Page 33 of Gator
Julius
We ended up at a little diner a few blocks from the salon, the kind with cracked vinyl booths and a waitress who called everyonehon. Most people would think this wasn’t my kind of place, but the truth was, they had some of the best food in town, and we got lunch there often. Gator ordered a burger the size of Texas and black coffee, because of course he did. I went for a grilled cheese and fries, because chaos needs comfort.
“So,” he said, resting one forearm on the table, “you always keep a talking bird around to insult people, or was that a recent decision?”
“Trixie belonged to a friend’s brother,” I said. “He decided he didn’t want to keep her. I offered to keep her until he foundher a home. It was supposed to be temporary. Then she started learning my favorite curse words, and we bonded.”
He laughed, low and warm. “Figures. She’s got attitude. Fits right in.”
I dipped a fry in ketchup. “And what about you, Mr. Tactical? You always swoop in to rescue civilians, or am I just lucky?”
“Bit of both,” he said with a grin. Then, quieter, he added, “It’s not always like this. Most days are pretty routine. Paperwork, training, logistics. I like helping people, though. Feels like I’m doing something that matters.”
Something in his tone softened me. “You ever get scared?”
“Sure,” he said easily. “Only an idiot doesn’t. But fear’s just a signal… tells you what matters. You listen to it, you work around it.” He tipped his head toward me. “You?”
“Oh, I’m terrified,” I said with a smile that didn’t quite reach my eyes. “I just prefer to do my panicking with a smile on my face.”
He chuckled, but his gaze lingered, steady and curious. “You hide it well.”
“That’s the idea,” I said, tracing the rim of my water glass. “I’ve had enough people bail when things got messy.”
“Not this time,” he said quietly.
For once, I didn’t have a comeback. The waitress refilled our drinks, saving me from answering, but the words hung between us like a promise I wasn’t ready to touch.
“So…” I said, because silence and I have never been friends. “Where’d a guy like you learn to be all big and tactical? You look more like you should be chopping wood in slow motion for a calendar shoot.”
His mouth curved. “Military first. Then this. Turns out, I like keeping people safe more than I like following orders.”
“And you just… kept doing it?” I asked, leaning my chin on my hand. “Helping people?”
“Yeah,” he said simply. “My sister calls it a hero complex. I call it bad boundaries.”
I laughed, but my chest tightened a little. “You sound like my sister. She’s been telling me I need better taste in men for years.”
“And how’s that working out for you?”
“Well, I’m currently having lunch with a dangerous guy who carries more weapons than I have hair products, so I’m thinking progress?”
He grinned, slow and devastating. “You think I’m dangerous?”
“I think you make dangerous look good,” I said before I could stop myself.
He chuckled, and for a second, the tension eased.
“You know,” I said, “I’ve been calling you Gator for days, but that can’t be what’s on your driver’s license.”
He chuckled again. “You’re right about that. It’s Harlan.”
“Harlan,” I repeated, testing the sound of it. Softer. More human. “That suits you better than Gator.”
“Don’t tell the guys that,” he said, smiling. “They’d never let me live it down.”
“Your secret’s safe with me,” I said, and meant it.
His eyes met mine across the table—steady, unflinching, and just a little amused. “You’re something else, Julius.”