Page 83 of Down and Dirty

“And what’s with the you-and-Sammy business? What am I? A potted plant?”

“A pretty potted plant. Jeesh, are those leather pants you’re wearing? I didn’t think anyone other than rock stars and gay men wore leather.” Danny smiled at him.

“They’re faux leather, and they’re the latest style.”

“I have a pair,” his father said.

Forget faux leather; that was a designer faux pas he and Danny could not imagine, as evidenced by their exchange of horrified looks.

“Anyhow, Sammy and I are giving you a break,” Danny continued. “Go out and take a breather. Drink a beer. Relax.” He checked his watch and added, “I give you five hours before curfew, big boy.”

“I don’t know.”

“This is the last time I’ll be able to help out for a while,” Danny said. “My leave is over tomorrow.”

“Take him up on the offer,” his dad advised. “He can take two of my guards with him. You need some free time, son.”

“I think you should go find Britta and boink her a bunch of times,” Sammy said around a mouthful of garlic bread.

The entire table went silent.

Finally, Zach choked out, “I beg your pardon.”

“What? Why’s everyone starin’ at me? You and me need someone to take care of us, Dad.”

Zach’s heart lurched. It was the first time he’d heard Sammy call him Dad.

“You’re grouchy all the time, and Britta tells good bedtime stories, and she’s nice-looking, even if she is big and talks funny.” Sammy was on a roll. “And Uncle Dan says the best way to make a woman fall for you is to boink her till her eyeballs roll.”

His father stopped chewing his chicken cacciatore.

Bridget giggled.

Danny grinned shamelessly.

“Oh. My. God!” He wondered with hysterical irrelevance if Sammy even knew what boinking was.

And soon found out.

Leaning in close to Zach’s ear, Sammy told him, “Boinking is lotsa yucky kissin’.”

Everyone turned to stare at Danny, who shrugged. “From the mouths of babes.”

Chapter 15

Who needs you, baby? I got chums…

It was nine o’clock before Zach arrived at the Wet and Wild, and the bar was rocking in its usual Friday-night, wall-shaking, yee-haw style.

Bypassing the T-shirt spraying machine at the door, a politically incorrect attraction that drew women as well as men, he made his way through the crowd toward the bar. The band, Bad Love, a favorite of patrons from the naval base, played a mix of country and classic rock. Right now it was a raucous version of Garth Brooks’s “I’ve Got Friends in Low Places,” to which the customers sang along, taking particular delight in the low octaves of low places. Next came “Working for the Weekend,” then “We Gotta Get Outta This Place.” It was a wild bunch tonight, singing, shouting, and of course drinking.

He found a spot at the bar and waved at Bo Anders, a bald-headed weekend biker fanatic who had been a bartender at the Wet and Wild for as long as Zach could remember.

“Hey, Pretty Boy, haven’t seen you around lately.”

“Been busy.”

“That gives the other guys a better chance with the chummies.”