Page 64 of The Lineman

“Matty, yes.” Matty grinned. “Besides, it’s not like I asked how his precum tastes. That would’ve been rude at a first meeting.” Then, turning to me, he added, “ Tell me if you want, now that it’s out there.”

“Oh, God,” Elliot muttered. “I knew this was a mistake.”

I coughed into my fist, trying to regain composure. “Uh. Hi. Nice to meet you all.”

Sisi smirked, propping her chin on her hand. “Oh, I like him. He’s cute, and he thinks there’s no need for fear. How adorable.”

Omar finally looked up, watching, assessing.

I met his gaze, steady, unblinking.

He nodded, once.

I let out a breath I hadn’t realized I’d been holding.

Apparently, I had at least passed some Omar stare-down test.

Ten minutes later, drinks in hand, we were seated around a high-top table, waiting for the first round of trivia to begin. I cowered on my stool, having been thoroughly vetted throughout the first round of drinks. The gang’s relentless questions finally quieted as Sisi stood, raised her glass toward Elliot, and spoke in a formal, stilted voice.

“We are gathered here tonight to celebrate the life of our dear friend and brother, Elliot Hart, as he embarks on a grand adventure.”

“Grand adventure?” I leaned in and whispered in Elliot’s ear. “What’s she talking about?”

Sisi ignored me. “This time next week, our lumbering ox will cross the border of a distant land, entering the People’s Republic of Florida to assist the poor souls impacted by the Great Storm. He may face bandits. He may fight demons. There might even be a dragon or two. Yet, our hero bears the Sword of Truth.”

“More like the baseball bat of death, if Grindr is to be believed,” Matty quipped.

Omar nearly doubled over.

Sisi continued. “Whether by his sword or with his mighty bat, our mountain of a man must prevail. He must secure the peace in said foreign land, escape without his books—or the rest of him—being burned. He must help little old ladies retrieve wayward pets, while avoiding damage to his mighty bat atop rough-hewn poles.”

“Hail the bat!” Matty cried.

Sisi nodded solemnly. “Yes, hail the bat.”

Elliot covered his face, careful to avoid any eye contact—with anyone—and groaned.

I snickered. Fucking traitor.

“Here’s to our unsung hero, the Rising Son of our story, He Who Shall Overcome, Elliot Dragonheart!”

“Here, here!” Omar cheered, raising his glass.

“Is there a spanking in this story? I need a spanking!” Matty added.

And then they drank. And the toast was over.

“What’s all that about?” I asked once Sisi and the others were distracted with whatever music was blaring over the speakers.

“Sorry, I forgot to tell you. I’m on hurricane recovery. They’re sending me to Florida for a few weeks, maybe a little longer if it’s really bad,” Elliot said.

My face drained of color. “Is that safe? Will you be all right?”

Elliot smiled. The bastard could tell I was worried. I watched as something in his chest unknotted, as though no one had ever worried about him going on a trip before. He leaned forward like he wanted to kiss me right there, but the gravitational pull that was Sisi held him in place.

Instead, he simply said, “It’s cleanup and restoration. I’ll be fine. Think of it as more of my day job, a lot more.”

I tried to relax, though something in my gaze must’ve told him I wasn’t entirely convinced.

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