Page 48 of Mr. Frosty Pants
“I might be grouchy—frostyeven—but you’re annoying in the mornings, and that’s worse.”
Casey took a slow breath, determined not to be baited. Joel was just freaking out because he’d lost his virginity, and some guys had a hard time dealing with the vulnerability inherent in that. In his head, Ann reminded him to be gentle.
“I still respect you this morning, if that’s what you’re worried about,” Casey said lightly, half-teasing in hopes of breaking through Joel’s brittle defense.
“Respect?” Joel snorted. “Great. Whatever.”
Bruno crashed through the woods, rushing toward Joel with a dirty tennis ball in his mouth. He dropped it at Joel’s feet, wagging his hind end in excitement until Joel threw it for him.
“It’s a lyric from a song I like,” Joel said after he’d thrown the ball a few times. He touched the tattoo Casey had indicated. “Most of them are a reference to one Gaslight Anthem song or another.”
“You still like them, huh? I do too. I saw them live a few years ago.” Goosebumps rose all over as Casey shivered in the morning air.
One thing New York had taught him to appreciate were mild, Southern, so-called winters. He’d never step outside in NYC mid-December in just his underwear even if he wouldn’t be arrested for it. Still, the air was bracing, and the excitement of being with Joel—even as irritable as he was—rattled him even more. He shook lightly all over.
“Yeah?” Joel raised his brow again, less hostile than before. “I saw them in Nashville. Becca took me for my birthday a few years ago.”
“The lead singer is shorter than I expected. I don’t know why, but he sounds so much taller.”
“Yep. He’s shorter than me even.” Joel nodded and rubbed his arms, biceps and pecs bunching and releasing beneath his palms. “I’m cold. Let’s head inside.”
Casey followed him, but it wasn’t much warmer in the trailer since they’d left the door open. The cool air had funneled through and wiped out the tender warmth the small space heaters had created overnight.
Joel left Bruno outside and headed into the kitchen area. “I don’t have much. I can make coffee, but unless you want some leftover chili for breakfast, you’re out of luck.”
“I’m fine. I’ll grab something on the way home, but what about you?” Casey asked. “Don’t you need to eat something before work?”
“I keep some beef jerky in the glove compartment of the Chevy. It’ll hold me until lunch.”
“Beef jerky?” Casey wanted to take Joel to breakfast, to woo him further with eggs, bacon, and pancakes covered in syrup. But there was a stiffness to Joel’s back again, and Casey knew if he asked, he’d be shot down. And somehow he also knew that Joel would be insulted. “I’m a big fan of jalapeño-spiced beef jerky, myself,” he added to offset the idea there might be any judgment in his words.
Joel didn’t say anything, setting about brewing coffee with what looked like off-brand pre-ground beans from one of the local discount stores. Casey sat at the small wooden table he remembered from Joel’s old house, though it was missing two of the chairs now. He supposed it would have been hard to fit them all into the cramped space allotted for eating.
Joel opened the fridge and stared into it, brows drawn low. Then he finally brought out a half-pat of butter before turning to a cabinet and tossing a packet of instant oatmeal on the counter. “There’s some oatmeal. Just one packet. You can have it.”
“No, I’m fine. Really. Don’t worry about feeding me.”
Joel leaned against the counter and dragged his hand through his hair. “Wish I hadn’t smoked that last cigarette already.”
“You don’t have another pack in the truck or something? I’ll go get it for you if you want.”
“No, I don’t keep extra packs. I only buy one every two weeks. That gives me one or two cigarettes a day. Yesterday I went over my limit.” Joel glared at him. “Like I said, I’m trying to quit.”
“If you really wanted to quit, then you wouldn’t buy any packs at all.” So much for not mentioning quitting again.
Joel snarled up his lip, but his eyes twinkled with a hint of amusement. Casey’s shoulders relaxed to see the break in the near-constant hostility he’d exhibited since waking up. “Fine. I won’t buy another pack.”
“Really?”
“Maybe.”
Casey grinned. “I always associated the smell of Winstons with you. There was a girl in my Strategic Planning class who smoked Winstons, and I used to purposely sit next to her and pretend she was you.”
“Wow,” Joel whispered, blinking slowly at him. “That’s kind of creepy, man.”
Casey shrugged, and Joel turned to pour the coffee into mugs he grabbed out of the cabinets. “It was a harmless fantasy. Didn’t hurt anyone.”
Ignoring that, Joel passed Casey a mug with a reindeer on the side of it. “It’s not the best, but it has caffeine in it.” He kept the mug with Frosty the Snowman on it for himself.
