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“You know both those two are gay, right? Pretty coincidental.” Carol cut in with another aggressive round of acrylic talon pointing. It was as if she were selecting Keyser Söze in a perp lineup. “Living right on top of one another. Keeping each other’s dog secrets. Maybe other secrets too.”
The shorter cop doing most of the speaking pointed to his partner, the gruff cowboy-ish man built like one of Dylan’s brothers. “What do you think about that coincidence, Officer Creager?”
“It reminds me that my anniversary’s coming up next week. Thanks, Mitchell.” Officer Creager spoke with a strong Maryland panhandle accent. “Ma’am, should I tell my gay husband that our gay meeting at a non-gay bar makes us suspicious? Are multiple gay men existing in the world in close proximity really something you’re worried about right now? Right now, at this here second?”
Carol fumed.
“Have a good rest of your day, sirs and ma’am.” He intentionally directed that singular “ma’am” at Felicity, not Carol.
Carol paced on the sidewalk, gesticulating so wildly that Dylan would not have been surprised if she took flight. “They say if you see something, say something. That’s how community works. At least it did back in my day.” Her outraged hand pressed on her chest, directly over the T-shirt flamingo’s face, shielding its eyes from the scandal before her.
Officer Creager lowered his sunglasses. “Well, Ms. Taylor, if we find out you’re saying something about seeing things you aren’t even seeing again, we’ll be seeing you right to the station and charging you for making a false statement to law enforcement.”
The spackled-on, multilevel-marketed makeup couldn’t hide how the blood drained from her face.
Meanwhile, Derek’s lit up like… well, like someone giving up concealing well-earned schadenfreude. Dylan didn’t blame him. Derek should schadenfreude that shit up.
Carol bleated her case until the officers’ car door shut. As if telepathically connected, all three others bolted down the stairs and into Derek’s apartment before the unfriendly pastel neighborhood despot could say anything else.
After collapsing onto the couch, Felicity opened her mouth again, but Derek pointed at her. “I do not want to hear the words ‘depraved shenanigans’ again for at least twenty-four hours. Too soon, F Gallagher. Too soon.”
Felicity weighed this, tilting her head back and forth before nodding. “Fair.”
Dylan collapsed onto Derek’s queen-sized bed that was still set up in the living room. “Can I go back to bed and start over? Shit, I forgot to take my medication, so Carol’s cop-calling saga took all my processing capacity for the day.”
Felicity patted his shoulder. “Don’t worry. Derek and I won’t let Tropical Karen Barbie getcha.”
“Wonderful.” Dylan buried his head in Derek’s pillow. Even though freshly washed, it smelled like Derek.
Felicity sank down onto the edge of the bed while Derek went into his kitchen. A few minutes later he came back with three souvenir Baltimore shot glasses and a bottle. He poured a small amount of one of Dylan’s energy drinks.
Dylan sat up again, yawning. “I thought you said those toxic drinks rot my insides?”
“All the normal caffeine and alcohol are upstairs.” Derek handed him a shot. “This is for medicinal purposes. I’m a nurse, and Ginger over there is almost one. Also, let me know if ‘ginger’ is offensive? And how old are you again? Is this much caffeine okay for someone whose prefrontal cortex is still developing?”
“Twenty-six. Just short, asshole.” Felicity accepted her own nonalcoholic, medicinal, possibly toxic caffeine shot. “Ginger is fine. Carrottop and like that whole ‘red-headed stepchild’ expression are the two I loathe.” She held up her glass. “A toast, since we’re celebrating avoiding getting thrown in the slammer.”
“Agreed,” Derek said.
They clinked glasses.
“To Karen getting her fluorescent ass handed to her.” Derek tipped his shot into his mouth.
“To gay cops and their upcoming equally gay anniversaries,” Dylan said before sucking his down.
Felicity swirled her portion of neon liquid and raised it higher. “And to the Depraved Shenanigans.”
Chapter 26
Derek was stoned. Not college-student-frat-party-bong-level stoned, but thirties happy-buzzed after a safe portion of a (mostly) legally and ethically obtained edible. After Derek complained that he was amped up from the caffeine shot, Felicity produced the small tin of the THC gummies she used for anxiety. Somewhat ironic, given how adamant they’d all been about there being no drugs in here. A few minutes later, she grabbed the TV remote and flipped it on.
Derek didn’t remember the last time he had watched Burlesque, so Dylan must have put it on while he was doing work in the apartment. After the credits, Felicity queued up another movie without asking for input. She had such a strong sense of herself and what she wanted all the time. Despite their differences, the siblings shared a certain whimsy Derek found strangely addictive.
“I can’t believe you have all these…” Felicity flipped through the DVD bin. “Good selection but not a lot of range. The BBC period dramas are excellent choices though. Why only a couple seasons of Downton? You have all of Gilmore Girls and Friends. And something called Moonlighting? Is that the with the guy from Die Hard?”
“Killing off Matthew Crawley and Sybil in the same episode was a crime against humanity. I like what I like.” Derek grinned.
They were treating the bed like an extension of the couch behind it. Felicity tossed every disaster-survivor throw pillow and blanket onto it as well. At some point, pizza had gotten ordered. Derek was about to get himself a drink when Dylan brought him one of his favorite sparkling waters. The gesture tugged at him. Dylan could have easily asked him if he wanted water. Derek would have said he was fine. He never wanted anyone else to help him, even with such a small thing. But Dylan hadn’t asked. He’d thought that Derek might need water and just got it for him.