Full Throttle(4)
“Freaky-deaky?” Dan grunted. “Wow, Steady. Spoken like a true prodigy.” But when he glanced toward Penni DePaul, the look he gave her exactly matched the one he’d given the beer only seconds ago. Two words: abject longing.
In true BKI form, Steady called Dan on his bullshit. “It’s obvious the woman puts you in a state of forlorn yearning, hermano. Like, seriously, I’m afraid if you don’t do something about it soon, I’ll find you locked in your room upstairs listening to Air Supply’s greatest hits.” Dan sent him a look meant to curdle his balls, and Steady shook his head, clapping a hand on the guy’s shoulder. “Besides, Patti wouldn’t want you to spend the rest of your life as a eunuch. She’d want you to be happy. She’d want—”
“No.” Dan shook his head. “It’s too soon.”
“That’s a pile of caca and you know it. It’s been almost two years since Patti’s accident.” Dan opened his mouth, but Steady preempted him. “And don’t give me that same old self-recriminating song and dance about it being your fault she’s gone. You know as well as I do the only person to blame for what happened to Patti was the guy who pulled the trigger on that sawgun. It’s time for you to move on. To start living again.” He let his gaze drift over to Agent DePaul. She was staring at Dan, her big brown eyes soft, concerned. Sí, she was exactly what Dan Man needed right now. Something comfortable and caring. Something sweet and willing. Something that wasn’t a memory. “And I think you should begin with pretty Agent Penni over there.”
Dan shrugged, a muscle in his jaw flexing. “I don’t care what you say. Two years is too damn soon. Besides, the similarity of their names is just…it’s weird, man. Patti spelled with an ‘I’ and Penni spelled with an ‘I.’ I’d probably end up calling her by the wrong name in the heat of things, and how awful would that be? For both of us.” He feigned a shudder.
There were times, like now, when Dan Man’s Michigan accent really showed, adding an “L” to the word both until it sounded more like bolth. Steady sat back, crossing his arms over his chest, sucking in the bar air, which was a combination of Red Bull, whiskey, and high-priced perfume. He tried to decide what to say next. But before he opened his mouth to recite another platitude about it being time to carpe diem and whatnot, Ozzie arrived on the scene.
Throwing an arm around each of their shoulders and flashing that white-toothed grin guaranteed to make panties drop in two seconds flat, Ozzie leaned in and whispered conspiratorially, “Guess what’s in my pocket, boys?” He wiggled his eyebrows. “Why, it’s the room key of a certain delectable little government agent who’ll wake up tomorrow morning completely ruined for all other men!”
“For Chrissakes, Ozzie,” Dan grumbled, staring at the ice in his glass like he was attempting to melt it with his gaze. “You’re an ass. Like, seriously, one or two chromosomes away from a farmhouse donkey.”
“Aw, listen to you sweet-talking me,” Ozzie quipped right back. “But don’t roofie me and call it romance. Besides, it takes one to know one.”
Dan turned to glare. “How do you figure?”
“Only an ass would pass on the invitation in the eyes of that tall drink of Secret Service agent over there.” Ozzie hooked a thumb toward the table where Penni had joined Julia.
“Dan says it’s too soon,” Steady informed him.
“Hmm,” Ozzie hummed. “Well, one of the things I’ve learned in life is that bullshit stinks. And, dude, what just came out of your mouth reeks like week-old sushi wrapped in unwashed gym socks.”
“That’s what I’ve been saying,” Steady agreed.
“Oh, fuck off, you two,” Dan harrumphed. “Stop talking about me like I’m not here. And besides, I’m not interested in Penni DePaul.”
Steady and Ozzie exchanged a look that called Dan a raging mentiroso—a liar. Dan caught them. “I’m not,” he insisted a little too forcefully. And then the truth of the matter came out. “Anyway, I wouldn’t have the first clue what to do. I haven’t tried to seduce a woman in more than a decade.”
“Well, you’re lucky the role of wingman is right in my wheelhouse,” Ozzie boasted, slapping him on the back before turning toward the women. “Come dance with us, ladies!” he crowed, grabbing Dan’s arm and hauling him off the barstool. “We have grind on the mind! And we plan to make good on the impulse until you’re forced to head upstairs in an hour to make your curfew.”