Anything but Love (Wingmen #3)

by Daisy Prescott

  “No, we could create a special coffee blend.”

  “Hot Ass Guy seems to be a popular hashtag.”

  “I’m thinking we should avoid using the word ‘ass’ in the name. Don’t want people to start saying our coffee tastes like ass.”

  I chuckle at his joke. “You’re right.”

  “Don’t laugh. It’s a terrible name for coffee.”

  “I’ll call Roslyn and run it by her.”

  “I wouldn’t bring up the ass blend.” He pushes away from the counter and stretches his arms over his head. “I’m going to make some deliveries to the huts. You can handle things here?”

  “Unless we’re attacked by zombies, I should be able to manage.” I think about Cari’s first visit and my T-shirt defense. I haven’t felt or heard any text notifications, but I pull out my phone to check.

  Nothing.

  Okay, girls, hang onto your ovaries if you have them!

  THERE. IS. A. BROTHER.

  The Kelso gene pool is open for group swim.

  Adult swim only, kiddos.

  Turns out Erik Kelso is the runt of the litter. He has an older brother.

  THERE. ARE. TWO. OF. THEM.

  Double the trouble? Double the pleasure? Both?

  What are they putting in their drinking water on that island?

  LOLZLOLZ

  Smooches,

  Gomez

  “ARE YOU INTERESTED in pursuing endorsements or licensing?” Roslyn asks, getting right to business as soon as she answers her phone.

  “Hello to you, too. Does anyone ever call you Ros?” I make small talk.

  “Hello. No. Focus, Erik.”

  I love her stern side. “Are those options?”

  “Do you not read my email attachments? I sent you a list of companies who want to use your ass to sell their products.”

  “I didn’t open it. I’ve been trying to ignore the rest of the world about all this.”

  “Quit being an ostrich. If you want to use this as an opportunity rather than a tragedy, you need to start saying yes while there’s still interest. Any day now some other poor schmo will go viral, and your angle of being the hot, normal guy shoved reluctantly into the spotlight will be as trendy as Psy.”

  “What?”

  “Not what, who.”

  “Who is Psy?”

  “Gangnam Style ring a bell?”

  “Oh.”

  “Point made. Look at the list I sent you and let me know if any of the brands appeal to you.”

  “Jonah and I talked about doing a special coffee blend.”

  “Do it. Yesterday.”

  “We’re not sure what to call it.”

  “Nothing that will make people think of ass. No one wants to drink a coffee that reminds them of ass. Trust me.”

  “What about Naked Blend? Sounds pure and simple.”

  “Hmmm . . .”

  I wait for her to think about it.

  “Might work. Let me give this a think and I’ll get back to you. Chat tomorrow?”

  “Kelso, Kelso, Kelso. I’m so sick of that name. Erik is really frying my potatoes,” Tom whines like an unhappy toddler.

  I’m eavesdropping on John and Tom out on the deck of John’s beach cabin.

  “Who says ‘frying my potatoes’ like it’s a thing? You sound like an old man,” John says.

  “It’s a Pops’ expression.”

  “Are you making french fries?”

  “It’s not a good thing.”

  “Gotcha. That’s never going to become a real saying, you know.”

  “Fuck if I care. The point is, Kelso’s on my last nerve.”

  “Is it Erik or all the attention he’s getting?” John asks.

  “Damn Kelso brothers,” Tom grumbles.

  “You sound like a grumpy old man.”

  “I am grumpy. What did they ever do worth anything?”

  “Erik’s working his ass off with Jonah.”

  “Did you have to say ass?”

  “Sorry. It just slipped in there.” John’s deep laugh sets off Tom’s chuckle.

  “That’s what he said,” I mumble from my hidey spot in the living room. I’m not really hiding. John invited me over to watch a Mariners’ game. Carter’s coming later and Dan’s bringing pizza.

  I haven’t seen or spoken to Cari since Gomez posted about the threesome in Cabo. I texted her it never happened and she should know since that night I was too busy getting punched by her ex.

  No reply.

  It’s making me cranky. Not potato frying level, but close.

  Dan walks in with three boxes and a growler from Double-Bluff Brewing. “Hey, Erik. How’s it goin’?”

  I jump up from my chair, feeling guilty for listening in on the conversation, even if it is about me.

  “It’s going. How’s the pizza business?”

  “Rolling in dough.”

  I groan at his pun.

  “Where are the women?” Carter asks upon arriving with his half-rack of Alaskan Amber.

  “It’s baseball. They’re pretty much anywhere but here.”

  “Hailey and her mom took Diane for pedicures.”

  “When’s the baby due?” Last time I saw her, Diane looked ready to burst with an alien parasite.

  “Her official date is next Saturday, but it could be any day now.” John sips his beer and picks at the label.

  “You ready?” Dan asks.

  “Ha ha ha. No. I mean, we have the crib and all the furniture set up in the nursery, but bringing home a newborn? No way.”

  “You’ll be fine. Be there for Diane. That’s your job.” Dan pats John on the shoulder. “Change a diaper or two.”

  The rest of us gag.

  “Be real men. It’s a diaper. You’ve probably gutted fish and scalped crabs without blinking.”

  “I stepped in dog shit barefoot last week,” Tom contributes.

  Carter gags again. “You didn’t need to share that with the class, did you?”

  “Well, my appetite is gone.” John slides his plate farther away on the coffee table.

  We settle into our seats to watch the game and the conversation turns to sports talk. It’s the National Man Language of the country.

  Mariners are up by one run in the top of the seventh inning when John’s cell rings. About five seconds later, Tom’s phone rings.

  Panic ensues.

  Diane’s in labor.

  I hide out in the kitchen while John and Tom pace around in circles locating keys and wallets with their phones stuck to their ears.

  “I need to find my phone. Have you seen it?” John asks me.

  I point to my ear.

  “Oh, right. I’m on my phone. No, honey, I knew that. I didn’t forget I was talking to you. We’re on our way. I’ll call your parents. Right. Where’s the bag? Hallway. Our hallway? Right. Of course. Love you.”

  Dan’s wrong about this “just a baby” nonsense.

  The kid hasn’t even been born yet and it’s taken down a man the size of a hemlock.

  John and Tom bump into each other twice, the counter and a wall once before making it out the door. Dan, Carter, and I are left to see ourselves out.

  “Let’s clean up the mess.” Dan picks up two glasses and a pizza box.

  “Can we finish watching the game?” Carter doesn’t move from his chair. “Why should we miss the rest?”

  “He has a good point.” I open the fridge. “Plus, we still have beer.”

  “I’ll take one,” Carter calls out.

  “Okay, why not.”

  I pull out three bottles and open them.

  We resume our seats on the couch. Carter chomps on another slice of jalapeño and pineapple pizza.

  “What’s new with the media stuff?” Dan asks during a commercial.

  “Carter’s been discovered. It’s his big moment in the spotlight.”

  Grinning, Carter rolls back his shoulder. “’Bout damn time the handsome one gets some love.”

  “Thi
nk you can handle the attention?” Dan smirks. “Better than your brother?”

  “Hey, I’ve done okay,” I say.

  Dan raises an eyebrow at me. “Partnergate?”

  “Right. After that. Roslyn’s been great.”

  “You’re welcome,” Dan says for me.

  “Who’s Roslyn? Is she hot?” Carter asks.

  “I’ve never met her. I guess only Dan can answer that question.”

  We both turn to face Dan.

  He frowns and squints, lowering his eyebrows over his dark eyes. “I suppose objectively you could say she’s attractive.”

  “What does that even mean?” Carter asks. “And why do you look pissed about it?”

  “She’s beautiful. Objectively speaking.”

  Carter doesn’t pick up on Dan’s tone ending the conversation. “Is she single?”

  “She’s not your type.”

  “How do you know what my type is?”

  “I misspoke. You’re not her type.”

  “She doesn’t like good-looking, fit, All American guys?”

  “Not unless they’re also millionaires. Billionaires preferred.”

  “Remind me how she knows a pizza guy from Freeland?” I ask.

  “Long story.” He drains half his beer.

  “Why is she helping Erik? I assume she’s not getting paid. Right, bro?” Carter asks.

  “I asked her how much she cost and she told me not to worry about it.”

  “I called in a favor. Don’t worry about it.”

  “Wow. Thank you.” What sort of favor did Dan have to call in with a fancy publicist? Free pizza for life? I’d probably say yes to his pizza, too.

  Hello, my pretties.

  Haven’t had an update on our favorite HAG lately.

  Where is he? Where could he have gone? He’s on an island, FFS. How many nooks and crannies can he find to hide in? No new pics makes Gomez a very sad boy.

  I miss you, Hot Ass Guy.

  Call me?

  Smooches,

  Gomez

  “YOU HEAR THE news about John Day’s baby?” Olaf sets down my beer.

  “The baby? You know he didn’t actually birth it, right?” Everyone is buzzing about the arrival of Baby Day. I expect John to walk out on the Useless Bay tide flat and present the baby to the sea while we all cheer and sing “Circle of Life.” I wouldn’t put the idea past him.

  “The miracle of life is no place for your sarcasm.” Olaf slaps his towel on the bar, making me jump. “Alene’s a beautiful, sweet, perfect baby.”

  “You grow a real human heart, O? Did you ask the wizard for it?”

  “If babies don’t bring you joy, you don’t have a soul.”

  “Soul or not, going crazy over a newborn is something women do.”

  “You’ll change your mind when it’s your own kid. You should be as lucky as John.”

  Diane’s an amazing woman, and I’m not just saying that because she teaches Pilates and has an incredible body. Still, John’s going to change now that he’s married with a kid. It happens. He’ll be too busy for pool nights at the Dog House. Or he’ll be on kid duty during the games, so he can’t have the guys over for fear they’ll get too loud and wake the baby.

  All baby stuff, all the time.

  Tom Cat will be next. I’d put money on it. “Yeah, sure. We should start a pool on when Tom’s going to knock up Hailey King.”

  “No gambling in here. Those days are over.” Olaf scoots himself around the end of the bar and opens the walk-in fridge.

  I chuckle at his serious response. I’m not talking about running a bookie operation upstairs. I’d bet money Connie, Sally, or Sandy has a pool started already.

  I check my phone.

  Carter is late.

  I’m stuck here making small talk with Olaf.

  I check my phone again. No texts or emails. I pull up the Gomez site. No crazy posts aimed at me today. Apparently a major Hollywood actor got busted trying to bring his dog to Hawaii.

  Nothing better to do, I open Instagram. I haven’t posted anything in over a month. My stout and the wood bar are both a deep brown, but there is a shaft of sunlight creating a nice shadow effect.

  I snap the picture and add the caption: “Even when I’m not in trouble, I’m in the Dog House.”

  Smiling at my cleverness, I post it.

  That should make Jonah happy.

  The quiet of Olaf muttering is broken by a group of women entering the bar. They stand by the swinging saloon doors, blinking in the darkness until their eyes adjust.

  “We don’t serve wine,” Olaf says. “You want the tasting room down the street.”

  They giggle and stare at me for a minute.

  “It’s okay.” One shoves another in front of her to the far side of the room where a couple of tables sit against the wall. “We’ll have whatever he’s having.”

  The skin on my neck tingles. I spin on my stool and face the bar. There is an old, cloudy mirror behind the glass racks. Through it I can barely see myself, and nothing behind me. What’s the point of a mirror over a bar if it doesn’t work to slyly check out the rest of the room?

  Olaf pours a pitcher of stout and grabs four glasses while mumbling, “Tourists.”

  His bad attitude makes me laugh. We both know without tourists most businesses around here couldn’t stay afloat on just local customers. Whether or not we admit it, we need them.

  He takes the pitcher over to the table and asks if they want to start a tab.

  I pick up my phone again and recheck my texts. A new one from Roslyn pops up.

  *Nice beer. Hope you posted that as a latergram. #Location*

  I have no idea what she means by either the latergram or her hashtag.

  The bell above the door jingles and a couple of women’s whispering voices follows it.

  “We don’t serve food,” Olaf greets them. “Or fancy cocktails.”

  “Oh, that’s okay. We’re fine with soda.” Behind me chairs scrape across the floor.

  Olaf rambles off a list of pops on tap.

  “This look like a soda fountain to you, Kelso?” He scowls at me while scooping ice into two pint glasses.

  “Smells like a bar to me.” I type a response to Roslyn, thinking I’ve figured out her cryptic message.

  *I’m in a bar called the Dog House. Get it?*

  She responds right away.

  *Duh. Your location is set to public. Please tell me you’re not sitting there right now.*

  Sure enough at the top of my photo it says The Dog House, Langley. Huh. I had no idea. I let her know I figured it out.

  *Cool. Haven’t finished my beer. Meeting Carter.*

  *Run, you fool.*

  I laugh and set my phone on the bar.

  Carter slaps the glass and startles Olaf.

  “Goddamn it. Look at that greasy handprint. I just cleaned those windows.”

  “Hey, O. How’s my favorite Snowman?” Carter takes the stool next to mine.

  “Fucking Frozen. Man goes almost sixty years having a regular name and then Disney ruins his life. Now I know how all those poor saps named Mickey feel.”

  Carter raises an eyebrow and steals my beer. Sipping it, he checks out the rest of the bar.

  “Do you think it’s weird we’re the only two guys in here this afternoon?”

  “I hadn’t noticed. Place was empty when I got here. Maybe it’s one of those girls’ weekends?”

  “Maybe, but don’t they normally hang out at the wine bars and wineries?”

  “That’s what I said.” Olaf sets a pint in front of Carter, not bothering to ask him what he wants.

  The door opens again and a cloud of sweet perfume blows into the bar.

  If this were a horror movie, leaves would rattle and scatter across the worn wood floors ahead of a cold breeze. Curious, I turn around to make sure a wraith or Death Eater isn’t loitering on the threshold.

  Instead, a group of three young women stand in the veal crate. They d
on’t look old enough to legally drink.

  “You have ID? ’Cause we card.” Olaf leans forward on the bar, looking intimidating.

  “I told you this was a bar,” the youngest looking of the girls says to her friend, who is staring at me.

  “No harm in us hanging out on the benches outside, is there?”

  “No loitering.” Olaf glowers at them. “Nice girls don’t hang out in front of bars.”

  One squeaks and scampers out the door.

  “You’re in a mood today,” I say, feeling some sympathy for him. “Pour me another one. I gotta see a man about a geoduck.”

  I give a nod and a smile to the table of four women. They look like sweet ladies. Probably in a book club together.

  In the can I step into the stall to do my business. I chuckle over the thought of the Dog House turning into another she-wolf den. I think Olaf’s head might explode if that happened. As I’m washing my hands, the door opens. I expect Carter. Or Olaf. When I don’t hear a greeting or footsteps, I turn.

  Standing in the door is a petite brunette with wide eyes and a blush covering her cheeks.

  “Looks like you’re lost. Easy to do with the dark hallway.” I point to the urinal. “You’re in the men’s room.”

  Then I notice she’s holding her phone, but she’s not talking on it.

  That’s odd.

  “Oh, I get it. There’s a line for the ladies? I’m done in here. Have at it, but the door doesn’t lock.” I wipe my hands on some paper towels and toss them in the trash as I move to get past her in the door.

  “Okay,” she says.

  Definitely a tourist.

  I resume my seat and take a sip of my fresh pint.

  “You’re phone’s been vibrating all over the bar.” Carter holds it up for me. “Why is Ashley texting you?”

  “I have no idea. If you hand me my phone, I’ll answer that question for you.”

  *GET OUT!*

  *YOU IDIOT*

  “She’s shouty capping me.” I show him my screen.

  “What do you think it means?”

  “Maybe something with Gomez? Although I checked it when I got here and didn’t see anything new.”

  “Text Ashley back and find out. Even better, invite her down here to join us.”

  “So transparent, brother of mine.”

  *What’s with the SHOUTY CAPS? Sounds like you could use a drink. Carter and I are at the Dog. I’ll even buy you a pint.*