Oddly Fine (Calculated Chaos #3)

Prologue

“Come on! That was a fumble!” Loic protested irritably, pulling Beck’s attention back to the game he’d been largely ignoring while stuffing his face. “Fucking ref is blind or on the take,” Loic complained as he elbowed Beckett in the side, nearly tipping his beer over.

“No spilling my beer, jerkwad. I’ve shot people for less,” Beckett warned with a frown as he lifted his cup and took another swig.

“Remember that time you shaved off one side of Devin’s beard while he slept ‘cause he’d stolen your M&M’s, or some shit?” Loic snorted as Beckett dodged another elbow jab.

“Almond M&M’s, thank you very much. Fucker had it coming,” Beckett replied, just as the crowd in the stands exploded with shouts of triumph.

Clearly, both of them had missed the latest play.

Beckett didn’t really care for football—at least, not for watching.

He liked playing football, but sitting there watching got old fast. But hanging out with an old friend and drinking a cold beer was good, even with the imminent threat of that same cold beer being spilled all over him during Loic’s outbursts.

“Dude, these seats are insane,” Loic commented, watching attentively as the QB called the next play.

“Glad to be of service,” Beckett replied with a laugh.

“How’d you score ‘em anyway? Usually, I’d accuse you of salacious behavior, but now that you’re taken—” Loic drifted off, not bothering to finish his train of thought. He didn’t need to.

“Salacious behavior? Who are you pretending to be right now?” Beckett gave him a sardonic look.

Loic merely shrugged and kept his focus on the game.

His afro spilled over the edges of the bandana he wore religiously, falling over his forehead.

He’d always worn his hair longer than he should—in clear defiance of military regulations.

He claimed, quite proudly, that it was an essential part of his Latino and African-American heritage.

Beckett wasn’t sure how the Latino part factored into this, but he’d never dared to challenge Loic’s claims and stir up trouble unnecessarily.

“We have a Scrabble championship going at work—I’m learning new words and shit,” Loic informed him right before taking a huge bite of his hot dog, seemingly unaware he’d spilled mustard down the front of his shirt.

“Still love running into fires?”

“As much as you love getting shot at, apparently—” Loic replied without missing a beat, shooting him a sly grin.

“So, I guess you spoke to Chase,” Beckett surmised with an unhappy sigh. Less than two months had passed since their adventure in New York City that had ended with Hayes getting shot and a killer’s brains painting the walls of a city jail.

“Pops called me and Dev while your boo was recovering in the hospital. Where is your boo, by the way?”

“Don’t call him that—” Beckett snapped, looking disgusted as he shook his head, just as Hayes barked through his earpiece, “Don’t call me that!” Beckett bit back a smile.

“What? You mean boo? Why not? Are you guys done? Is that why you’re here alone?” Loic appeared genuinely panicked as he quickly scanned the crowd searching for Hayes.

“Nah, we’re good. Haysie’s just working,” Beckett replied, waving away Loic’s concerns.

“Working alone? Thought you guys were partners—” Loic stared suspiciously at Beckett.

“Still are. Since he was off regular duty for a few weeks, we’re taking easy jobs until he gets full medical clearance. This gig didn’t require my talents.” Beckett leaned back in his seat wearing a cocky smile.

“What talents?” Loic demanded with a snort.

Hayes’ laughter in his ear was boisterous, making Beckett wish he could reach through the earpiece and smack him.

“Hey! I’m a talented guy! Kept you from dying more than a few times, as I fucking recall,” he retaliated with a swift jab of his elbow to Loic’s ribs, enjoying Loic’s startled grunt of pain as he failed to avoid the hit.

“Sure—you’re also the reason I ended up with fire ants crawling up my ass, nearly falling off a cliff, and ending up with just my tighty-whities to wear in Canada—in January!” Loic snapped, counting off the incidents on mustard-covered fingers that he shoved in front of Beckett’s nose.

“We were in Montreal—not the middle of the woods, and the fire ants were your own damned fault. No one told you to set up your tent on top of a damned ant colony,” Beckett replied calmly, refusing to take the blame for that one.

“Aha! You fucker! So, finally you admit you’re the one who screwed up the anchor line on the cliff!” Loic shoulder checked Beckett hard, nearly sending his cup of beer flying again.

“I’m not talking without my lawyer present,” Beckett stated officiously.

Loic replied in rapid-fire Spanish, which Beckett couldn’t even begin to translate. It was probably for the best.

“But you and Hayes are still cool, right?” Loic asked, seeking reassurance.

“Perfectly.”

“Good. Good. Ain’t too many people crazy enough to shackle themselves to your worthless ass.”

Beckett growled and elbowed him on principle.

“Amen,” Hayes said in Beckett’s ear.

“I’m not that bad to live with,” Beckett protested earnestly.

Loic snorted and rolled his eyes.

“Frenchie, I love you, but you’re ten clicks left of alright, and two steps away from cuckoo.” Loic looked surprisingly serious. “Don’t get me wrong—I’d take you with me into a war zone any day, but when it comes to everyday life—” he gave a low whistle like that was simply beyond imagining.

“Fuck off! I’m perfectly palatable in real life too!”

“Perfectly palatable?” Loic questioned with a frown.

“The Brit’s been rubbing off on you.” Then he adopted a comically confused expression.

“Do dudes rub off on each other? Can you like—cum from rubbing your disco sticks together? Kinda sounds like a fire hazard!” Loic chuckled to himself, contemplating the myriad possibilities.

“I ain’t answering that—if you’re so curious, you can go get your own man and find out for yourself,” Beckett advised with a smug grin.

“Damn, there it is—that gay agenda everyone’s been talking about—you’re trying to turn me queer!” Loic accused loudly. Fortunately, right about that time, there was a major play on the field that drew jeers and shouts from the spectators, so Loic’s outrageous claim was drowned out.

“You’re an idiot. No one would ever put me in charge of recruitment. I’m not organized enough for that,” Beckett replied, playing along.

Loic snickered and took another sip of his beer.

“Anyway, I’ve sucked a dick before and I can safely say, it ain’t for me,” Loic stated with casual confidence.

Beckett choked on his beer. Hacking and coughing, he fought to breathe. Loic pounded his back energetically, laughing in delight at eliciting this extreme reaction.

“Dude! What the fuck?” Beckett exclaimed in patent disbelief once he’d recovered.

“Come on, Frenchie. You think you’re the only one who wanted to dip his toe in the other pool? I was horny and young once too!” Loic winked at him playfully, and Beckett rolled his eyes, since Loic was just two years younger than Beckett.

“Bullshit!” Beckett refuted with a shake of his head. “Who?”

“Can’t say. I don’t blow and tell!” He raised his hands defensively and, in the process, spilled more of his beer on Beckett’s jeans. Again.

“Calice!”

“Oops! Sorry!” Unsurprisingly, Loic did not sound the least bit apologetic. “Doesn’t answer my original question though.”

“Which one?” Beckett asked while furiously swiping at the wet spot with a handful of napkins, only to make an even bigger mess as all they did was disintegrate in his hand.

“How’d you score two tickets for this game if you’re still enjoying riding your honey bear’s D?”

“Honey bear is not making the list of acceptable nicknames. I’m drawing a line,” Hayes stated emphatically in his ear, and Beckett bit back a laugh.

“Since my honey booboo used to be a sniper for the SEALs, and the sniper slated for the job today is out sick this week, our boss asked him to fill in. Figured he might as well ask for tickets. Worst thing they could say was no.”

It took Loic a few seconds to process this. Then his eyes widened dramatically as he quickly began scanning the upper decks of the stadium, checking for possible locations of a sniper’s nest.

“Holy shit! I thought the whole thing about a sniper at NFL games was a hoax! Navy’s working the stadium? That’s hot!”

“Do you think it’s hot?” Hayes whispered huskily.

Before leaving their condo that morning, Beckett had begged Hayes to wear their personal comms device as well as the one issued by stadium officials.

Typically, Beckett was the one saying all the inappropriate shit over their private channel.

Surprisingly enough, today Hayes had turned the tables on him, and was quickly becoming a genuine menace.

“I don’t know about hot—snipers always seemed like sissies to me.” Beckett sneered as he pretended to concentrate on the game.

Loic squinted, looking puzzled as he studied Beckett’s profile.

“The fuck you on about? You were practically best friends with—jeez, what was that little fucker’s name?

Pete? Davis? Damn, all you gringos look alike,” Loic complained with a frown, impatient and annoyed that he couldn’t recall the guy’s name.

“Come on, you know the one. Freckles, red hair.

You called him Lucky ‘cause he was the best shot in the whole Corps!”

Of course, Beckett knew all along who Loic was referring to.

He just liked watching his friend get all wound up when Beckett refused to readily divulge information like Loic expected him to.

It was a guaranteed source of amusement that he shamelessly exploited every chance he got.

But this time, instead of dragging out the process, Beckett decided to play nice and put Loic out of his misery sooner rather than later.

“You shared your cot with him in Yemen!” Loic whined accusingly, his voice rising in frustration.