Page 34 of Flash

I yank open the drawer, tossing aside the ducks that come tumbling out, and rummage until I find the black Sharpie I’m looking for.

“Let’s gather them all into a couple of bins and start numbering them. I’ll make a video to post that with any in-store purchase, they can pick a duck and the numbers on the bottom will correlate to prizes like discounts. They can keep the duckies too, that’ll save us having to get rid of them later.”

“Perfect.” He hurries to the back to grab some empty bins and we get to work.

For some inexplicable reason, I have the urge to text Arrow and tell him about the insane direction my morning has taken. Would he be interested in the petty drama I’m dealing with? For all I know, he might stand in solidarity with the motorcycle riding, tattooed assholes next door.

What are his friends like? Does he have any pets?

My chest tightens with every question that pops into my head. I try to push it all away and focus on turning lemons into lemonade with this stupid rubber duckie situation, but they just keep coming.

What’s his favorite food? What does he do for work? What’s his relationship with his parents like?

Wondering these kinds of things is a slippery slope. One minute I’m wondering how he takes his coffee and the next I’m his pathetic little puppy, panting after him and hoping he’ll toss me scraps of affection every once in a while.

“Are you seriously that mad about some ducks?” Row asks, pulling me out of my brooding spiral. “You look like you want to stab someone.”

I look up at him, forcing the sour look off of my face and replacing it with a smile.

“I’m good, I was just… thinking.”

“About Arrow?” he guesses.

I shrug, even though we both know that’s exactly who I’m thinking about. Maybe I should cut this thing off now before it gets out of hand.

His silver eyes flash through my mind, soft and warm. His smile, the weight of his arm around my shoulders last night while we watched TV… they flit through my thoughts one by one, with much filthier memories peppered between them.

There is a second option. I could stop playing it safe and see what happens if I give Arrow the chance to hurt me…

ARROW

I hop off my bike and head through the back door to the shop in the late afternoon. I called all of my clients for today to reschedule them, but there’s no way my hand is going to be in working condition for at least another week, which means I have more calls to make and I’m going to need the appointment book for that.

Before I’m even out of the back room, I can hear an excited commotion that can’t mean anything good. I hang up my helmet and jacket and brace myself for whatever dumb-ass shenanigans they’re up to today.

“That brilliant little fucker,” Jag mutters. All the guys are gathered around him, apparently watching something on his phone.

Tex is the first one to notice I’ve walked in. He nods at me in greeting, his eyes tracking immediately to my hand.

“It’s fine.” I answer the unasked question, my fingers twitching. “I just need a week or so for the swelling to go down before I can get back in my chair.”

Hero grimaces. “I’m sorry, man. I feel like it’s my fault for dragging you into that.”

“You couldn’t have stopped me from helping if you’d tried.” I wave him off, and then nod at Jag shoving his phone into his pocket. “What was so enthralling?”

“That flower shop twink turned my latest prank right back around on me. He posted all over social media using the ducks I filled his shop with as a marketing tool.”

I smirk. Whoever this guy is, I think I like his style. He’s not taking Jag’s shit, and he’s obviously clever.

“Ducks?” I clarify, immediately imagining dozens of quacking waterfowl eating the poor guy’s flowers.

“Rubber ducks,” he says, and I let out a relieved breath. Filling the flower shop with live fowl feels over the line.

“Why ducks though?” Brick asks, yawning widely. The bags under his eyes are worse than they were last week.

“The place I ordered from sent me the wrong thing. I ordered two hundred variety colored dicks, but someone there fucked up,” Jag grumbles. “I made do though.”

“This whole prank thing has probably just about run its course though, right?” I ask. “It’s been a few weeks now, you’ve both gotten a couple of good gags in, that’s about enough.”

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