Just One of the Guys(54)

“Wait a minute,” I say. “You’re here to renovate my bathroom. You are. Tell me you are.”

“Oh, shit, that’s right. We really need to schedule that in,” Lucky says. “Matt, you got any beer?”

“Then why are you here?” I ask him. “Not in an existential sense, because the answer is sheer random perversity, but why are you here in my living room?”

Buttercup launches herself onto Lucky’s lap, rendering him momentarily incapable of speech.

“Yanks-Mariners,” Jake answers, giving me a quick, automatic once-over. “Matt, I’ll have a beer, too.”

I gaze sternly down upon Jake. “Since you’re already here, boys, how about you take a few tools upstairs and get going? Everything’s down cellar. Take the radio upstairs, listen to the game, do a little installation, hook up some plumbing…please? Pretty please?”

“We really don’t have what we need, Chas. Sorry,” Lucky says, cracking a beer.

“And yet you cashed my check three months ago,” I comment.

“So I did,” he admits. “And it will be done. Eventually. Can you move? The game is starting.”

“Please, Lucky. You’re still my favorite brother. Don’t make me keep sharing a bathroom with Matt. He eats a lot of Mexican food.”

“Ouch,” Jake winces.

“Want a beer, Chas?” Matt offers, ignoring my pleas.

I sigh. “I’m going out,” I say. “I have a date.” No one seems to care.

On the TV, Michael Kay’s familiar voice begins lauding the superiority of the Bronx Bombers. “A date?” Lucky asks distantly.

“Yes. A date with Ryan. The surgeon.”

“Great,” Lucky says. “Maybe he can fix the bathroom.”

“Is he picking you up?” Trevor asks.

“No,” I answer a little smugly. “He had an emergency consultation at the hospital.”

Lucky moves Buttercup and frowns at her. “Shit, Chas, your dog’s bleeding on me.”

“What?”

Lucky lowers Buttercup down to the floor, where she immediately offers her stomach for a scratch, her ears spilling out behind her head like wings. Trevor pushes the coffee table back, and the men crowd around her, checking for wounds, running their hands down her legs and gently ruffling her fur.

“It’s okay, honey,” I tell my dog, stroking her ears. “These guys are professionals.”

“Roooroooo,” she croons, her tail whipping Jake in the face.

“Watch the tail,” Matt says. “It’s a lethal weapon.”

“Yeah, thanks,” Jake mutters, rubbing the welt.

“I think I found it,” Trevor says, grinning up at me. “Looks like your little girl’s becoming a woman, Chastity.”

“What are you talking about?” I ask, still petting Buttercup’s head.

“She’s in heat.”

“Yuck,” Jake offers, rising quickly and resuming his position on the couch.

“But she’s spayed!” I protest. “They said she was spayed!”

“That explains why she’s had a little life in her lately,” Matt observes. “Love is in the air and all that crap. No more dead water buffalo, right, Buttercup?”

The guys take their seats again, but I stay on the floor with my dog. Poor thing. Do dogs get cramps? Should I stay home and offer a hot water bottle, the way my mom used to do for me?

Damn that pound. I’ll have to call them in the morning and ask them to check her file. “What should I do about the bleeding?” I ask. “Any ideas?”

“I’ll take care of it,” Matt says, gazing at our dog. “You go, Chas. Have fun. Buttercup will be fine.”

Buttercup does seem fine…she rouses herself to bury her sizeable snout in Jake’s crotch. “Come on, dog!” he yelps.

“She’s looking for a mate, Jake. Just relax and let her finish,” I say, grinning.

“Makes you feel so dirty, doesn’t it?” Trevor says, his eyes laughing.

“She’s bleeding on me! Come on, guys, this is gross!” As Buttercup attempts to mount Jake’s leg, I decide yes, Matt can handle this. Checking my own jeans for blood and finding them clean (thank heavens), I stand up. “Okay. Thanks. Just make sure she stays inside. The last thing we want is for her to be knocked up.”

“SO, RYAN, ARE YOU A YANKEES fan?” I ask an hour later. My gaze keeps flickering to the TV in the bar half of Emo’s, but alas, I can’t see the score. Damn.

“No,” he says, smiling pleasantly. “I don’t really watch sports.” Problem. “But my father has season tickets at Yankee Stadium.” Problem solved! “Maybe we can go sometime, since you’re obviously a fan.”

“I’d love to,” I murmur demurely, already mentally reviewing the home-game schedule.

We’re sitting at a prime table overlooking the street. Emo’s is packed, the food is lovely, and Ryan kissed me when I met him here and apologized for not being able to pick me up. He’s very polite.

“I really enjoyed the article,” Ryan says.

“Great! I’m glad you liked it,” I reply. The truth is, I’d kind of forgotten about that article, being preoccupied with the hacking incident. So far, nothing else has happened. But Ryan’s article was pleasant if I do say so…no mention of any groin injuries and a nice picture of Ryan in his (yum) karate uniform. “It’s gotten good reviews.”