Page 197 of Just One More Thing

Then he gets that look that never leads anywhere good.

“Okay. Then we celebrate with choreography.”

“No.”

He’s already backing up. “Ryan. Formation.”

Ryan doesn’t move.

He turns toward the center of the locker room and starts some kind of dance that appears to involve chest pops, a hip circle, and one move I’m pretty sure he stole from a Jazzercise workout video from the 1980s.

The entire room loses it.

I laugh so hard I have to brace a hand on a locker.

Ryan pinches the bridge of his nose. “Every day with him feels like a dare.”

“That’s because it is.”

Wayne does a spin, nearly wipes out on a puddle, catches himself on a bench, then points like that was part of it.

“Did you see that recovery?” he shouts.

“Ten out of ten,” I deadpan.

Ryan bumps my arm. “You heading out tonight?”

“Yeah. Taking Emory back to Blue Crab Bay for a few days.”

Wayne hollers from thirty feet away. “Great. We’re hitching a ride.”

I look at him. Then at Ryan. Then back at him.

“No.”

“Yes.” He does some kinda skip, hop, bounce over to us. “I need to see my people.”

“Your people?”

He puts a hand to his chest like I’ve offended him deeply. “They are mine, and I am theirs. They made it official.”

I look at Ryan. “What the hell does that mean?”

Ryan scratches at the tape on his wrist. “He’s been busy on the town group chat again.”

“Correction. The underground chat. The distinction matters.” Wayne says. “And Gladys made me an honorary citizen in her text last night. Until I can make it official.”

“You were texting with Gladys Kravitz?”

“Age cannot cage chemistry, Jake.”

Ryan actually chokes on a laugh at that.

I point between them. “You’re coming to keep him out of trouble, yes?”

Ryan shrugs. “Sure.”

“That was not convincing.”