Page 98 of Rising Heat

“That’s because you’ve never had a single ounce of self-awareness.”

The voice belongs to a man whose tattoos disappear beneath the collar of his uniform and spill down over his hands.

“Trick,” he says with an easy nod.

Then he looks me over once.

“Tourists never prepare correctly for this city.”

“Apparently not.”

“Hydration helps.”

He raises his beer and winks.

I can’t help the small chuckle that comes out of me.

Beside him, another man looks up from his drink with the calm, warm eyes of someone who’s watched this exact conversation happen a hundred times before.

“And that’s Marco,” Tyler says.

Marco smiles.

“You survived the parade.”

“Barely.”

“Every year,” he says sympathetically. “Still catches people off guard.”

I slide into the booth beside Tyler while Mack settles in on my other side. Someone scoots over without being asked. Somebody else steals fries off of one of the appetizer baskets in the middle of the table. Coop’s already halfway through another story that everyone but me has apparently heard before, and nobody seems particularly concerned that I’m missing half the references.

Oddly, I’m not either.

“What do you think of the place?” Coop asks over the music as the second round arrives.

“I like it,” I say and mean it. “It has charm.”

“Best wings in the South End,” Trick points out.

“Five-dollar beer specials on Thursdays.” Coop chimes in.

“A functional heating system,” Marco counters.

“The heat’s fine,” Coop argues.

“The heat,” Trick says flatly, “is a liability.”

Ryan doesn’t even look up from his drink.

“The heat’s why we have the booth in the corner.”

I glance at Tyler.

“Is it always like this?”

“Pretty much.”

He takes a sip of his beer.