Page 8 of Brett and Rowdy
“Would I do that? That might cost me my job, and I need that job at least until I make a few more sales. Besides, I honestly kind of like it. It’s actually a lot of fun. The kids are cool. And I feel like, at least when I hit some of the places in town that aren’t as wealthy as others, I’m making a difference. So, I’ll take it.”
“You’re a good woman. Where’s the pimento cheese?”
“Looks like the canape table is over there.” She held out an arm. “Shall we?”
“God, yes.” No games. Just food, drink, bye-bye. Well, maybe dancing, but that was still a ways off. Maybe they could step out and come back without anyone noticing…
He stopped when they got to the food table, staring at it in horror.
“What the hell is all this?”
Crystal stared too, just as stunned, he thought. “Is that melon? Wrapped in ham?”
“That can’t be ham. Ham is crispy and salty. That looks like limp lunch meat. There’s no pimiento cheese.”
“There’s no mac and cheese balls.” Crystal’s eyes kept getting wider.
“There’s no barbecue! Or deviled eggs. Is that a sweet potato with crap on it?”
“Holy shit.” They glanced at each other, then began to edge away from the table, both of them moving fast. He felt like he was in one of those comedy movies where people did that, but this wasn’t funny.
“Hey, you two!”
They both whipped around to face—oh good Lord and butter, what was her name? She’d been on the set painting crew with him for the play their senior year.
“Uh, hey, Jessica.” He had to squint at her name tag.
“Nothing you wanted on the buffet?”
“Oh, we were going to make the rounds and come back. See what there was to drink.”
“Well, you have fun!” She waved and waded back into the gathering crowd.
“Run,” Crystal said out of the corner of her mouth. “We’ll go to the Huddle House over in Seneca.”
“Split. I’ll meet you at the front door.” They separated just like they always had when in trouble, doubling the target.
They whirled away from each other, but he only got three steps into the crowd before he slammed into someone, hearing an, “Oof!”, and the startled bark of a dog.
A dog?
“Hey, watch where you’re going,” the guy snapped. “Don’t hurt my dog.”
“Why don’t you pay attention if you’re so worried,” he shot back.
The guy scowled, waving at the dog, who wore a vest-type harness that read, “Guide dog. Do not pet.”
Shit. The fucking guy was blind.
He looked up, his ready apology dying on his lips. Because older or not, blind or not, he knew this man.
“Rowdy? What the hell are you doing here?”
Rowdy frowned for a moment,that whiskey and gravel voice teasing at him. Then it occurred to him, and he rocked back on his heels. “Brett?”
“Holy hell. Really, what are you doing here?”
“Rowdy. I investigated the canapes. Don’t both—Well, now. Hello, Brett.”
