Page 189 of The Lineman

Mrs. H finally turned and beamed at Mateo. “Ah, coachy boy! Come in, come in! Are you hungry?”

“I need a tall glass of that Scotch first.” Mateo eyed the definitely suspicious dish bubbling on the stove and exhaled. “I’m not sure about hungry yet.”

Mrs. H grinned. “I’ll make sure ye leave with a full belly. Omar, pour the boy a drink, will ya?”

Mateo glanced at me, looking vaguely horrified. “Youletme come here. I thought we were friends.”

I clapped him on the shoulder. “You walked in on your own.”

He groaned, running a hand through his hair. “I hate all of you.”

Omar, grinning like an idiot, handed him a tall glass normally used for iced tea. It was filled to the brim with Scotch.

“Now that’s a pour. Good man, Omar.” Mateo sighed, took it, and muttered, “I’m gonna need a lot of this.”

Just as we were coming to terms with our fate, the door opened again, and Rodriguez walked in. He still walked with a slight limp, which the docs said he might never lose, and his arm still carried a cast, but otherwise, he was fully recovered.

And grinning like a man who had seen death and come back stronger.

“It smells . . .interestingin here,” he said, sniffing the air.

“Said the token straight,” Matty quipped.

Mike pointed at him. “If you run now, you can escape.”

“Oh, hell no.” Rodriguez laughed. “I survived a fucking storm. I can handle a gaggle of gays and Mrs. H’s cooking.”

Mrs. H cackled and slapped his back. “That’s the spirit!”

Rodriguez winced. “Ow.”

She ignored him.

Matty grinned. “Look at you, walking and everything.”

Rodriguez smirked. “I know, right? Still got that sexy limp, though.”

Omar shook Rodriguez’s hand. “Chicks dig battle scars.”

“Hell, yeah, we do. Whip ‘em out . . . or whip it out . . . we like both!” Sisi chirped.

Rodriguez snorted. “Who said anything about chicks?”

The room went dead silent.

Then—

Mateo spit out his drink.

Mike choked on air.

Matty squealed.

Omar laughed so hard he had to sit down.

Mrs. H?

Mrs. H cheered.

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