Page 54 of Body Check
Dutton: I’m ready.
Bridgette:So, we’re dating…
Dutton: Damn right.
Bridgette: And we’re pretty serious?
Dutton: Jesus. Yes.
Dutton: What’s with the questions? I damn near broke your brother’s nose. That’s serious.
Dutton: Hold up. Are you pregnant? Or are you trying to break up with me?
Bridgette: Neither! I’m trying to ask you to a wedding.
Dutton: Count me in. The season ends in April. Are you thinking spring? Or do you want a summer wedding? The beach would be nice.
Bridgette: Oh my god. Not our wedding.
Dutton:Are you sure? Ollie swears by married life. (Not that I talk to Ollie or am friends with him. I don't do friends. But he's pushy.)
Bridgette:My horrible cousin is getting married and I need a date.
Bridgette:Not just any date. You. I need you. It's two weeks from Sunday and you don’t have a game.
Dutton: Looking forward to meeting your horrible relatives. I can't promise I won't throw any more punches.
Dutton: Kidding. Mostly.
23
Dutton
Blue: You feel like getting lunch at the diner? I’m sick of the dining hall and I don’t feel like cooking. You know what sucks about cooking? You do it, and you eat the food, but the next time you’re hungry, you have to do it all over again. It’s bullshit.
Dutton: That’s why you should meal prep…
Blue: Fuck off. The diner or Wolfie’s. You pick.
Dutton: Sorry. I’m bailing on lunch today. I’ve got something I need to take care of.
Blue:Is that a euphemism for sex? Your dirty talk needs some work.
Dutton: Why don’t you ask your new best friend Ollie if he wants to grab lunch? I saw you two together this morning.
Blue: In the weight room? When he was my spotter?
Dutton: I used to be your spotter.
Blue:So fucking dramatic.
Pocketing my phone, I slide into my car and type the address into my navigation system. It pops up immediately and I startmy car, turning and merging when the robot voice tells me to. The drive isn’t bad, but when I pull into the lot, the building looks different, colder in the light of day. The dance hall isn’t officially open at this hour, but when I called yesterday, Howard said he’d be here.
Sure enough, he’s sitting behind the bar when I walk in, and, as promised, he’s not alone. Two women in their sixties flank him on either side.
I shake his hand and take a seat. “Thanks for meeting me.”
Howard’s smile is broad. “I was glad to hear from you. Any friend of Bridgette’s is okay in my book. Besides, I have to admit I’m a little curious. Just what kind of favor do you need?”
