Page 38 of Hottie on Her Shelf
He didn’t, but he did get a kick out of his science teacher/assistant principal friend approaching cooking like a science experiment. They’d shared enough meals since the high school hired him on here (which Fitz had, ah, expedited with a poke to the school board superintendent) that Ev had proved his expertise over and over. Which made him the only person Fitz had thought to call for tonight.
“Seriously, thanks for dropping everything to help me. Once I realized I couldn’t take Hallie out to a restaurant, I panicked. Flipped out.”
Everett walked over to peruse the wine rack. “I’ll say. You don’t ask for favors. Ever.”
Damn straight. “You know why.”
“Yeah. You don’t want to trade on the family name. You get enough handed to you on a silver platter from being a Montgomery, blah blah blah.” He shoved a bottle in the freezer. Set a timer. “None of that applies to me.”
“Thank God.”
“I’m serious, Fitz. Remember the kidney pact?”
“Of course.” They’d been a little drunk, tossing around the idea of getting tattoos. Science major Everett had kiboshed them due to some random (aka,unlikely as hell) article he’d read about the possibility of complications from them during MRIs. What twenty-one-year-old worried about getting an MRI in forty years?
They’d had more beer (because college). And somehow ended up making a pact—as best friends—to donate, should the need arise, a kidney or partial liver to each other.
The weird part was still wanting to do it sobered up the next day, which resulted in sneaking into the science building on a Sunday for Everett to test Fitz. Turned out they had the same blood type. The pact was a go.
“How come you’ll ask me for a kidney someday, but this is the first actual favor you’ve asked of me in fourteen years?”
“Hey, with an ask that big in the offing, I didn’t want to risk using up your goodwill on little stuff,” he joked. And thankfully finished the last shrimp. Fitz scrubbed his hands and wished he could scrub his mind of the memory. He rarely threw his money at problems, but he’d pay anyone anything to avoid doing that again.
“I’m serious.”
Hell.
They rarely did serious. They were guys, after all. But a call to be serious had to be respected.
He wiped his hands on the dishtowel. It was covered with drawings of different types of roosters and “Cocks” was emblazoned in bright yellow at the top. It was a housewarming present from his Aunt Felicia. She’d laughed for five solid minutes at his expression when he opened it.
Maybe he should hide it for tonight…
“Look, it’s my own messed-up thing. I don’t ask for help. I don’t ask for favors. I don’t ask anyone for anything.”
Everett’s mouth twisted downward. “This whole Montgomery family legacy did a number on you.”
“There are worse vices. I don’t smoke. No drugs. I don’t do illegal drag racing.”
“Asking for help isn’t the same as taking advantage of someone.”
“It is if they feel pressured into saying yes.” Fitz pulled out wineglasses. “Whereas I know you would’ve had no problem telling me to go fuck myself if you really couldn’t get away today.”
“True.”
“Which brings me back to thanking you for saving my ass. Obviously, I couldn’t take Hallie out to a restaurant.”
Everett snorted. “You’re a Montgomery. Right or wrong, you can do whatever the hell you want in this town.”
“Technically…” Man, Fitz hated that was true, which was why he bent over backward never to take advantage. “…but I’d get a river of grief about it from my parents.”
“Really? They care who you date? Are they arranging a marriage for you with some daughter of a West Coast scion of industry? Something to increase the Montgomery lands and holdings like you’re an eighteenth-century duke?”
Generally, Fitz appreciated that Everett gave him a hard time. He didn’t let him skate on anything, but would it kill the guy to let a couple things go without giving him a canoe full of grief about it?
He leveled a gaze at Ev hard enough to crack a walnut. “First, it’s not a date.”
With a clatter, the wooden spoon dropped into the pan as Ev raised both hands. “Don’t even.”
