“What’s up, fucker?”
Dec gives me the finger. “C’mere, douchenozzle.”
That’s a new one.
When you grow up with eight other guys, swearing becomes an integral part of your vocabulary. Add in working in a garage? Well, we’re fucking hopeless. But douchenozzle?
I chuckle as I round the desk, sitting on the filing cabinet next to him, punching him on the shoulder as I pass. “You’re getting bigger, man. You been working out with Colt? No way you’re getting muscles like that sitting on your ass.”
Declan snorts. “Me and Jonas have a bet.”
I laugh, wondering what stupidity they’re up to now. Their last bet resulted in a fucking ridiculous tattoo on Declan’s ass. “What is it this time? It’s not like Jonas to be in the gym.”
“Nope. But he read some fucking study…studies…on the health benefits of body weight exercises for men, and he’s decided that we need to get pumped. Dickhead wouldn’t let up. He kept leaving copies of the studies highlighted on my desk.”
“And what? You read them and agreed?”
“Fuck no! I ignored them.”
Oh, this is going to be good.
“And…?”
Declan growls and mutters, “Fucker knocked on my door at six am. He wouldn’t let the fuck up until I went to the gym with him.”
I don’t even try to hide my grin. “How long did he knock?”
Dec huffs in frustration before admitting, “Twenty minutes. I thought for sure he’d give up after ten but nope.”
I lean forward, letting the laughter roll through me. “Of course he did. When have you ever known Jonas to give up.”
Dec scowls at me, but I see a hint of a smile peeking through. “So, what’s the bet?”
“First one to fifteen thousand muscle ups.”
I whistle thinking of the fucking upper body strength that takes. “And the loser?” Declan laughs like a cartoon villain. “Loser has to get a mohawk and dye it bright red.”
I snort and pat him on the shoulder. “Don’t worry, man. You can pull off a mohawk. The red? Not so sure.”
He drops his feet from the desk and scowls at me. “Fuckhead! Why the hell do you think I’m going to lose?”
“Seriously, man?” I ask him. How can he think he’ll win?
“Yes, seriously,” he says, flexing his muscles, “I’m already in way better shape than Jonas is. Fucker barely worked out before this.”
“Remember the bet he made with Maverick?” How can he forget the fucking consequences of losing a bet with Jonas?
His face whitens, and he sucks in a breath. “Christ. I’m fucked,” Declan mutters, running his fingers through his shaggy hair.
“Yeah. You are.” I give him a minute to wallow in his inevitable defeat before I check my watch and kick the bottom of his chair. “Why am I here?”
“Why are any of us here, man? That is the question. You know I watched this docume- Hey shithead, that’s my favorite bobblehead. Don’t you fucking dare throw that!”
I hold the Yoda bobble head high, just out of his reach. “Get to the fucking point, Declan. I’ve got somewhere to be.”
A deep chuckle turns our heads to the door. Ransom’s leaning on the door jam, his colossal frame filling the doorway.
“Ran,” we both mutter in greeting. He’s only thirty-eight, but he’s somehow always felt like a parent to me. To all of us. I lower the bobblehead and clear my throat. “Dec, I really do need to get going.”