“What? Don’t jinx it dude. They’ve been alone this entire day while we were off at the game. They miss us. Gus will understand.”
I highly doubt it.
“And besides, I have an emergency contingency plan in place. Don’t you worry, it’ll be fine.”
I highly doubtthat, too.
When we get to an already crowded Yettie’s, I have to hold back a groan. Gus, the owner, pushes through the swinging doors, probably having spotted us approaching. He has his arms crossed, glare firmly in place on his rugged, handsome face.
Yup. It might’ve taken me twenty-one years to notice all the pretty men in my life, but Idefinitelysee them now. No one beats Jace, though. Not even if they have arms the size of tree trunks which are currently barring the damn door.
“No ducks allowed, Lamar. I told you that last week.”
“Ah, but Gussie, my man,” Lamar says with a grin, “they were starving of loneliness! We can’t leave them at home all night after being gone all day.”
“No. No fucking way. They shiteverywhere. Took me for-fucking-ever to clean up after them last week. I’mstillfinding poop stains in places I didn’t even know existed. One was on the soap dispenser, Lamar.The fucking soap dispenser.”
“I don’t see a sign that ducks are not allowed on the premises,” Lamar replies innocently. “Or in the bathroom, for that matter.”
Miles, Tuck, and I groan in tandem, but it quickly morphs into amused snickers when Gus steps aside and jabs a finger at the window, where a brand-newNo Duckssymbol is now proudly stuck. The big red slash across the cartoon duck is almost offensive.
Lamar gasps like the drama queen he is and covers Patrick’s eyes. “Oh, no youdidn’t.”
“That’s so cool. Where’d you get it?” Miles remarks with a big-ass grin.
“Ordered it on Etsy,” Gus deadpans before glaring at Lamar. “And yes. I fucking did. Now bring those two back to your—”
Before he can finish and ban us from his establishment, I step in, gently prying Patrice from my chest and plucking a happy Patrick from under Lamar’s arm before he can stop me.
“Come on, little guys,” I murmur, giving them each a little shake. “You know the way.”
Lamar’s jaw practically drops. “What are you doing, Tyler fuckingKing? Are you betraying me?”
“They can’t come in, and I’m not getting banned from the only place that serves cheese fries with extra bacon on my cheat day. I’m starving, Lam. We just spent four hours running across a field. I needcarbs.”
“Me too. Let them go, buddy,” Tuck chimes in before grabbing Lamar’s elbow, making him look down at him. He whispers something, heads close, and I use Lamar’s distraction—thank you, Tuck—to carry the ducks back to the curb where I crouch, setting them down on the warm concrete and giving them a little nudge. They ruffle their feathers, tilt their heads like they absolutely understand the assignment, because I know they do. They’re little smarty-pants, yes they are.
They’ve done this before, they know their way around. Last week, Lamar thought we lost them after he forgot to close the door of their enclosure he built at the back of the house. But then Mom called to say Manuel was complaining about having the damn ducks back in his pool again, so we drove home a couple of days ago to pick them up.
After one more affectionate little quack from Patrice, they walk off, wiggling their cute duck-butts before they flap their wings and lift off. Good little duckies.
“They’ll be home before us,” I say, watching them fly off toward our neighborhood.
Lamar punches me in the shoulder when I get back on the porch, hard. “Youexiledthem. They looked back. Did you see that? That was a final goodbye.”
“They’ll be fine,” I deadpan, holding the door open for my roommates. “Now come cry into a burger like a fucking normal person.”
He sighs, long and tragic. “They trusted us.”
“They also pooped in Gus’s mop bucket. Let’s go.”
As we step inside, Gus calls after us, voice thick with judgment. “If I see a single feather in that booth again, I’m installing motion sensors and getting a fucking cat.”
“Love you too, Gussie!” Lamar chirps as he brushes past.
We’re barely two steps in when he leans toward me, voice low and conspiratorial. “By the way… Meatball’s still in my hoodie.”
I stop pushing through the thick crowd. “You brought the guinea pig to Yettie’s?”
