Okay, breaking it down.
There was me.
Also the as-yet-unmet (by me) Whitney and Muriel.
And harking back, Boone making the decision to enter the military in the first place.
I was getting the sense my man was not superhuman (just close), but he had a hero complex.
“Well, I’m not gonna accept it,” I told him.
“Your call,” he grunted.
I looked around. “Why is everyone here?”
“Because Cisco has resurfaced and he left a note and we kinda need to talk to him to see if some of the shit he’s not sharing included Mueller and Bogart or others trying to horn into his action, considering as far as we can tell, it’s business as usual even if the boss is in hiding. But we suspect he’s got a rat in his operation so that might not be the case. And him dropping this load on you is the only lead we got.”
“Oh,” I muttered, which wasn’t a lot to say with all he’d just shared, but it was all I had. Then in my normal voice, I said, “I’m going to call and tell him I can’t accept.”
“And I’m gonna advise, Rynnie, that you at least take a night to sleep on that,” Boone said, the thread of irritation no longer in his voice. “This lessens your…our,” he amended when I gave him a narrow look, “investment by at least twenty-five K, probably with ten coming in the other side. That might not be worth hearing a man get shot on your back deck. But it’s not gonna suck.”
Hmm.
Moving on.
“Have you eaten lunch?” I asked, hopeful he had not, and he’d go to Chipotle with Axl and me.
“Yes,” he answered, dashing my hopes, seeing he did that and openly fighting a grin which made me wonder why he fought it since I could see him fighting it.
“Well, Axl and I got interrupted during burrito bowls,” I shared.
“Tragedy,” he teased.
I rolled my eyes then told him, “And Lottie danced my ass off so I’m hungry.”
“Don’t you want to see the stuff?”
“I’m already suffering from repeated whiplash with all things Brett. Innocent of killing a cop, guilty of having a guy murdered at my back door, putting me in danger, helping me achieve my dreams. I don’t want to walk in there and fall in love with a Sub-Zero and then have to fight my need to ask him over for a dinner you will cook, only to have someone aim a bazooka at your loft causing an explosion we narrowly escape.”
“Good call,” he muttered through a chuckle.
Sadly, I wasn’t being funny.
Though I was glad to make Boone laugh.
“And just by the by, we had a thing with Hattie, which was after Axl and I talked things out. So he and I are all good. But he is not all good with Hattie. So heads up, you might need to take your boy’s back on that.”
“What thing with Hattie?”
“She’s a really, really good dancer. Ballet. Classically trained.”
“Yeah?”
“And Axl saw her dance.”
He leaned back on an “Ah,” not fighting that grin.
“And then she messed up, had a very alarming reaction, he saw it, went right to her, tried to be there for her, and she fled the room. Whoosh!” I added to that final bit a dramatic swoop of my hand.
Boone wasn’t smiling anymore.
“So…yeah,” I finished.
“It’s gonna be good it’s just you and me and the weekend because no drama happens to you when it’s just you and me and a weekend.”
Yeah it was.
So good.
“Go eat,” he ordered, and bent to touch his mouth to mine. “I gotta go back to work.”
I didn’t go eat.
I went to say hi to Hawk, Joker and Tack, collected Axl, and we went back to Chipotle and ordered the same damned things.
* * *“You do know I’m gonna have to put an end to this,” I announced.
It was that evening, after dinner.
We were doing the dishes and then we were going to watch a movie.
Or, some ID channel if I could talk Boone into it. I hadn’t had my true crime fix in weeks.
“Put an end to what?” he asked, scraping some leftover garlic mash into a bowl, mash that, in the hands of Boone, would probably be a toe-curlingly good latke-style something at Sunday brunch.
“You helping me do the dishes,” I answered.
His eyes came to me. “Why?”
“You cook.”
“So?”
I shoved a plate in the dishwasher and turned fully to him. “We have balance. You cuddle. I cuddle. You tell me I’m gorgeous. I tell you you’re hot. You order me to suck your cock. I suck it. You can’t cook and help do the dishes. It fucks with our balance.”
“Ryn, I like being with you.”
So freaking sweet.
Still.
“Boone, your house is one room, minus the bath and laundry. You can be with me sitting on the couch and picking a movie.”
“I like the way you smell. I like the way your hands move, even putting dishes in the dishwasher. I like shooting the shit with you, and not doing it shouting across twenty feet of space. I like being with you, Ryn. And I don’t give a fuck I’m dumping mash into a Tupperware while I do it.”