Wasn’t that the trading card game some of the younger kids played at recess? Adults played that too? Before she could ask, the mouse raced along the wall and headed behind her refrigerator. What if it got inside the refrigerator? What if she opened her pasta salad and found a dead mouse in there?
“There’s a giant rat!” she exclaimed. “Can you come over?”
“I’ll be right over,” Dave said. “Don’t worry. I’ve had a lot of experience with rats in Brooklyn.”
“Bless you.”
A short while later, Dave arrived, her hero. She hugged him. “It’s in the kitchen.”
“Where’s your broom?” he asked.
“In the closet in the kitchen. Can you get it? I don’t want to go in there.”
He nodded once and got the broom. He wielded it like a weapon.
“What are you going to do?” she asked from a safe distance.
“I’m going to kill it.”
“You can’t kill it! Just get it out of here.”
“These things spread diseases. Believe me, you want it gone.”
“It might be a mouse,” she said. “Actually, I’m sure it’s a mouse. I know I said it was a rat because it’s huge, but it just seems huge because it’s touching my stuff.” A flash of gray went past. “There it is!”
Dave took off, swiping at the mouse, which led him on a merry chase around the apartment. Loki watched from a safe distance, looking terrified.
Steph got on the sofa and pulled her legs up so the mouse wouldn’t accidentally run over her foot again. Dave trapped it by the sofa when it ran underneath.
Steph jumped up. “Ah! Dave!” she screamed.
Someone pounded on the door. “Steph! Are you okay?”
Griff?
“Dave!” she hollered again. The mouse had reappeared on the other side of the sofa.
Dave came flying toward her, and the broom bumped into her calf with a whack.
“Ow!” Steph cried.
“Steph! Let me in!” Griff hollered. “I’ll break this door down.” A hard thump sounded on the front door.
“Dave!” she screamed, pointing to where the mouse was now hovering by the wall.
The front door thumped again. Steph tore her gaze from the mouse. Another thump. The wooden door actually bulged. Shit. He really was going to break the door down. Steph ran to the front door and flung it open. Griff came tumbling in just as Dave ran by with the broom after the mouse that was heading for her bedroom again.
“Get it!” she screamed. “Don’t let it touch my bed!”
“What is going on here?” Griff asked. “I thought you were in trouble.”
Steph spared him a quick glance while she gathered all the oranges off the floor before Dave killed himself on them. “Dave’s trying to catch the mouse that just ran into my bedroom!”
Griff nodded. “I got this.”
He left. She could hear Dave banging around in her bedroom as the broom thwacked the floor and walls. The mouse tore out of there. She jumped back on the sofa to find Loki trembling in fear. She scooped up the cat and stroked his quivering body. “You are the worst hunter ever, Loki.”
Loki made no reply.
Griff returned with a baseball bat.
“Omigod, Griff, what are you doing?” Steph asked. “Where did you get that?”
“Your neighbor. I’m going to get the mouse.”
She watched in horror as both Dave and Griff chased the mouse around the apartment, wooden bat and broom swinging wildly. Dave swung the broom down just as Griff swung the bat, nearly taking out Dave’s ankle.
“Guys, stop!” Steph exclaimed. “You can’t both hunt the mouse. You’re going to hurt each other.”
“I’ll do it,” Dave said. His eyes never left his prey.
“I got it, honey,” Griff said, charging toward her bedroom.
She heard a scuffle, several thumps, and a whack as the bat hit wood. “Don’t destroy my furniture, Griff!”
Suddenly a flash of gray zipped close by her feet, which was enough to prompt Loki to leap out of her arms and run in the opposite direction. The cat ran toward the bedroom just as Dave and Griff tried to get through the doorway at the same time. The cat tripped Griff, who knocked into Dave, and they both went face first to the floor.
She looked wildly around for the mouse and saw it heading down the apartment hallway just outside of her front door that Griff had forgotten to close. She leaped for the front door, slammed it closed, and blocked the crack with the blanket.
“It’s gone!” she declared.
“Get off me,” Dave said.
Griff and Dave untangled from each other and stood.
Steph took a deep, calming breath. “That was exciting.”
She took the bat and broom from the two men. “Thanks for helping,” she said. She peered behind them into her bedroom. There was a splinter in the post of the footboard.
“Griff, you ruined my bed frame,” she said.
“That’s why a broom is better,” Dave said.
“I’ll buy you a new one,” Griff said.
“What are you doing here?” she asked Griff.
He looked uneasy for a moment, but quickly recovered. “I made us reservations for lunch at Grinaldi's in the city tomorrow. I stopped by to see if you’d go. For old times’ sake. I got us a table with an amazing skyline view.”
Grinaldi’s was one of the top restaurants in the city, and the place to see and be seen. Celebrities flocked to the restaurant that took up the top floor of the Metro Six building. Still, Steph was suspicious. He could’ve called for that invitation. He had to have been camped out close by.
She shook her head.
Dave piped up. “Old times are dead and gone.”
Griff’s head whipped around. “I deserve at least one meal with my wife. We have things to talk about.”
“Then you should’ve called her at least once in the last five years,” Dave said.
The two men glared at each other. The testosterone level rose in the room.
“Everyone calm down,” Steph said. “Griff, no, but thanks. I have plans with Dave.” She didn’t, but he didn’t know that.
“She’s got plans with me,” Dave immediately agreed.
“Have a good trip tomorrow,” Steph said to Griff. “Be a stranger, would ya?”
Griff turned to Dave with a murderous look. “What kind of plans?”
The corner of Dave’s mouth lifted. “Wouldn’t you like to know?”
Griff got in Dave’s face. “I have a right to know. A husband’s right.”
Dave didn’t back down. “You have zero rights,” he barked. “Less than zero. Zilch.”
“I’m not leaving until Steph and I talk,” Griff snarled.
“Oh, you’re leaving all right,” Dave said, grabbing Griff’s arm and escorting him to the door. Griff shook him off and shoved him hard. Dave stumbled backward.
“Griff, stop!” Steph said. “No fighting.”
Dave rushed forward and shoved Griff, who stumbled back into the door. Steph’s eyes widened.
“I said no fighting!” she hollered.
The two men circled each other. Dave held both fists up like a boxer and started bobbing and weaving. Steph groaned. This could not end well.
“Both of you out,” she said. “If you’re going to beat up on each other, I don’t want to see it.” She grabbed both their arms and pushed them out the door.
“But, Steph,” Dave said.
“Come on,” Griff said.
“Out,” she said before she shut the door and locked it. She sank against the door, exhausted. She hoped they would calm down without her as a witness. She figured it was their pride and ego they were trying to preserve in front of her.
She really did not need to see Dave get his ass kicked.
~ ~ ~
Dave stood on the sidewalk for a moment, unsure if he should go back for Steph or give her some space. He’d only gone to Pokémon night because Steph was
going to girls’ night. Also, he figured he could ask the guys what they thought his next move should be. He had zero ideas. How could he? He’d never had to compete with a famous rock star before. Unfortunately, his guy friends had even less of a clue than he had with women. Frank had suggested inviting her to Pokémon night, but Dave suspected that was because Frank wanted a beautiful woman there. He’d been single for a couple of years now and would likely hit on Steph. Andy had suggested giving her a puppy, but she already had a cat. Kyle suggested Dave cook her dinner and had even given him The Player’s Guide to Eating In from his own bookshelf. Except Dave couldn’t cook. He usually got four orders of chicken with mixed vegetables from Sunny Garden and ate that all week. The mouse had been the perfect excuse to both look like a hero to Steph and hang out with her. Until Griffin arrived.
“Hey, you want to get a beer?” Griffin called.
Dave's jaw dropped. Griffin slouched against the limo, hands in his pockets.
“With you?” Dave asked.
“Yeah, we'll work things out. Easier over a beer, don't you think?”
Dave was suspicious, but he'd do just about anything to get things back on track with Steph. “All right.”
They walked the few blocks to Garner’s bar in silence. Griffin claimed a couple of seats at the bar. Soon a crowd had gathered, all women, fawning over Griffin. The guy didn't invent anything great like nanotechnology or even rock ’n’ roll. Griffin signed autographs and took some pictures with the locals.
Dave nursed a beer, ready to bail on this whole working-things-out idea. Only his love for Steph kept him glued to the barstool next to the puffed-up singer. A long, boring time later, Griffin finally remembered Dave.
“That's all for now, folks,” Griffin said. “I'm here to catch up with my old pal Dave.”
The crowd reluctantly dispersed. A beautiful redhead gave Griffin a napkin with her number while she leaned in close and whispered something in his ear. Griffin grinned, tucked the napkin in his pocket, and gave her a little wave goodbye.
“Nice,” Dave muttered under his breath. Real husband material. The guy definitely didn't deserve Steph.
Griffin eyed Dave. “So, tell me about you, Dave.”
Dave was taken aback. “What do you want to know?”
Griffin took a pull on his beer. “What does Steph see in you?”
He considered the question. “I'm a nice guy. Women like that.”
Griffin raised a skeptical brow. “Yeah? No offense, but you seem like a bit of a wimp to me.”
“No offense, but you seem like a bit of an asshole to me.”
Griffin smiled and chugged down his beer. “Two shots of whiskey,” he said to the bartender. “Let's make this interesting. See who's man enough to do the most shots.”
“That's juvenile,” Dave said. “I'm fine with just my beer.”
The shots arrived pronto.
“Wimp.” Griffin took a shot and slammed the shot glass on the bar. “Another.” The bartender put another one in front of him. “Too bad you haven't got the balls to do a shot.”
“Oh, I've got balls all right. Two huge ones.” Not really. Dave grabbed the shot glass, tossed back the whiskey, and immediately started coughing as it burned its way down his throat. He bit back an exclamation and shook his head in a way he hoped passed for manly.
Griffin finished his second shot and eyed Dave. “If I hadn't gone on tour, you never would've been able to steal my woman.”
Dave tapped his finger for another shot, already feeling more ballsy. The next shot arrived and Dave did that one with a minimal amount of coughing and pounding of chest. “You know what your problem is?” he asked Griffin in a loud voice.
Griffin raised a brow. “What’s my problem, Dave?” he drawled.
“Too much touring, too little Steph.” He grinned, the whiskey giving him more confidence. He was the guy for Steph, not Griffin. “I didn’t steal her. She wasn’t yours. You don’t have a woman.” He leaned closer to bring his point home. “At all.”
“Oh, I've had women,” Griffin growled. He turned to the bartender. “Four more, barkeep.”
Dave's temper kicked up into the red zone. Griffin had all those women while he was still married to Steph. “I'll just bet you have. But not Steph. She's mine.”
The shots arrived. Dave did another one and wiped his mouth. Shit. He felt light-headed. He grabbed some pretzels from the bowl sitting on the bar and shoved them in his mouth. The pretzels would absorb the alcohol. “And I've got something else you haven't got,” he said over the pretzels in his mouth.
Griffin did another shot and gave him a sideways glance. “What's that, hotshot?”
Dave's tongue felt too big for his mouth. He finished another shot, wolfing down the pretzels. The words came slowly. “Numerical prowess. What's seven hundred thirty-one times fifty-seven?”
Griffin barked out a laugh. “You think Steph cares about that?”
Dave's words slurred, but he got them out. “Forty one thousand six hundred sixty-seven.”
Griffin snorted. “Try woman prowess. That's what women like. They want a guy who knows what they're doing. Like I know all of Steph's hot spots. I'll bet you haven't even found the sweet spot yet, have you?”
The words hung in the air between them.
Griffin smirked. “I knew it!”
Dave launched himself at Griffin. They hit the ground, the wooden barstools flying across the room. They rolled all over the floor, a tangle of limbs. Dave had Griffin's long hair fisted in one hand, and he struggled to get his other arm out of Griffin's ironclad grip so he could get in one good punch to that pretty boy's face.
“Whoa, Griffin Huntley's in a bar fight,” someone yelled. “Say cheese.” A flash went off.
They rolled some more. More flashes went off. Some beeps too as cell phones recorded the epic event. Ha! Dave thought, somewhat deliriously. This will be all over the tabloids. I’ll definitely be called to the principal’s office!
Griffin loosened his grip on Dave to glare at the crowd hovering nearby. “No pictures!” Griffin hollered. “No video!”
Dave took advantage of the distraction and rolled off Griffin, intent on getting away from the man he never should’ve taken on, when his elbow accidentally hit Griffin in the face. Suddenly blood spurted out of Griffin’s nose.
“You broke my nose!” Griffin screamed. He staggered to his feet. Someone handed him a napkin, and he tilted his head back, trying to stop the bleeding.
Dave stood, horrified. “I didn’t…” He trailed off as the blood oozed through the white napkin, making him feel woozy. “Shit,” he said before he passed out.
When he came to, Griffin was glaring at him, holding an ice pack to his nose, and a tough-looking police officer was staring down at him.
“Can you stand?” the cop asked.
Dave stood, veering unsteadily to the side. The cop’s name tag said R. O’Hare. R. O’Hare was going to arrest him. Him, a respectable teacher, in jail. He felt a little woozy again. He focused away from the sharp eyes of the cop, willing himself to stay upright.
“You two are spending the night in a very special place where you can cool off,” R. O’Hare said.
“I'm not going anywhere,” Griffin said in a big show of tough-guy bravado that Dave felt was ill-advised, even in his barely coherent state.
R. O’Hare was unimpressed. “We've already got drunken and disorderly conduct and disturbing the peace. You want to add some more charges to the list?” At Griffin’s silence, R. O’Hare jerked his head to the door. “Didn’t think so. Let’s go.”
Dave went peacefully.
“I want a lawyer,” Griffin said, digging in his heels.
“You’ll get your phone call,” R. O’Hare said. “Now let’s go,” he bit out, “or do I need to cuff you?” He glanced meaningfully around at all the patrons eagerly watching the scene.
Griffin went. R. O’Hare ushered them into the back of his police car and made the short dr
ive to the Clover Park police station.
“What do we have here, Chief?” another cop asked.
“Two drunk idiots. Put them in the holding cell to sober up.”
Dave would’ve normally been mortified to be in jail, terrified to be locked up with his arch enemy, but he was much too busy trying not to puke.
Chapter Seven
Steph showed up at the Clover Park police station at six a.m. Saturday morning to talk to the two men that were a complete embarrassment to the male species and to her. Dave had called her last night making absolutely no sense. He just kept repeating, “I’m in jail, and I love your hair.” Finally he must’ve handed the phone over because then Ryan O’Hare explained the situation. They’d agreed it was better to let the pair sober up overnight before letting them loose on Clover Park. Jaz had called right after. Her sister, Zoe, had been waitressing at Garner’s and had seen the whole thing. Jaz told her all about how Dave had kicked Griff’s ass. What did it say about Steph that she felt a little thrill that Dave had fought for her and won?
She should be furious with both of them for such a display. For getting shit-faced together. What were they doing together in the first place? This whole thing made her realize that the two men she’d thought were so different, actually had something more than just her in common. Griff had this alpha male thing going on with a hidden sweet side while Dave had a sweet personality with a hidden alpha. She'd thought she was getting the opposite of Griff with Dave, but now she wasn't so sure.
She pushed past a group of reporters that hovered by the entrance of the town's police station and, finding the front door locked, rang the buzzer to be let in.
The deputy on duty, Matt, let her in, and the door locked shut behind her. “Those reporters showed up awful early,” Matt said.
“Vultures,” Steph said.
“They're in the holding cell in the basement.” Matt gestured for her to follow. “Chief O’Hare’s got no patience for drunks. These two passed out shortly after they got in.”
She walked downstairs into a damp, dimly lit basement with one jail cell. Kinda creepy. She peered in the cell. Griff was sprawled on the cot, hands behind his head, looking for all the world like he was relaxing poolside. Dave was sitting on a wooden bench, head in his hands.
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