Page 19

Chapter nineteen

Elliot

When preparing for a hurricane and the possible extended out-of-town adventure that might entail, most linemen spend a little more time with family, wrap up projects around the house, or do whatever their spouse considers important. Leaving the house for weeks, heading into a weather war zone, was unwise unless those back at home were well tended and happy.

Alas, my home remained empty. I had no spouse or mile-long honey-do list to complete. I didn’t even have a crank cat who might need feeding or litter boxing or whatever one did with pitiful pussies. They weren’t really my thing.

I had, however, cobbled together a group of misfits, forming a found family crazy enough to rival any TV sitcom cast. So, with only a week or so before landfall, I reluctantly opened my phone and began a group text.

Me : I’m being sent to FL for storm cleanup. We need to get together. A Last Supper sort of tradition.

Sisi : You’re not allowed to die on us.

Matty : What does one wear to a hurricane cleanup? Are heels appropriate or would they get stuck in the rubble?

Omar : I agree with Sisi. Dying is bad. I don’t recommend it.

I sighed into the screen. Why did I expect anything less than sarcasm from this group?

Me : Let me reiterate, I am being sent to FL for storm cleanup, not to stand at the docks and let Mother Earth beat me bloody.

Matty : That’s a shame. You could call it a meteorological spanking. I bet there’s even a fetish group for that.

Sisi : Lord knows, Elliot needs a fetish.

Me : Hey!

Omar : Are we going to talk about Elliot’s sex life now? I only want to know so I can brace myself for all the boredom and empty texts.

Me : Omar!

Sisi : OMG. I think the Brit just summed up Elliot in one text. Matty, move over. I’m marrying your man.

Matty : Hands off, Sarah Jessica Parker. I’ve already planted my flag in Great Britain’s shores.

Omar : God, I love your flag.

Sisi : Ew. Just Ew.

Me : Um, hello, this is about me, people, not Matty and his, um, flagpole.

Sisi : Yes, yes, Mr. Attention Hog needs the spotlight.

Matty : I think we need a Jockstrap night.

Omar : Yes! I’m not terribly sports minded, but YES!

Sisi : Did I miss the rainbow-colored memo? What’s a jockstrap?

Me : It’s a piece of clothing that . . .

Sisi : Fuck off, power boy.

Matty : It’s a gay sports bar where men who like men gather. Most have no fashion sense—or good sense, for that matter.

Me : Hello, I like sports—and jockstraps—and bars named after jockstraps.

Matty : They have trivia night.

Trivia night. Oh, God. I was fairly sure Mike had mentioned loving pub trivia.

Me : Um, Mike likes trivia.

Sisi : Picture this—me jumping up and down clapping. YES. It’s time he met the fam.

Matty : A spanking!

Omar : An initiation!

Me : NO! No spanking or initiation. Just a nice, quiet evening with beer and unanswerable questions.

Sisi : Bring your tribute. May the odds be ever in your favor.

Matty : Muahahaha!

Omar : This is rich.

Me : I hate all of you. Eight o’clock. Be there. Matty, it’s a sports bar. No chiffon.

Matty : What if it’s team-colored chiffon?

Me : No. Just no.

Matty : Party pooper. ER is calling. Toodles.

Omar : That still kills me. Who says toodles?

Sisi : Your very queer better half. All day, every day. Oh, shit. Gotta go. Bad car accident.

Omar : See you tonight, Reacher.

Reacher? Again? What the hell?