Call the Shots (Swim the Fly #3)(59)

Coop cracks up. “Are you jockin’ my taters, dawg? Everything is made better with nudity. Movies, car washes, skydiving, horseback riding, pizza delivery. I can’t think of a single thing that doesn’t become infinitely superior when you add nakedness into the mix.”

“Football,” Matt says.

Coop does a double take. “I’m sorry, what?”

“Football wouldn’t be better naked,” Matt answers. “Not on TV or playing it in Gym.”

“Especially flag football,” I add. “’Cause, where are you tuckin’ the flags?”

“We’re not talking about dudes, dudes. Why would you even go there?”

Matt shrugs. “Because you said everything is better with nudity. And I don’t agree.”

“Oh, really?” Coop smirks. “Ask some ladies if they wouldn’t prefer football if it was a bunch of buff naked dudes flip-flopping around the field. And what if it was guys versus girls in gym class? Now naked doesn’t sound so bad anymore, does it?”

I glance at my Death Star clock and see that it’s two forty-five. My stomach drops. “It’s, um . . . It’s . . . time.” I try to swallow but my throat is suddenly pasty and dry.

Coop looks at his cell phone. “Oh, shit. It is.” He hops off my bed. “Let’s rock and roll, dawgs.”

I force a smile. “Or, you know, we could just call the whole thing off.”

“Forget it,” Coop says. “This is going to be the best thing that’s ever happened to you. You have my word on that.”





A LITTLE OVER AN HOUR LATER, we reach the doors to the Rockville Mall. I stop dead and stare at the HOURS OF OPERATION stenciled there.

“Yeah, I can’t do this,” I say, my heart vibrating in my chest like a cell phone on steroids. “This is a stupid, stupid idea. Why the hell did I let you talk me into this?”

“Chillax. We’ve got everything timed out perfectly,” Coop assures. “Just stick to the plan, dude.”

“I’ve already forgotten the plan.” I’m starting to pit out the underarms of the fancy green button-up I put on especially for Leyna. “All I’ve got is radio static in my head. I need to end this.” I pull my phone from my pocket. “I’m just gonna call DeLuca’s and ask them to tell Leyna I got sick. And then I’ll text Evelyn the same thing.”

“Uh, I think it might be a little late for that,” Matt says.

“No, it isn’t.” I point to the time display on my phone. “It’s only three fifty. I’ve got ten minutes before —”

“Hey there, koala bear!”

I whip around to see Evelyn leaning out of the window of a beat-to-shit matte-black Mustang — with what look like bullet holes in the side — that’s parked in the passenger loading area.

Oh, crap.

She heaves open the creaky door and is out of the car and on me like a straitjacket before I know what’s happening.

“Look at you!” she squeals, stepping back and yanking open my winter coat. “Love the shirt! God! It’s like you get sexier every day.”

“You’re early,” I croak.

Evelyn laughs her hyena laugh. “By, like, ten minutes. But you’re early too, cuddle bear! Is that kismet or what?”

“Yeah,” I say. “Kismet.”

Nick, dressed in gray, black, and white urban camo, leans over from the driver’s side and waves through the open passenger-side window. “Hey, buddy. How’s it hangin’?”

“Uhhhh . . . good?” I say.

“Wish I could stick around and chat, but I’ve got a hot lead on the old man. Gotta check it out before the trail grows cold. I think I might have hit the jackpot this time.”

“Great.” I force a smile, remembering the heft of the Glock in my hand.

Nick points at me like the Uncle Sam I WANT YOU poster. “Don’t you keep our girl out too late, now, you hear, soldier? Don’t want to have to add you to the list of people I’m hunting down.” Nick laughs like this is hysterical.

“I won’t,” I say. “Keep her out late, I mean. You don’t have to . . . add me to your list . . . for hunting.” It’s like Niagara Falls in my armpits now.

“Good to hear. You keep it real, now.” He gives me a wave, then ducks back to the driver’s seat. The tires screech and smoke as he floors the gas.

Suddenly the car backfires and I hit the pavement, my jangled nerves reacting to the report.

“Just . . . testing my reflexes,” I say, slowly peeling myself off the ground and wiping the pebbles from my palms.

Evelyn laughs as she watches the Mustang go. “Nick’s rigged the car to do that on purpose. He thinks it’s funny.”

“Yeah, hilarious,” I say, my heart still lodged in my throat.

Evelyn turns to me, beaming. Then she looks over at Coop and Matt as if she’s only just noticed them. Her expression goes from thrilled to pissed in point-zero-five seconds. “Oh. I didn’t know we were having company.”

“They were just . . .” My stomach flip-flops. “I mean, we were just —”

“Matt’s been jonesin’ for a Wetzel’s Pretzel all week,” Coop says, throwing his arm around Matt. “He practically wetzels himself over the Sinful Cinnamon. Isn’t that right, Mattie?”