Page 23 of The Arrangement

His gaze darted to me, his blue-green eyes wide with surprise. “Of course.”

Granted, this was about food, but it warmed me to hear his quick response. Yeah, I really liked JD, so I’d try to follow Alex’s advice not to get in my own way and enjoy this. In short order, I’d quartered all the sandwiches, given us a plate with some of each, and boxed the rest. Once we’d eaten our fill, all that remained was to figure out how to roll ourselves out of there.

JD eyed the bag stuffed with leftovers. “Guess we won’t be needing to go to the pub later.”

I couldn’t tell if he was relieved or put out, so I shrugged. “Eh, we still could. They’re open really late, but we also have the entire summer.” His responding smile was everything I’d hoped it would be, so naturally an asshole from the past showed up and ruined our moment.

“So it’s true. You really are back. What happened, the Army, finally get tired of putting up with your pansy ass?”

I held up my hand to stop JD when he leaned forward undoubtedly to put this jerk where he belonged—on the ground—then leaned back to look up at the six-foot, red-necked (like seriously, dude, have you never heard of sunblock?), brown-haired, dipshit.

“Well, if it isn’t Brody Beecham. As a matter of fact, I am back. Permanently. But not because they got ‘tired of putting up with me’ so much as the other way around. Also, you should be nicer to pansies. They never did nothin’ to you. Unless, of course, you mean pansy in the sense that you’re always thinking about me. In which case, please don’t.”

JD snorted, and Brody darted a hateful look at him while I continued to smile broadly. “You shut your face with that weird flower talk. I can see the Army didn’t manage to beat the queer out of you.”

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw JD’s face harden, and I could have laid Brody out for that alone. But there were better ways to bring a man like Brody down a peg or five. “At least my queer ass actually made it into the Army.” I tapped my lips thoughtfully and furrowed my brow in concentration. “Remind me, Brody, after you failed out of bootcamp, you wanted to go into the Coast Guard. Search and Rescue, am I right? Ooh, but you washed out of that too.” I sucked my teeth and shook my head. “Bummer, man.”

JD snickered, once again drawing Brody’s ire. “You got something to say, ginger freak?”

JD’s eyebrows rose, but he didn’t respond to Brody, instead angling to address me. “Was it the holding your breath under the water thing? It’s always the holding your breath under the water.”

I smacked the table, absolutely loving that JD was playing with me. “You know, I do believe it was. Wasn’t it, Brody?” Poor bastard’s face was turning as red as his neck. I almost felt sorry for him. Almost. He’d made my summers hell growing up. Besides, he’d started it.

“Huh,” JD said, “I’d have thought someone who grew up on the coast would be better at holding their breath.” Brody slid past red into purple eggplant territory.

“What wouldyouknow about it?”

“Oh shit. My bad. I should have introduced you,” I interrupted. “Brody Beecham, I’d like you to meet my good buddy, Sergeant James Gallagher.”

JD was doing an absolutely horrible job of keeping his smug grin to himself as he peeled himself out of his plastic chair andstood to his full height, easily towering over Brody. Like the good man he was, he held out a hand in greeting and waited for Brody to take it before adding, “Army Urban Search and Rescue, six years.”

I really wish I could have taken a picture of Brody’s face. I’d have framed that shit.

Chapter 14

James

Iwas still working through my amazement at how Marc handled the small-town bully and his casual acceptance of being called queer as he stowed the leftovers in the car. The implication that he’d had to suffer that sort of verbal abuse for years was not wasted on me. I’d been called plenty of nasty things during my time at Ulwich Prep, but despite being bi and even having fooled around with a few classmates, bigoted slurs had never been among them. And Istilldidn’t know if Marc even was queer or if he was, what flavor, and it was really beginning to mess with my head. I’d babbled for Christ’s sake.Twice. When was the last time I’d done that?

“Ready to see the sights?” Marc asked, strolling up to me with a broad smile on his face. Suddenly I wondered if he had any clue how unbelievably handsome he was. “Yoo-hoo, Earth to Sergeant Gallagher, do you copy?” No doubt thinking to get the drop on me again like he had earlier with that sly move putting the cash in my pocket, he went to hip-check me.

I caught his belt loop and held him in place, smugly satisfied to hear his breath catch. If he wanted to play, I’d play. But he’d learn real fast: I played to win. “Oh, I copy, Specialist Weathers,” I replied, letting my voice go husky. I could have ‌purred with delight at the way his pupils dilated and his chest expanded. Movement behind him caught my attention, and I clocked the judgmental eyes of a pair of leather-skinned geezers. Taking a deep breath, I released Marc’s belt loop and stepped back, pasting a smile on my face while mentally berating myself.

You’re in the Deep‌ South, surrounded by bigoted assholes. Be smart about this. You’ve played this game before. This is nothing new.

It may not be new, but it didn’t change how much I hated it. I fought for this country, bled for it, was willing to die for it, and I couldn’t even flirt with a guy I was attracted to in public without some jerk ruining it.

“Hey, how about we walk off lunch by exploring some shops, then work our way back toward the car?” He bumped me with his elbow, but his smile looked about as convincing as I suspected mine did. Seriously, those eyes of his couldn’t hide shit.

“What happened to exploring the French Quarter?” I asked a tad put out.

His grin relaxed, and he turned me around to face a large wooden sign.

Welcome to the Fairhope French Quarter - Home of Panini Pete’s - Estab. 1994 - Bessie Montgomery

“Well, then.” Marc really was distracting if I’d missedthat.

“To be fair, it’s not actually that big of a place—it’s no New Orleans,” he said, slurring the name together so it sounded more like “N’Orlens.” “But we can still wander around here a bit, take in the architecture and what not.” He shrugged and glanced around at what was admittedly a smaller space than I’d expected. “Some of the shops in here aren’t too shabby. I’ll kill you in your sleep if you tell anyone I said this, but I actually kind of like the gift shop.”