Heaven and Hell (Heaven and Hell #1)(110)

“Yeah,” Sam concurred, “that’d be good.”

“He’s not a dick,” Hap assured me.

“I, um… kinda already noticed that,” I replied.

Hap’s grin got bigger. Sam’s arm got tighter.

“Me, the jury’s still out seein’ as I haven’t nailed down a fine piece of ass like you or Luci,” Hap shared.

“Just a bit of friendly advice, you want one, you might want to stop calling us pieces of ass,” I shared in return.

Hap smiled wide.

I couldn’t help it, this guy was so rough around the edges he was jagged. Still, I liked him.

So I smiled back.

Luckily at this juncture the baggage claim started rolling.

We got our bags, or, I should say, Sam and Hap got our bags. I didn’t even carry my carry on and this was because Hap divested me of it. Then we walked to the counter where we could claim Memphis.

They put her doggie crate on the counter and I leaned down to coo through the gate at her.

Memphis yapped, her body vibrating and her tongue trying to lick me through the metal.

There it was. Just like Memphis, her first plane ride didn’t faze her. She was clearly no worse for the wear.

On this relieved thought, I heard Hap exclaim, “Jesus, what the f**k is that?”

I straightened and looked him. “It’s my dog, Memphis.”

“That is not a dog,” Hap declared and I stared at him.

“She is. She’s a King Charles Spaniel,” I informed him.

Hap didn’t tear his eyes away from the crate when he announced scornfully through a lip curl, “She’s a big, brown and white rat with creepy eyes.”

Ohmigod!

Memphis’s eyes weren’t creepy! They were cute!

“She is not,” I returned.

Hap looked at Sam. “Are you sayin’ that thing is gonna be in my truck?”

I put my hands to my hips. “She’s not a thing, she’s a dog. My dog.”

Hap’s eyes came to me. “Babe, you got bad guys after you. A rat won’t do shit to a bad guy unless it’s got fleas or is carrying the plague. You need a dog with balls. A German Shepherd. A Doberman. A Rottie.”

Memphis yapped though I couldn’t read if her yap was agreeing with Hap or if she was offended.

As for me, I decided I was pissed again, this time at Hap.

Before I could give Hap indication of my mood, Sam stepped in.

“First, yeah, Hap, Memphis is gonna be in your truck. Second, we got folks bearin’ down on us and I’m not in the mood to sign autographs. I’m in the mood to sit on my deck and drink a beer. And last, we got a dog who’s been cooped up for awhile so we need to get her some time with some grass.”

I glanced around and saw two huddles of people eyeing us. One had decided on an approach and had instigated it, one was still considering it.

I turned from them and gave Hap a glare. Hap gave me a grin. I ignored it, grabbed the handle to Memphis’s crate and stomped with Hap and Sam to the parking garage.

We luckily escaped the approach of the autograph seekers and made it to the garage unmolested. Sam and Hap loaded our bags in the back of Hap’s SUV. I loaded Memphis and I in the backseat. Sam climbed in front, Hap behind the wheel and away we went.

It was, unfortunately, over a two hour drive from Raleigh to Sam’s place at Kingston Beach which was outside Wilmington. After his time being stationed in Georgia, Sam had been, and Hap still was, stationed at Fort Bragg in Fayetteville where Hap lived. Sam had a place there when he was active duty but also had his place at the beach. Since Sam was discharged, he’d sold his place close to the base and now just had the house in Kingston.

As soon as he could, Hap stopped so we could let Memphis have a wander and take care of business. And, since I’d never been to North Carolina, the first half hour of the trip was interesting. This was not only taking in the passing landscape but also listening to Hap gab nonstop to Sam, filling him in on stuff that had happened with mutual friends while Sam had been gone, hearing names I’d heard in passing from Sam.

Then, when Hap ran out of news and both men in the front fell silent, as I was prone to do on car rides, I got bored.

Memphis did not. She stood back paws to my thigh, front paws to the window ledge on the door, nose to the crack in the window, drinking in North Carolina with her doggie senses. I knew she liked it because she licked her chops often and wagged her tail even more.

Finally, we hit Kingston and I instantly fell in love. It was not a mix of old and new, it was just old. The main street consisted of two sides of two-story, sturdy, red brick buildings decorated with American flags and pots of flowers. There were some graceful white-columned structures with rolling lawns on big lots that were stereotypical of the South. There were also some houses built close together and painted in bright pastels that were really cool. And last, you could smell the sea air and hear the cry of the gulls. It was just busy enough to seem populated and friendly but not overwhelming.

I could totally see why Sam picked this place. It was awesome.

Hap took us slightly out of the town and turned onto a narrow road that managed somehow to be attractive while at the same time not inviting strangers. This was because of the big sign that said, “Private Road. Private Beach. Homeowners Only.”

Although it was a private road that led to houses on a private beach, the homes were surprisingly mostly older and small-ish, not the grand manses I would have suspected a rich, famous hot guy to live in. They were also built relatively close together. Every once in awhile you could see someone bought a couple of lots, scraped the old houses and put up modern, starkly designed (but cool) beach houses. But mostly the houses seemed vintage and established.