“So noted,” I replied.
“And I got beer, Coke, Sprite and Diet Coke. You’re on an asinine diet, you order Diet Coke. I do not do light beer. I do not serve water. You want light beer or you wanna do something moronic like drink water with fried food, you can find another crab shack,” he announced.
“Message received,” I assured him.
Skip wasn’t done.
“You’re with Sam and you feel like tyin’ one on, I’ll pull out the bourbon. You’re with Luci, I’ll bring out the vodka. You become a regular and don’t get up my nose, I’ll keep a bottle a’ whatever you like in the Shack. You ever bring Hap back here; you’re eight-sixed for life, just like him. Got me?”
Hmm. Wonder what Hap did. I couldn’t see him ordering a light beer so I suspected it was something else.
I stared at Skip’s craggy face and decided to ask Sam later.
“Got you,” I told him.
He examined me head-to-toe and took his time.
So much of it, Sam asked, “Skip, Ma’s comin’ to town tomorrow. Need your approval of Kia before we have to hit the road for Raleigh. We got any prayer that’s gonna happen?”
Skip glared at Sam while he spoke and when he was done, his eyes sliced to me.
“So, Maris is comin’ to check you out?”
I bit my lip and shrugged.
“Sam was my boy, you’d get approval just because you got a great rack,” he informed me.
Jeez. Seriously. What was up with the men Sam hung out with?
“Uh… cool,” I muttered.
Skip looked at Sam and continued, “And a mouth made to be kissed.”
That was better… ish.
“Noticed that, Skip, now can we sit and eat?” Sam asked, sounding amused.
Skip looked back at me. “Two fried crab sandwiches, two beers, comin’ up.”
Then he turned and disappeared into the Shack.
Sam led me to a picnic table, one of the kinds where the seats were attached with angled boards. We mounted the seat on the same side and Sam claimed me by pulling one of my legs over one of his thighs then twisting his torso to me and resting his arm over my lap.
“Skip’s a character,” he told me.
“Got that, honey,” I muttered and Sam grinned.
Then his grin faded and he shared softly, “Fifty cents of every dollar he makes he gives to ALS research ‘cause his sister died of Lou Gehrig’s disease.”
My heart squeezed.
“Oh God,” I whispered.
“He’s a nut but he’s a nut who really fuckin’ loved his sister.”
I felt my face get soft and I looked toward the Shack.
“And when Gordo died,” Sam went on and I quickly looked back at him, “and Luci lost it, he slept on her couch for two weeks because he didn’t like her bein’ alone. He made her breakfast every morning and stood over her, makin’ her eat when she wouldn’t. He left the Shack and made her lunch. And he left it again to make her dinner. He can be an ass, he’s hard to take and that’s why he never got married, never had kids. That doesn’t mean he hasn’t adopted a number of them along the way. He adopts you, as you can tell, he’s still an ass and hard to take but he’s good people.”
“Never judge a book by their cover or talking books that tell you two minutes after you’ve met them that you’ve got a great rack,” I said quietly and Sam grinned again.
Then he agreed, “Yeah.”
“What did Hap do?”
Sam’s grin got bigger before he stated, “Hap’s in the Army.”
“Right…” I drew it out on a prompt.
“And, before Skippy started his crab shack, he was in the Navy.”
“Ah,” I murmured, nodding my head.
“One night, Skip broke out the bourbon and Hap had too much, didn’t shut up, there was a discussion, it got heated, it veered to the Army Navy game the previous season which Army just happened to win. Hap rubbed it in and Skip blew a gasket. Eighty-sixed Hap for life and meant it. Hap’s tried twice to come back. Skip got out his shotgun and fired buckshot at him twice. Hap’s not a big fan of bein’ fired on in the line of duty and really not a big fan of bein’ fired on when he’s just lookin’ for dinner. So Hap hasn’t attempted a third time.”
“This is probably wise,” I stated.
“Definitely wise,” Sam agreed.
I held his eyes and told him, “Celeste said that you can tell a lot by the company a man keeps.”
Sam burst out laughing. I smiled and watched.
When he controlled his laughter, he remarked, “Great. Not sure that’s good, baby.”
My smile died and I whispered, “I am.”
Sam’s eyes got intense, his face got intense and I held my breath.
Then he leaned into me, opening his mouth to speak just when two bottles of beer thudded loudly on the wood beside us.
I choked back growling my frustration when I turned to the bottles to see Skip had deposited them so forcefully both of them were foaming over. Then my eyes tipped up to look at him.
“Beer,” he grunted the obvious then stalked off.
Sam chuckled, grabbed a beer, reached out to a napkin dispenser, yanked some out and wiped one down before he handed it to me.