight Tean couldn’t dislodge. He didn’t know those other men. He certainly had no reason to trust them. Yes, the two who had found them in Yesenia’s room, North and Shaw, seemed to be telling the truth. And yes, Shaw had saved Tean’s life when that man had come after them. And, if Tean were being honest, he had a hard time believing Shaw, in particular, was capable of concealing a secret agenda, much less a nefarious alter ego. None of the men had struck Tean as untrustworthy—and, more importantly, they clearly hadn’t set off any of Jem’s alarms, and Tean trusted his husband’s judgment about people.
“That’s a lot of thinking happening over there,” Jem said.
Tean gave a half-smile. “Sorry.”
“Don’t be sorry. Want to tell me what’s going on?”
“It’s—” For a moment, Tean fell silent again. Then it all spilled out. “It’s silly, isn’t it? I mean, this is a joke. The A-Team?”
“Totally. The Avengers is a way better name. Oh! Or we could call ourselves the Justice League.”
Tean shook his head.
Squeezing his shoulder, Jem leaned in. Tean caught a whiff—citrus and stone, skin-prickling—and the hoppiness of the beer floated on Jem’s breath. Tean had a hard time remembering before Jem, when the smell of beer had meant something else to him. “I know what you meant. You’ve got to stop thinking about it like that.”
