Cowboy Logic - B.A. Tortuga Page 0,25

hers.

Okay, that wasn’t embarrassing at all. Jesus. Still—“I hope you enjoyed them.”

“I like the first one best. Oh, you know, getting to know the characters.” She grinned hugely. “And your robots!”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Gunslinger kicked ass, but H8Crushr was my favorite.”

He blushed dark, so pleased, so tickled. “He was definitely an early model. So glad you liked him.”

“I did. We have a robotics club now, you know.” She winked.

“Do you? Well, if you want me to come to a meeting…” He loved that, talking to the kids.

“I would adore you forever! The kids would be over the moon.”

He grabbed a business card. “Do you have a pen on you?”

“Of course.”

He scribbled a number on the back of the card. “Now you have my number. Call me and we’ll set it up.”

“Oh, I will. Thank you. So good to see you!” She left him then, grinning from ear to ear.

Okay. So that didn’t suck entirely. In fact, that had been damn cool.

He got in the truck and headed out, then stopped at the Sonic for two diet cherry limeades, because he was a good brother.

The kids were at school or asleep, but he did get a corn dog for the wee ones to share, in case. Damn, it was like old times, which was both horrific and wonderful.

His phone rang, Mal popping up. “Yo buddy! How goes?” Mal asked when answered.

“Okay, I guess? I saw one of my high school teachers. She’s a fan.” And he was freaking-out a little. And he needed a friend, which Mal was. Sometimes his bestie had a sixth.

“And that’s not creepy! Did you wig?”

“Nah. I was the epitome of class and polish.” He really had been, considering he’d been fixin’ to kick someone in the nuts only moments before he saw her.

“I’m talking inside. Logic is amazeballs at public shit. I’m talking about you.”

“Oh, shit man, I was hoping to skate through this as the stranger in a strange land and have no one notice me. I’m shitting a pink Twinkie.” He sighed. “One of the guys that kicked my ass in high school confronted me at the grocery store of all things.”

“Did you go all Logic on him?” Mal chortled at the very idea.

“I so did. Snooty, raised nose.”

“Good for you.” Mal hooted like an owl. “I love when you lay the smackdown.”

“I tried. Man, inside? I was fifteen all over again, but it didn’t last. I guess old ghosts are just that.”

“Well, you did good.” Mal sighed. “It’s boring here without you, dude.”

“Dude. You are at the beach. Go look at the water.”

“I need to get laid. I need my wingman!” Mal stretched out the drama on that one. Mal did like to spread himself around.

“You should come out and see this cowboy who lives next door.”

“Hottie?”

“Totally. Dark brown hair and stubble. Clear gray eyes. That Marlboro Man jaw. Little, but stacked.”

“Uhn. Tell me he’s available and queer.”

“Queer, closeted.”

“Aw, bummer. Closeted is no fun.” Mal chuckled. “But you could work on him.”

He could.

He so could.

“Yeah, closeted is hard as fuck.”

“Well, keep me posted. I can live vicariously. Good fodder for books too.” Mal was always thinking of work.

“You’re a turd. Everything there still good?”

“It’s all okay. I watered the plants. No one expired.”

“Excellent. I appreciate it.” He passed the Dairy Queen and headed through town.

“So, who ratted you out, do you think? Your teacher?”

“Nah, she just happened to see me.” He thought it was one of the kids, but who knew. It could be the cop, anyone. Hell, Bailey had friends. Might even have been Jericho, though he wasn’t sure why he would do it.

“Stay safe, honey. I hear stories about Texas.” Mal made concerned noises.

“The truth is weirder. Love you, buddy.”

“You too. Call me, okay? Don’t make me wonder.”

“You got it.” He pulled onto the ranch road. “I’m here. I got to go. Bye.”

“’K, bye.” Mal clicked off, and he had to laugh. What would Cooper, Texas, think of that guy? Purple hair, inked from his jaw down, and a huge flirt—God, Logic missed him, and he felt as if he barely saw the guy when he was home. They did a lot of electronic talking.

He headed toward the house once he parked, hauling his bags and drinks. “Down beasts. Shit. Weezer, how did you get on the porch? Goat escapee!”

Weezer bleated at him, then danced on the porch, clomping about.

“Sister, come get your goat.” He nudged Weezer out of the way so he could bang the door with his boot. That evil bitch