Spooky Business (The Spectral Files #3) - S.E. Harmon Page 0,66
“Who pissed in your cheerios?”
“I fought with my girl. Again.” He eyed us some more. “How’d you know you were, well, you know?”
I looked at him blankly. “No, what?”
“Into dudes.”
I knew he was just kidding, but I decided to give him a hard time anyway. “Seriously? You’re considering switching teams because you guys argued?”
“Well, you’re here at five in the fucking morning, all happy and shit. And everyone can tell you just fucked. You’ve got sex hair,” he said, pointing at Danny, who smoothed it down with a scowl. But Nick wasn’t quite done as he gestured at my neck. “And you’ve got beard burn.”
“That’s because I’m fairly certain Danny was born with a five o’clock shadow,” I said, “and if anyone should be complaining, it’s us. We live together, work together, vacation together—”
“Since when do you guys take vacations?” Nick interrupted.
“My point is that we have our ups and downs, just like straight couples. It’s not easy just because we’re guys. You have to put the work in.” I elbowed Danny when he had nothing to add. “Right?”
He continued to peruse the menu. “I hate to interrupt your testimonial about how perfect we are for each other, but I changed my mind about the waffles. I think I want French toast.”
I jerked my thumb in his direction. “You see this? This is hard work. Not for the faint of heart. And he steals my shoes. You don’t have to worry about that with women.”
“Think again. My girl wears my sandals to get the mail, even though they’re way too big for her.” Nick smiled a little. “It’s kind of cute.”
I snorted. Guess his brief inclination to switch teams was over. I was about to razz him about it when I saw the waitress, Glynna, bearing down on us, her thick white sneakers squeaking on the floor. Seven minutes after we ordered, Glynna put our plates on the table and stuck the check under the ketchup bottle.
There was a reason lots of cops ate practically all their meals at the diner—dirty menus, sticky tables, and all. They had cheap, good food and served it quickly, without a lot of yap-yap on the side.
There wasn’t much talking at the table as we ate. Danny—Mr. I Want French Toast Instead—was trying to steal pieces of my waffle, and I was fending him off, when the bell on the door jingled and Kevin came in. I waved him over.
“Kev,” I called. “Waffles?”
He slid into the booth next to Nick. “I will never say no to waffles. Ever since my wife had a little trouble zipping her favorite jeans, she’s been in health kick hyperdrive. She went all psycho on the fridge and cleared out everything with processed sugar.” He shook his head in bewilderment. “Processed sugar, man.”
“It’s the best kind,” I agreed sympathetically.
“Truth.” Glynna came by and took Kevin’s order: waffles with extra bacon. He turned to us after she bustled away on her squeaky orthopedic shoes. “Did you get an arrest warrant for Valerie?”
“Not yet.” Danny sighed. “We have nothing on her but suspicion. Valerie denies that Delilah ever expressed any interest in taking her son away.”
“Bullshit.” Kevin snorted. “And that makes a powerful motive. If you tried to take one of my rugrats from me, I’d be tempted to do something unspeakable.”
“That’s not what you said at Thanksgiving,” I reminded him. “You offered to pay Danny and me to take one of them off your hands. You even said we could have our pick.”
“Yes, but then you picked my favorite, and the deal was off. Besides, I can’t be held accountable for what I say with a bellyful of turkey.”
“You’re a parent. You’re not supposed to have a favorite.”
“So they say.” He shrugged. “But right now, Tracy, who always asks me for extra cuddles before bedtime, rates a tad higher than Maggie, who drew on the back of my favorite jacket in permanent marker.”
I bit my lip to keep from smiling at the memory. We let him walk around with it all day without saying a word. To be fair, the picture hadn’t been bad quality for a five-year-old.
“It was a cute dog,” Nick offered.
“Then she can draw him on your jacket. Apparently, it was supposed to be a dragon. When she asked what daddy did for a living, my wife told her that I slay dragons. She figured a dragon slayer should have appropriate attire. And that maybe the other dragons would get scared of her dragon.”