Who's Your Buddy?
Okay, so, on one hand, being home sick from work really sucks. On the other hand, I finally got to finish writing this...
Title: Run That By Me Again
Author: m_buggie
Fandoms: “Generation Kill”/”Band of Brothers”
Pairing: Colbert/Fick
Word Count: 2,482
Rating: R
Standard Disclaimer: This is based off performances in the HBO miniseries, not the actual soldiers. The only thing I own is the computer I wrote this on. I make no profit and mean no disrespect so please don’t sue.
Author’s Note: This is takes place in the Big Damn AU of Doom-verse…I think that says it all. The following is a companion piece to You Should Be Sitting Down For This, which was a follow-up to If You Love Me Won’t You Let Me Know.
~x~x~
Josh Ray Person had been having an awesome day. For starters, he was on a week long vacation in Charlotte, North Carolina with a couple of his friends and they’d spent the night before drinking until they couldn’t see straight and, by some small miracle, they’d all managed to get laid. Ray couldn’t remember the name of the girl he’d taken back to the hotel but it didn’t matter because they’d fucked like rabbits and then she’d given him head before leaving in the morning. Life was good.
Ray had been set up with a kickass package of all-expenses paid hotel rooms plus tickets to see NASCAR courtesy of his favorite cousin in the whole Goddamn world. Ray had no idea why George Luz doted on him so much - it wasn’t like they didn’t have a big, sprawling family with more relatives than could be accounted for - but he wasn’t about to ask questions when there were suites at the Doubletree Hotel involved. And oh, did he mention the NASCAR tickets? To Ray, George Luz was better than God: he always delivered the goods and the only thing you had to do on Sundays was nurse your hangover.
“Aw man, I should not have done that last round of tequila shots,” Popeye Wynn groaned, rubbing his eyes. His real name was Robert but no one ever called him that. “My head feels like it’s about to split right open.”
“Yeah, tell me about it,” James Chaffin remarked. “I feel like there’s a small army of gremlins with jackhammers behind my eyes, vicious little fucks.”
“Hey could you guys keep it down?” Ray Person asked from behind his oversized Elvis shades. “I’m having trouble hearing the blood pounding in my own ears.”
“Shhh, not so loud,” Popeye added.
The waitress came by and refilled their coffees, delivered the food they’d forgotten they ordered. It was already afternoon but all three of the young men had platters of breakfast food in front of them as they hid from the bright North Carolina sunlight behind sunglasses, tucked under the large umbrella of their outdoor table.
“Sweet baby Jesus, I can’t remember the last time grits looked so damn good,” Chaffin murmured.
Ray peered over and made a disgusted face. “Aw shit, dude, how the hell can you eat that stuff right now?”
Chaffin looked mildly offended as he shoveled food into his face. “What the fuck are you talking about, Ray?”
“I mean that shit looks like the shit that Popeye threw up last night.”
“Does not,” Popeye commented, peering over. “The stuff I yakked up was way chunkier than that. And it was a different color, too.”
“Fuck you, Ray,” Chaffin retorted, completely unfazed. “I hope you choke on your sausage.”
“I feel like there’s a ‘that’s what she said’ joke in there somewhere but I’m too lazy to reach for it,” Ray said.
Chaffin just smiled and speared some of Ray’s home fries with his fork.
“Hey! Fuck off, man!” Ray exclaimed. “Eat your own Goddamn food.”
There was a discussion going on as to whether or not they wanted to hit the NASCAR Hall of Fame next when their slightly hungover peace was shattered by the sound of Ray’s obnoxious cell phone ringtone.
“Jesus Christ, what the fuck is that?” Chaffin demanded.
“Shit, it’s my phone,” Ray replied, rummaging through his pockets to find the electronic device.
“Well answer that shit before I toss it into oncoming traffic.”
“Believe me, I would if I could find the stupid thing.”
Popeye, meanwhile, just raised his eyebrows and commented, “Avril Lavigne? Really, Ray?”
“What? I have fond memories attached to ‘Sk8tr Boi.’ ”
“I bet you do,” Chaffin quipped.
“Shut the fuck up,” Ray snapped just as he glanced at the caller ID and answered his phone. “And before you can eviscerate me, no, not you, Brad,” he said into the mouthpiece.
“I should certainly hope not,” Brad Colbert stated on the other side of the line. “For your sake.”
Ray laughed and excused himself from the table with a nod. Chaffin and Popeye barely looked up from their breakfasts but nodded back.
“So what up, holmes?” Ray asked his best friend. “How’s things in gloomy New England? I only ask because I’m here kicking back with my boys in sunny North Cack-a-lack and you could’ve been, too, if you hadn’t turned down those tickets.”
“Ray, if I’ve said it once I’ve said it a thousand times: watching cars go in circles for hours is not my idea of a good time.”
“Oh well, old Popeye’s enjoying the free ride more than you ever could, anyway.”
“I’m sure he is. How is he doing, by the way?”
Ray glanced back to the table where his two friends were contentedly chowing down. “He’s doing pretty well, actually. The doctors gave him a clean bill of health and it doesn’t even hurt when he sits down anymore.”
“That’s good.”
“I still can’t believe he broke his ass.”
“It’s called a fractured tailbone, Ray,” Brad corrected. “It happens, especially when fellows as slight of stature as Popeye get thrown about deck in the middle of a storm.”
Ray snickered. “Yeah, whatever, dudeman busted his ass - literally.”
“Your sympathy at his plight is touching.”
“Ain’t it though?”
“Any word from the others?”
“Yeah, Popeye talked to Poke the other day. Said Capt. Strider’s still all bent out of shape that his protégé up and left the ship but First Mate Miller’s happy as a clam these days.”
Brad snorted a laugh in response. “Sounds about right to me.”
“You know Capt. Strider would have you on board in a heartbeat if you decided you wanted to go back.”
“I know.”
“And Brad, I’ve got to tell you, I still don’t understand why you chose to walk off that ship. Seriously,” Ray said. “You were made for that shit and in five years you know Capt. Strider woulda kicked Miller to the curb and made you his First Mate.”
“Probably.”
“So leaving the Merchant Marines was probably the dumbest thing you’ve ever done in your life, just so you know.”
“I’ll be sure to take that under consideration when tallying up my life’s actions,” Brad countered flatly. “Any other words of fucking wisdom to share?”
“Yeah, the second dumbest thing you’ve ever done was to drive all the way to fucking Hanover, Connecticut just so you could torture yourself by seeing that douche-cunt ex-girlfriend of yours and her fuck-wad piece of shit husband that doesn’t even fucking deserve the honor of being called your ex-best friend.”
Brad sounded almost bored when he inquired, “Anything else?”
“Yeah, because the third dumbest thing you’ve ever done was decide to stay there.”
“Are you done yet?”
Ray took a deep breath and exhaled heavily. “Yeah, yeah, I’m done now.”
“Good, because I have a sit-rep.”
Ray Person perked up at those words; they were Brad Colbert’s way of announcing that he had big news. The last time Ray had heard that phrase it was when Brad declared that he would be staying in New Hampshire until further notice. Ray hoped the news this time around was better than that shit. For a super-smart guy, Brad could be real stupid sometimes, after all.
“Ooh, ooh, spill the fucking beans, holmes,” Ray said. “Don’t leave your ole buddy Ray-Ray in the dark here. What the dilly, yo?”
“Do you remember Nathaniel?”
Ray blinked. Now there was an odd question. Of course Ray remembered Nathaniel, Brad had only been uttering that name for the past six months now. Ever since Brad had prevented the Dartmouth student from getting turned into roadkill by a runaway delivery truck it was nothing but “Nate this” and “Nate that” out of his mouth. It was more than a little strange coming from the man whom everyone had dubbed the Iceman due to his laconic ways and emotional distance. If Ray didn’t know any better - and he did, actually - he would’ve said that Brad had a hopeless infatuation with the kid.
“You mean the jailbait Ivy boy that you need to either hurry up and admit your undying hard-on for or get the fuck away from?” Ray quipped.
Brad sighed. “That would be him in a manner of speaking, yes.”
“So what about him? Did you finally seduce his prissy ass or what?”
Brad chuckled.
“Well?”
“I kissed him.”
Ray threw his head back and laughed. “I fucking knew it!” He cheered a little, whooping and hollering, pumping his fist in the air and drawing all sorts of bewildered looks from passers-by. “Oh, I fucking knew it, holmes. I knew you couldn’t resist. The minute you told me that kid was moving in with you I knew it was only a matter of time before you caved.”
“That kid happens to be a year older than you, Ray.”
“Oh what-the-fuck-ever, he looks like jailbait. I don’t care if he is older than me, he looks younger than me and that’s just weird. And I bet his fake ID isn’t nearly half as good as mine is, either. Shit, I’ve been getting trashed on that ID for years now.”
“Nate doesn’t have a fake ID,” Brad said.
Ray laughed again. “Oh that figures, such a good little boy, your jailbait sweetheart.” Ray shook his head even though Brad couldn’t see it. “You’re such a sucker for that pretty face.” He sighed, wiped away a tear that had been forming in the corner of his eye from laughing so hard. “So how’d it go, Brad? Did Nathaniel swoon against you and sigh that he’d been dreaming of your strong embrace?”
“He admitted to having been interested in me for a while,” Brad responded, sounding casual but obviously very pleased with himself.
“Yeah, no shit, sherlock. I could’ve told you that. The first time I met him do you remember what I told you? I said, ‘damn holmes, that kid’s got such a crush on you.’ See what happens when you don’t listen to your ole pal Ray-Ray? You could’ve been tapping that ass months ago.” Ray paused, a thought dawning on him. “So did you?”
Brad Colbert’s smile could almost be heard over the phone. “What? Tap that ass?”
“Fuck yeah, holmes! Did you?”
“I did.”
Ray cheered again. “Good for you, it’s about fucking time you got laid. You’re a pissy motherfucker when you’ve got blueballs. So was it worth it?”
“We broke the futon.”
“Now that’s what I’m talking about,” Ray said, laughing and jabbing a finger in the air triumphantly. “That shit, right there. I fucking salute you, Brad. You fucked him so hard that you broke a piece of furniture? You’re totally my hero.”
“I love him, Ray,” Brad confessed, his voice a reverent hush as if he could scarcely believe the words he was speaking. “I really do love him.”
At which point Ray sighed and switched the phone from ear to ear. “Whoa, whoa, run that by me again. Now let’s not get carried away here, Brad,” he cautioned. “Just because you fucked the guy doesn’t mean you have to start bringing him flowers or buy his gay-ass a fucking ring or anything. I’m glad you got your dick wet and it’s good that you scratched that itch - because fuck knows all that unresolved sexual tension was totally driving you up the fucking wall - but let’s not go throwing the L-word around so soon, okay?”
“Ray, I love Nathaniel Fick,” Brad repeated, slowly, as though he were spelling the matter out for a small child or someone with a pronounced learning disability.
“Look, I’m sure you feel that way now but just remember that…”
“If you compare Nate to Caroline I will reach through this phone and strangle you.”
Ray was silent for a couple moments before muttering, “I’m just saying you should be careful, Brad, that’s all.”
“They’re two completely different people.”
“Yeah, and two completely different sexes,” Ray chimed in. “But I still think you should watch yourself, okay? I know your boy’s all sweet and caring and he’s been head over heels for you since the day you met but that don’t mean shit half the time, do you hear what I’m saying?”
“Nate loves me, too,” Brad stated.
“I’m sure he does. Like I said, I remember the way he looked at you back when we first landed in that Ivy shit town. But the two of you being all sparkly-eyed in love with each other ain’t gonna change the fact that you need to watch yourself against getting your heart broken all over again. You copy that shit?”
Brad Colbert chuckled. “Solid copy, Ray.”
“Seriously though, Brad, I’m happy for you,” Ray Person declared.
“Thank you, Ray.”
“Anyway, not that I don’t love talking to you but I get the feeling that if I don’t get my ass back to the table in the next five minutes I can kiss my breakfast goodbye because if Popeye doesn’t take my food I know Jimbo will.”
Brad laughed again. “Have fun watching your cars go around in circles.”
“Oh, you know I will.”
“Say hello to Popeye for me.”
“You got it, holmes. Peace out, and good luck with banging that Ivy ass.”
Ray snapped his cellular phone shut, not waiting for a response from Brad. He had food to protect, after all, and he’d already been too lax for too long. When he returned to the table it was just in time to see James Chaffin attack whatever was left of the sunny-side-up eggs on his plate.
“God fucking damn it, James!” Ray howled, sitting down in front of his more or less empty plate. “How many times do I have to tell you to eat your own Goddamn food?”
But Chaffin just smirked, dipping another home fry into the yolk of one of Ray’s stolen eggs. “Hey, it ain’t my fault you walked away from the table for so long. You know the rules: you snooze, you lose, bro. All’s fair in war and mealtime.”
“One hash brown,” Ray griped. “You fuckers left me with one hash brown, half a sausage, three individual home fries, and a smear of eggs. What the fuck? This is my breakfast?”
“I’ll eat that hash brown if you won’t,” Popeye Wynn offered.
Ray just kind of glared then started chewing on his hash brown and the remnants of his sausage. “Brad says hello, by the way,” he grudgingly said.
Popeye smiled and sat up a little. “Aw, really? How’s the old Iceman doing?”
Ray smirked. “You wouldn’t believe me if I told you.”
Popeye laughed, shaking his head. “Man oh man, the Iceman’s reputation’s always gonna precede him. I bet he’s still beating back the ladies with a stick and leaving a string of broken hearts behind him, huh?”
Ray just kept smirking. “Yeah…not exactly…”
And just for the record, I actually really like grits.
Title: Run That By Me Again
Author: m_buggie
Fandoms: “Generation Kill”/”Band of Brothers”
Pairing: Colbert/Fick
Word Count: 2,482
Rating: R
Standard Disclaimer: This is based off performances in the HBO miniseries, not the actual soldiers. The only thing I own is the computer I wrote this on. I make no profit and mean no disrespect so please don’t sue.
Author’s Note: This is takes place in the Big Damn AU of Doom-verse…I think that says it all. The following is a companion piece to You Should Be Sitting Down For This, which was a follow-up to If You Love Me Won’t You Let Me Know.
~x~x~
Josh Ray Person had been having an awesome day. For starters, he was on a week long vacation in Charlotte, North Carolina with a couple of his friends and they’d spent the night before drinking until they couldn’t see straight and, by some small miracle, they’d all managed to get laid. Ray couldn’t remember the name of the girl he’d taken back to the hotel but it didn’t matter because they’d fucked like rabbits and then she’d given him head before leaving in the morning. Life was good.
Ray had been set up with a kickass package of all-expenses paid hotel rooms plus tickets to see NASCAR courtesy of his favorite cousin in the whole Goddamn world. Ray had no idea why George Luz doted on him so much - it wasn’t like they didn’t have a big, sprawling family with more relatives than could be accounted for - but he wasn’t about to ask questions when there were suites at the Doubletree Hotel involved. And oh, did he mention the NASCAR tickets? To Ray, George Luz was better than God: he always delivered the goods and the only thing you had to do on Sundays was nurse your hangover.
“Aw man, I should not have done that last round of tequila shots,” Popeye Wynn groaned, rubbing his eyes. His real name was Robert but no one ever called him that. “My head feels like it’s about to split right open.”
“Yeah, tell me about it,” James Chaffin remarked. “I feel like there’s a small army of gremlins with jackhammers behind my eyes, vicious little fucks.”
“Hey could you guys keep it down?” Ray Person asked from behind his oversized Elvis shades. “I’m having trouble hearing the blood pounding in my own ears.”
“Shhh, not so loud,” Popeye added.
The waitress came by and refilled their coffees, delivered the food they’d forgotten they ordered. It was already afternoon but all three of the young men had platters of breakfast food in front of them as they hid from the bright North Carolina sunlight behind sunglasses, tucked under the large umbrella of their outdoor table.
“Sweet baby Jesus, I can’t remember the last time grits looked so damn good,” Chaffin murmured.
Ray peered over and made a disgusted face. “Aw shit, dude, how the hell can you eat that stuff right now?”
Chaffin looked mildly offended as he shoveled food into his face. “What the fuck are you talking about, Ray?”
“I mean that shit looks like the shit that Popeye threw up last night.”
“Does not,” Popeye commented, peering over. “The stuff I yakked up was way chunkier than that. And it was a different color, too.”
“Fuck you, Ray,” Chaffin retorted, completely unfazed. “I hope you choke on your sausage.”
“I feel like there’s a ‘that’s what she said’ joke in there somewhere but I’m too lazy to reach for it,” Ray said.
Chaffin just smiled and speared some of Ray’s home fries with his fork.
“Hey! Fuck off, man!” Ray exclaimed. “Eat your own Goddamn food.”
There was a discussion going on as to whether or not they wanted to hit the NASCAR Hall of Fame next when their slightly hungover peace was shattered by the sound of Ray’s obnoxious cell phone ringtone.
“Jesus Christ, what the fuck is that?” Chaffin demanded.
“Shit, it’s my phone,” Ray replied, rummaging through his pockets to find the electronic device.
“Well answer that shit before I toss it into oncoming traffic.”
“Believe me, I would if I could find the stupid thing.”
Popeye, meanwhile, just raised his eyebrows and commented, “Avril Lavigne? Really, Ray?”
“What? I have fond memories attached to ‘Sk8tr Boi.’ ”
“I bet you do,” Chaffin quipped.
“Shut the fuck up,” Ray snapped just as he glanced at the caller ID and answered his phone. “And before you can eviscerate me, no, not you, Brad,” he said into the mouthpiece.
“I should certainly hope not,” Brad Colbert stated on the other side of the line. “For your sake.”
Ray laughed and excused himself from the table with a nod. Chaffin and Popeye barely looked up from their breakfasts but nodded back.
“So what up, holmes?” Ray asked his best friend. “How’s things in gloomy New England? I only ask because I’m here kicking back with my boys in sunny North Cack-a-lack and you could’ve been, too, if you hadn’t turned down those tickets.”
“Ray, if I’ve said it once I’ve said it a thousand times: watching cars go in circles for hours is not my idea of a good time.”
“Oh well, old Popeye’s enjoying the free ride more than you ever could, anyway.”
“I’m sure he is. How is he doing, by the way?”
Ray glanced back to the table where his two friends were contentedly chowing down. “He’s doing pretty well, actually. The doctors gave him a clean bill of health and it doesn’t even hurt when he sits down anymore.”
“That’s good.”
“I still can’t believe he broke his ass.”
“It’s called a fractured tailbone, Ray,” Brad corrected. “It happens, especially when fellows as slight of stature as Popeye get thrown about deck in the middle of a storm.”
Ray snickered. “Yeah, whatever, dudeman busted his ass - literally.”
“Your sympathy at his plight is touching.”
“Ain’t it though?”
“Any word from the others?”
“Yeah, Popeye talked to Poke the other day. Said Capt. Strider’s still all bent out of shape that his protégé up and left the ship but First Mate Miller’s happy as a clam these days.”
Brad snorted a laugh in response. “Sounds about right to me.”
“You know Capt. Strider would have you on board in a heartbeat if you decided you wanted to go back.”
“I know.”
“And Brad, I’ve got to tell you, I still don’t understand why you chose to walk off that ship. Seriously,” Ray said. “You were made for that shit and in five years you know Capt. Strider woulda kicked Miller to the curb and made you his First Mate.”
“Probably.”
“So leaving the Merchant Marines was probably the dumbest thing you’ve ever done in your life, just so you know.”
“I’ll be sure to take that under consideration when tallying up my life’s actions,” Brad countered flatly. “Any other words of fucking wisdom to share?”
“Yeah, the second dumbest thing you’ve ever done was to drive all the way to fucking Hanover, Connecticut just so you could torture yourself by seeing that douche-cunt ex-girlfriend of yours and her fuck-wad piece of shit husband that doesn’t even fucking deserve the honor of being called your ex-best friend.”
Brad sounded almost bored when he inquired, “Anything else?”
“Yeah, because the third dumbest thing you’ve ever done was decide to stay there.”
“Are you done yet?”
Ray took a deep breath and exhaled heavily. “Yeah, yeah, I’m done now.”
“Good, because I have a sit-rep.”
Ray Person perked up at those words; they were Brad Colbert’s way of announcing that he had big news. The last time Ray had heard that phrase it was when Brad declared that he would be staying in New Hampshire until further notice. Ray hoped the news this time around was better than that shit. For a super-smart guy, Brad could be real stupid sometimes, after all.
“Ooh, ooh, spill the fucking beans, holmes,” Ray said. “Don’t leave your ole buddy Ray-Ray in the dark here. What the dilly, yo?”
“Do you remember Nathaniel?”
Ray blinked. Now there was an odd question. Of course Ray remembered Nathaniel, Brad had only been uttering that name for the past six months now. Ever since Brad had prevented the Dartmouth student from getting turned into roadkill by a runaway delivery truck it was nothing but “Nate this” and “Nate that” out of his mouth. It was more than a little strange coming from the man whom everyone had dubbed the Iceman due to his laconic ways and emotional distance. If Ray didn’t know any better - and he did, actually - he would’ve said that Brad had a hopeless infatuation with the kid.
“You mean the jailbait Ivy boy that you need to either hurry up and admit your undying hard-on for or get the fuck away from?” Ray quipped.
Brad sighed. “That would be him in a manner of speaking, yes.”
“So what about him? Did you finally seduce his prissy ass or what?”
Brad chuckled.
“Well?”
“I kissed him.”
Ray threw his head back and laughed. “I fucking knew it!” He cheered a little, whooping and hollering, pumping his fist in the air and drawing all sorts of bewildered looks from passers-by. “Oh, I fucking knew it, holmes. I knew you couldn’t resist. The minute you told me that kid was moving in with you I knew it was only a matter of time before you caved.”
“That kid happens to be a year older than you, Ray.”
“Oh what-the-fuck-ever, he looks like jailbait. I don’t care if he is older than me, he looks younger than me and that’s just weird. And I bet his fake ID isn’t nearly half as good as mine is, either. Shit, I’ve been getting trashed on that ID for years now.”
“Nate doesn’t have a fake ID,” Brad said.
Ray laughed again. “Oh that figures, such a good little boy, your jailbait sweetheart.” Ray shook his head even though Brad couldn’t see it. “You’re such a sucker for that pretty face.” He sighed, wiped away a tear that had been forming in the corner of his eye from laughing so hard. “So how’d it go, Brad? Did Nathaniel swoon against you and sigh that he’d been dreaming of your strong embrace?”
“He admitted to having been interested in me for a while,” Brad responded, sounding casual but obviously very pleased with himself.
“Yeah, no shit, sherlock. I could’ve told you that. The first time I met him do you remember what I told you? I said, ‘damn holmes, that kid’s got such a crush on you.’ See what happens when you don’t listen to your ole pal Ray-Ray? You could’ve been tapping that ass months ago.” Ray paused, a thought dawning on him. “So did you?”
Brad Colbert’s smile could almost be heard over the phone. “What? Tap that ass?”
“Fuck yeah, holmes! Did you?”
“I did.”
Ray cheered again. “Good for you, it’s about fucking time you got laid. You’re a pissy motherfucker when you’ve got blueballs. So was it worth it?”
“We broke the futon.”
“Now that’s what I’m talking about,” Ray said, laughing and jabbing a finger in the air triumphantly. “That shit, right there. I fucking salute you, Brad. You fucked him so hard that you broke a piece of furniture? You’re totally my hero.”
“I love him, Ray,” Brad confessed, his voice a reverent hush as if he could scarcely believe the words he was speaking. “I really do love him.”
At which point Ray sighed and switched the phone from ear to ear. “Whoa, whoa, run that by me again. Now let’s not get carried away here, Brad,” he cautioned. “Just because you fucked the guy doesn’t mean you have to start bringing him flowers or buy his gay-ass a fucking ring or anything. I’m glad you got your dick wet and it’s good that you scratched that itch - because fuck knows all that unresolved sexual tension was totally driving you up the fucking wall - but let’s not go throwing the L-word around so soon, okay?”
“Ray, I love Nathaniel Fick,” Brad repeated, slowly, as though he were spelling the matter out for a small child or someone with a pronounced learning disability.
“Look, I’m sure you feel that way now but just remember that…”
“If you compare Nate to Caroline I will reach through this phone and strangle you.”
Ray was silent for a couple moments before muttering, “I’m just saying you should be careful, Brad, that’s all.”
“They’re two completely different people.”
“Yeah, and two completely different sexes,” Ray chimed in. “But I still think you should watch yourself, okay? I know your boy’s all sweet and caring and he’s been head over heels for you since the day you met but that don’t mean shit half the time, do you hear what I’m saying?”
“Nate loves me, too,” Brad stated.
“I’m sure he does. Like I said, I remember the way he looked at you back when we first landed in that Ivy shit town. But the two of you being all sparkly-eyed in love with each other ain’t gonna change the fact that you need to watch yourself against getting your heart broken all over again. You copy that shit?”
Brad Colbert chuckled. “Solid copy, Ray.”
“Seriously though, Brad, I’m happy for you,” Ray Person declared.
“Thank you, Ray.”
“Anyway, not that I don’t love talking to you but I get the feeling that if I don’t get my ass back to the table in the next five minutes I can kiss my breakfast goodbye because if Popeye doesn’t take my food I know Jimbo will.”
Brad laughed again. “Have fun watching your cars go around in circles.”
“Oh, you know I will.”
“Say hello to Popeye for me.”
“You got it, holmes. Peace out, and good luck with banging that Ivy ass.”
Ray snapped his cellular phone shut, not waiting for a response from Brad. He had food to protect, after all, and he’d already been too lax for too long. When he returned to the table it was just in time to see James Chaffin attack whatever was left of the sunny-side-up eggs on his plate.
“God fucking damn it, James!” Ray howled, sitting down in front of his more or less empty plate. “How many times do I have to tell you to eat your own Goddamn food?”
But Chaffin just smirked, dipping another home fry into the yolk of one of Ray’s stolen eggs. “Hey, it ain’t my fault you walked away from the table for so long. You know the rules: you snooze, you lose, bro. All’s fair in war and mealtime.”
“One hash brown,” Ray griped. “You fuckers left me with one hash brown, half a sausage, three individual home fries, and a smear of eggs. What the fuck? This is my breakfast?”
“I’ll eat that hash brown if you won’t,” Popeye Wynn offered.
Ray just kind of glared then started chewing on his hash brown and the remnants of his sausage. “Brad says hello, by the way,” he grudgingly said.
Popeye smiled and sat up a little. “Aw, really? How’s the old Iceman doing?”
Ray smirked. “You wouldn’t believe me if I told you.”
Popeye laughed, shaking his head. “Man oh man, the Iceman’s reputation’s always gonna precede him. I bet he’s still beating back the ladies with a stick and leaving a string of broken hearts behind him, huh?”
Ray just kept smirking. “Yeah…not exactly…”
And just for the record, I actually really like grits.