SEVENTY-SIX

Home - Good Neighbors

It’s been a few weeks since I got Buffalo back and in one piece. It’s hard to tell his head was ripped off as Logan’s mom rearranged his fluff to cover the spot.

I spin the ring on my finger. The one I meant to throw out, but now has become a permanent fixture on my hand.

Buffalo still isn’t talking to me. I’m sober now, and it’s hard. It’s just as hard as I thought it was going to be. But Logan and Dakota have been there every step of the way.

They’re on a date at the tattoo shop now, which is the cutest and most disgusting thing ever. I could have gone, but I just wanted to stay back. Most of my days have been trending up, but today, I want to wallow.

With Buffalo. Today is the six-month anniversary of our friendship. Or, at least, when he started talking to me. I think we were friends long before that. When he’d sit in the interview rooms with me and talk to those kids. Those kids, who I still haven’t forgotten about, but now, each time I think about them, it’s less distressing.

And fuck, it hurts not to hear him anymore. I suppose that’s what happens when you get sober. I’d like to dick-punch whoever made those rules.

Fortunately for the guys, I’m still funny. Annoying is what they call it, but I know what they mean. Life has been good. And I can’t believe I’m saying that. I’m still waiting for the other shoe to drop. Obviously, things have been different. I feel less manic. I think I’ve downgraded from a grippy sock vacation to something that resembles… peace. And it’s discomforting because I’ve never felt that before in my life. We still get into trouble. In fact, Cal and Vox have needed some help with Apex, which I swear has given Logan a hernia. But it’s fun. It’s what I was meant to do.

But there’s something about Logan and Dakota that brings it out of me. Well, that and Logan fucks the shit out of me every time he thinks I’m thinking about drinking. Which is a lot. He often recruits Dakota for an extra hand, too.

“Well, Buff, you man whore.” I put him on the kitchen table. “I’ll make us some dinner.”

I make the only thing I’m good at—flat scrambled eggs—and as I am, I notice something on the counter. It’s something wrapped with a bow on it, and it has my name.

What the fuck? Instinctively, I wait for Buffalo’s commentary, and when it doesn’t come, I pick him up so he can open the item with me.

It’s oddly shaped, and when I unwrap it, I frown. It’s… syrup? I turn it over to see the label has been scribbled out, and in its place is written “weenie drizzle.” I snort. Oh, this fucker thinks he has jokes. Upon closer examination, I see that the syrup has sparkles in it. It’s glittery weenie drizzle.

Jesus Christ.

I realize that under the syrup is a note. Opening it, I see it’s addressed to me.

Tears fill my eyes. This stupid motherfucker. I’m laugh-crying, and I squeeze the stuffed animal. He truly was my best friend. And now I have more.

Suddenly, I hear the garage opening. I sniff back my tears because I gotta keep up my image. Gangsters don’t cry and all that.

Then Logan and Dakota come in, arguing about something. Dakota is laughing. “That’s stupid.”

“No it’s not!” Logan cries in a fake-injured voice.

“Jesus Chris-s-st, he will not want that on your body!”

“What about you?” Logan’s trapping Dakota against the wall.

“What are you talking about?” I join in, grinning at the deer-in-the-headlights look Dakota gives me.

“Oh, uh…n-n-nothing.”

“You’re the worst liar.” I laugh.

“Dakota doesn’t think you’d want me to get a WWBD tattoo.” Logan pouts.

I blink at him. “What the hell is that?”

Logan throws up his hands. “What would Buffalo do? No one gets it.”

I stare at him, trying to keep my mouth from dropping open.

Dakota snickers. “See. I was right.”

“Oh no.” I turn to Dakota. “You shush. I’m processing.” Because I do like it. I like it a whole hell of a lot, and I’m getting the tingles over Logan being willing to do that.

Dakota grins, a glint coming in those pretty brown eyes, and I know what he’s about to say. He starts to get the words out, “Make m–” Then I crash my lips down over his, shutting him up. I’ll fucking make him.

Dakota instantly parts his lips for me, letting me in. I moan into his mouth, never getting tired of doing this. Because, even without the whiskey, I think I might be a little gay.

Logan’s hand falls on my shoulder, and I feel infinitely grateful. For the note they left for me. For helping me get sober. For kidnapping me.

Fuck. I’m definitely fucked in the head because 10/10 would get kidnapped again.

I try to deepen the kiss, but Logan pulls me back, laughing. “Wait, before you fuck.”

I growl at him. How dare he interrupt this? Dick is fucking ready to go.

“I have a proposal. A tattoo idea.” Suddenly, Logan looks shy, which makes me focus.

“I uh, wanted to… give you… Well shit, let me just show you.” Logan pulls up his phone, handing it over to me. His hands are sweaty when I take it.

What the fuck?

And then I see it. It’s a drawing of a highland cow in stunning detail. The same one that he had shown me all that time ago. Every detail is beautiful, and I’m caught up in the thick, messy hair. Jesus Christ, Logan is so talented.

He clears his throat. “If you don’t like that one, I did a few others, but…you know what, they’re stupid. It’s okay.” Logan tries to take the phone away, but I yank it from him.

“I love it! It’s stunning.”

Logan’s face gets pink.

“For real, it’s so insanely cool.” I’d love to have it on my body.

“Cool. Then you don’t need to see the rest.” Logan reaches for the phone again, which means I absolutely have to see the rest. I swipe, only to see a cartoon highland cow with two machine guns and a cigarette hanging from its mouth. It’s captioned: got beef?

I stare at it, and the room goes quiet. Then Dakota’s snickering. “I told you he’d like it.”

“What the hell?” I keep scrolling and find another cartoon cow, but this one’s riding a hotdog slathered in syrup.

“It’s just a joke.” Logan lunges, and I jump back. No way in hell is he taking this gold away from me. I fucking love them. I scroll through image after image, each more wild than the last. Logan is red, and Dakota is mocking him for it. They get into a little scuffle, and all I can think is how fucking lucky I am.

Life isn’t fair. And sometimes, I’m glad for that. Because I don’t deserve these two fuckheads, and yet, here they are.

Suddenly, a text comes through on Logan’s phone. I feel my own vibrate, too. It’s Ryan, to the group chat I’ve affectionately named: Kissing Ass and Taking Names.

Ryan: Hey, guys. Any chance you’re willing to help your new friends out?

Vox: *Three knife emojis and a bomb*

I glance over at Logan and Dakota, a smile spreading across my lips.

“You guys up for some fun?”