“That’s neat. Not stupid at all. And I bet you do motivate people. Hell, you made me want to try burpees if I could guarantee arm cannons like yours.”
“I could get you fit.” Rooster gave him a smug look.
Canaan was about to retort that he was plenty fit when the GPS interrupted to direct them to the First Avenue exit.
“We going to Hillcrest?” Rooster frowned.
“Nope. Close. Hidden little place. Trust me.” The GPS took them into the side streets, and Canaan directed Rooster to start looking for a place to park. “The rest of the way is all on foot. And fair warning, it’s kinda spooky at night. Closes at ten too, so we better hurry.”
“Spooky? Now I’m intrigued.” Rooster found a spot to expertly parallel park and followed Canaan into the neighborhood. God, Canaan hoped he wasn’t overselling this. But he’d always found this spot cool.
“Here’s where we turn.” Canaan led the way through a sleepy neighborhood of stately older homes to a narrow path surrounded by dense foliage. It went down a short flight of steps and turned into a long, impressive metal-clad footbridge, barely wide enough for both of them side-by-side. “This is one of the oldest suspension bridges in the area that’s still functional. I used to love coming here as a kid, trying to make it creak. And at night, like this, it’s eerie with all the lights from the houses and then the dark canyon below.”
“Okay, okay. I’m digging it.” Rooster followed him onto the bridge, which did indeed let out a groan as they made their way forward. Thick cables and metal scaffolding defined the structure, but all the reinforcements weren’t enough to keep it from swaying as the wind hit. “And, dude, we can see into their living room.”
He pointed at one of the houses nearest to the bridge, a multi-story craftsman with multiple decks and huge picture windows overlooking the canyon, where a small party seemed to be taking place.
“We should crash the party,” Canaan joked. “See if they have any good food.”
“Is the next stop a snack?” Rooster asked hopefully and Canaan had to laugh.
“Sure. Gotta feed the Rooster.”
“Man, do not call me that. Bad enough I have to hear it all day on duty.”
“Oh? I thought you guys loved nicknames?”
“On other people, sure. But some dumbass gave me mine because he thought I spent too much time in front of the mirror. Everyone else started using it. I’d change it if I could.”
“Like to what?”
“Something more badass.” Rooster shrugged. “I don’t know. Tiger maybe. Or Fireball.”
“Fireball.” Canaan couldn’t hold back his laugh. “For reals. What am I supposed to call you? Cause I’m not calling you Fireball. Sorry.”
“Renzo’s my real first name, Mr. Picky. And I think Fireball is neat. I work with explosives a lot.”
“Renzo.” Canaan tested it out, decided he liked the feel of it on his tongue. “Italian, right?”
“You know it. Both sides. Grew up in a big Italian Catholic neighborhood where, I kid you not, I’m related to half the people.”
“How’s that work with you...” He didn’t want to reveal he’d been listening in on Renzo’s conversations, but it was probably too late for that.
“The whole bi thing?” Renzo’s laugh had some bite to it. “Guess some in the family aren’t thrilled, but my folks have always been pretty liberal politically. And they’ve had a while to get used to it.”
“Oh?” Canaan made his way to the other side of the bridge, liking the bounce of the boards under his feet.
“Yeah. I was around twelve or so when an uncle asked me at a family dinner if I had some girls in my class I liked. I was just a kid. Didn’t know any better, so I told the truth, that there were girls and guys. No one made too big a fuss, but it wasn’t until I was out here in Cali that I actually dated a few guys.”
“That’s cool. It was actually similar for me,” Canaan admitted. “My grandma cornered me one day toward the end of middle school, told me she’d seen the doodles with my best friend’s name in my notebook, and wanted me to know she loved me no matter who I liked that way. I told her it was mainly only other guys. Guess you could say I was out from that point on, but it wasn’t really something I gave a ton of thought to.”
“Same.” Renzo gave him an unexpected fist bump, the contact every bit as electric as the brush of their fingers had been earlier. “I’ve got a kickass idea.”
“Yeah?” Canaan asked as they finally reached the other side of the bridge and the short flight of stairs that led to the street.
“No one’s around. Let’s go back across fast as we can. No chickening out. Last one to touch the truck buys whatever snack you’ve got in mind.”