I had every intention of returning to one of my WIPs to finish them off, but the Muse insists on focusing on the shiny new story line, so here we are.
As always, I do not own the characters or the setting. Any mistakes are mine, and I am writing this purely for my own enjoyment.
Three's a Crowd
Chapter 1
Bobby's POV
A slow grin spread across my lips as Lester's arms wrapped around my waist from behind, squeezing securely as he nuzzled his face into the middle of my back, probably wishing he was still in bed, asleep. Steph could think anything she wanted about us, but just because we had the ability to jump out of bed immediately alert and ready for action did not mean we did it every day. We saved that shit for missions and emergencies, because it was exhausting and terrible for sleep hygiene. So no, when he didn't have to leap into the line of fire straight away, Lester was not a morning person. And it was one of the many reasons I loved him. It helped that he was extra cuddly when he was still waking up.
"Morning, sleepy head," I greeted, lifting one hand from where it was braced on the table to caress his forearms.
"Mmm'ning," he slurred, burrowing deeper into my shirt as I twined our fingers together. "Need coffee," he added a little more articulately.
"On the counter." As always I'd been up for an hour already, completed my run, showered and set the coffee to going. We'd make and eat breakfast together and by the time I'd loaded the dishwasher, swept the kitchen and made the bed he'd be showered and ready to go as well. It was a marvel some mornings, but after all the years we'd been together, it was also a well practised routine.
Finally lifting his head from my back, Les peered over my shoulder. "Whatcha workin' on?" he asked, letting out a wide yawn as his chin settled on my shoulder.
"I'm writing you a grocery list." Like he didn't know.
"For me to lose before I make it to the store after work? How thoughtful!" Both his question and sarcasm were valid responses. He'd lost more lists than he'd taken virginities, and that wasn't a small number. There was just something about the man that inspired slips of paper to disappear.
"I'll take a photo and text it to you," I said. "Schedule it for later. Like always."
"Or you could just type the list straight into a message to begin with," he pointed out, releasing me and padding over to the coffee pot, pouring into the mug that I'd set out for him. "Better yet, use that notes app I made you download. That way you can update it from anywhere, whenever you think of something else that needs to be added. I can access it from anywhere, and we can cut out the middle man."
"You know my brain processes better with pen and paper," I replied, turning to watch the satisfaction on his face as he took his first sip. God he was a handsome man. I was lucky to have him. "Besides," I added. "These conversations, and those texts are the only reason you remember to go to the store. If I switched to your beloved app, we'd both starve."
He raised an eyebrow at me over the rim of his coffee mug but didn't need to say the words he was clearly thinking: "You'd never let us starve, Bobby." And he was right. If there was anything I could do to ensure both of our wellbeing, I would do it. Did I like the grocery store? No. I loathed it with fiery passion deep in my soul, which was why Lester was the designated shopper. It meant we ended up with a few less-than-healthy snacks in the house, but it was a small price to pay to avoid that hellscape. But did my hatred mean I would let us both die of starvation before I'd step foot inside one? Also no. I mean, I would certainly opt for an online grocery delivery first, but if push came to shove, I'd suck it up and go buy bread and milk in person.
Rather than reply, I raised my brow in return, picked up the list and my phone and snapped a picture of it, quickly tapping out a message that my phone would automatically send to Lester at the end of his shift.
He set down his cup and turned to retrieve the cereal from the shelf behind him, portioning out two bowls worth while I grabbed the container of cut up fruit from the fridge. "I did mention that you can set reminders in the app, right?" Les said as I spooned fruit on top of the cereal. "You can schedule them, or tell it to remind you at a certain location, or-"
"Les," I sighed.
"Yeah, okay," he agreed, a smile creeping onto his face. "I've given a few TED Talks on the topic. I just think it's a good app." He picked up the bowls, carrying them over to the table while I followed behind with spoons and our topped-up coffees.
"And I don't disagree," I assured him. "I just don't think I have that much use for it."
"Well, Hal likes it," Les said haughtily around a mouthful of cereal, milk dribbling down his chin. Ridiculously, he was even attractive when he was a mess. "We have a collaborative note where we're keeping a list of places that do good waffles."
I couldn't help but laugh. "Of course you do."
When Hal first joined Rangeman, Lester had struggled to relate to him. He accepted that he obviously had the relevant skills to do the job, otherwise Ranger wouldn't have hired him, but something about Hal's shy and quiet personality, or perhaps Lester's penchant for overexuberance had caused a wall between them. It was a wonder to behold my easy-going, silver-spoon boyfriend floundering and frustrated when faced with the newbie. He'd never had a problem like it before. It had gone on for months until they were paired together on a stakeout shift one night and got to talking about waffles, of all things. As it turned out, they were both waffle snobs and had debated where you could get the best waffles for the remainder of their shift, culminating in a trip to Lester's favourite twenty-four hour diner as soon as their replacements arrived to relieve them.
Since that day, they'd gotten over whatever blockage that had been between them, and they were as close as Les was with any of the other guys, but waffles would always be their Thing. I wouldn't be surprised if they also had a list of places that supposedly had good waffles that they needed to try.
We finished off our breakfast and Lester disappeared to get ready while I went about tidying up and by seven forty we were in the SUV, backing out of the driveway on our way to work. The radio was on and Lester was drumming along to the traffic report as I pulled into the Rangeman parking garage and eased to a stop in my designated space. Shutting off the engine, I released my seatbelt and immediately leaned across the console to steal one final kiss before we exited the vehicle. We tried to keep everything professional during work hours, which meant I couldn't just kiss him whenever I wanted (which was always), so we'd made a habit of arriving a few minutes early to afford ourselves the opportunity for a quick make-out session before our forced separation. That way we minimised the length of time before we could reconnect physically again.
We were both breathing heavy, my face buried in his neck as I inhaled his clean, citrus scent when there was a thump on the back of the SUV.
"Come on, lovebirds," Ram called out, laughing good-naturedly as he continued strolling by. "Time to quit fogging up the windows and get to work."
"Would it be petty for me to refuse to treat him next time he's injured?" I asked Les, my lips brushing over his pulse point as I refused to move just because we'd gotten caught. Everyone knew we were together, and with how thoroughly the building was covered with security cameras, I wouldn't be surprised if most of them had caught sight of our morning ritual on the monitors at some point or another.
"Probably," Les replied, tightening his grip on the back of my neck as the vibration of his voice through my chest sent a shiver down my spine. "But I think it would be okay to encourage Cal to slam him on the mats again."
"Mmm," I hummed, reluctantly pulling away and returning to my own side of the car. "That would be tempting if Ram hadn't beat Cal in a sparring match last week."
"You could always just not numb him next time you give him stitches," he suggested, swiping a hand over his face and checking the mirror to make sure I hadn't mussed his precious hair spikes with my groping. He sent me one of his trademark Santos grins, showing off naturally even teeth and the hint of a dimple in his right cheek. "Are we going to the club tonight?" he asked.
"Is it Friday?" I asked by way of reply, opening my door to get out.
His grin grew wider, and I fairly melted when he seized my face in both hands, planting one last kiss on my lips before releasing me, and bounding out of the car with the same energy as an overexcited puppy meeting new guests. "Love you!" he called out over his shoulder just before he disappeared through the door to the stairwell.
"Love you more," I replied, more to myself than my partner as I collected my second coffee from the cupholder in the centre console, my bag from the back seat, and slid out from behind the wheel, locking the vehicle and making my way to the stairwell at a more sedate pace. I was already counting down the minutes until we'd be reunited, and with a night at the club planned, I could almost guarantee the reunion would be explosive.
*o*
Hours later, I was finishing up patching a knife wound Binkie had received on his latest trip to Stark Street this morning when my cell rang. Removing my gloves, I indicated that he could put his shirt back on with one hand, retrieving the ringing device from my belt with the other.
"Brown," I identified by way of greeting, noting the number for Rangeman's front desk on the display.
"Got a woman asking for you in the foyer," Vince informed efficiently. "One Denise Ottervich."
I frowned, shoving a bottle of Tylenol in Binkie's hand and shooing him out of the office. I didn't recognise the name. "I'll be right down," I said, hanging up and immediately navigating to the Facebook app on my phone to do a quick and dirty stalk on the woman who was apparently requesting me by name. By the time I'd reached the stairwell several moments later, I'd pulled up her profile which wasn't as helpful as I wanted it to be. She obviously had the highest privacy settings, because I could see her name and profile picture and little else. The picture was even less helpful as it showed a group of four or five women in skimpy dresses, smouldering and striking various suggestive poses.
My steps faltered as my gaze caught on one woman in particular and a series of hazy memories flashed through my head. Dread pooled low in my stomach and I was suddenly certain that nothing good could come from this woman appearing on Rangeman's doorstep so many years later.
"Bobby?" Lester's voice filtered through my whirling thoughts as he jogged down the stairs toward me having apparently just entered the stairwell a floor above. There was a worried little crinkle between his brow as he came level and I lifted my gaze from the screen. "Everything okay?" And despite the fact that we were still on shift, he reached out to caress the side of my face, settling his hand there in a familiar, comforting hold. "You look like you've seen a ghost."
"Vince called me down to the foyer to meet a woman who's asking for me," I explained, holding up the phone numbly for him to see. "Denise Ottervich."
Lester's nose scrunched up. "I got the same call. Name doesn't ring a bell," he said, but I knew the moment he caught sight of what I'd seen in the picture, because his face went slack and his hand dropped away. "Oh hell."
"Yeah." I tucked the phone back away, turning to continue down the stairs. He kept pace beside me easily.
My mind was churning through thoughts a mile a minute, dredging up worst case scenario after worst case scenario, and Lester's rare silence told me that he was likely in a similar state of mind. I paused on the landing, facing the door to the first floor foyer and my hand snapped out, seizing his and squeezing tight. I needed the connection, the physical sensation of his warm flesh against mine even in this small gesture to help me reel in my emotions and find that calm that usually came to me so naturally. After a moment, when I felt I had my face locked down, I glanced to the side, noting that Lester's blank face was also in place.
Four steps forward, out the door and past the decorative palm, was all it took for my thoughts to unravel once more as I caught sight of the woman seated in one of the waiting chairs near the reception desk. It wasn't the woman we'd both recognised from the photo.
"Okay, now I'm confused again," Lester muttered from behind me where he had also paused. "Who is that?"
"Presumably, it's Denise Ottervich," I pointed out. "Which might explain why neither of us recognised the name."
"I guess," he hedged. "But why's she want to see us? And why is she in her profile pic?"
"Only one way to find out." I inhaled deeply and took one more step forward. "Miss Ottervich?"