this?” Bruce tapped the wood panel covering the wall around the shuttered main entrance. It was the only piece of wall his friends hadn’t torn down.
At the time, Teag had contemplated restoring it, but now, inspecting the thick paint filling the grooves, he had to admit the futility of the idea. “Rip it,” he said, resigned.
While Bruce stomped off to the pile of tools in the back, a thunder of feet on wooden stairs announced the arrival of the Boys from upstairs.
Dylan, Olly and even Olly’s friend Jem showed up en masse on Monday morning, staunchly determined to pitch in. Teag had no idea what to do with them, but Bruce had them scraping paint from windowsills and frames and clearing out the minor detritus left from the weekend’s destruction.
Of the three, Olly had been the only one remotely dressed right for construction work—he’d had on worn jeans and a shirt and hiking boots. The other two, in their tennis shoes and fashion-forward outfits—especially Dylan—couldn’t have been more unsuited for the occasion. Regardless, Bruce gave them tools, face masks and plastic safety goggles.
“You look like a cross between a boy band and the Village People,” Teag had sniggered. “You need a band name.”
“In-sink, with a K,” Bruce had suggested. Dylan, Olly and Jem had given them a group frown.
“No Direction,” Teag had retorted. The collective frown had deepened.
To which Bruce slapped down the trump card. “Back-Alley Boys.”
The name had stuck, though mostly shortened to Boys . It was simpler to say than all three names when Bruce and Teag had to allude to their helpers.
“We finished!” Dylan, the self-appointed band leader, announced as they spilled into the room.
“Watch your steps,” Teag warned them in the reflexive tone of an older brother in charge. The last thing he needed was one of the Boys stepping on a nail or twisting his ankle climbing rubble.
Bruce came back too, wielding a crowbar. Thankfully, he’d also found his shirt. Though the white cotton wasn’t thick enough to conceal the bump of his nipple—the one with the stud.
Teag snapped his gaze back to Bruce’s face, only to see the man’s lips curve. Smug bastard . What he would give to wipe that smile from Bruce’s face. Teag slammed on a mental brake before his train of thought could derail.
“You all right?” Dylan asked.
“Yes, I am. Why wouldn’t I be?”
Dylan schooled his face into a false expression of innocence. “You seem flushed.”
“You’re imagining things.” Teag stared daggers of warning at his friend. Dylan said nothing in reply but still managed to annoy. Olly and Jem were watching the exchange with undisguised curiosity. Teag turned his back to their gaggle and fixed a pointed gaze on Bruce. “You may proceed.”
“Aye aye, Captain.” He limped to the wall Igor-style—or perhaps as a one-legged sailor—oblivious of Teag’s glare. In a just world, it would’ve burned a hole between his shoulder blades. Unsinged, he set to work but had a hard start. “Someone nailed these on tight,” he said, stating the obvious. At last, he managed to pry an edge loose, wrenched, pulled, and a sizable section of the panel tumbled to the ground. “Shiver me timbers.” He stepped back.
“Arrgh,” Dylan agreed.
Jem added, “Blimey.”
“What the hell’s that?” Teag cut in before their pirate gibberish could go overboard. The exposed piece of wall showed multiple shades of green paint applied in irregular patches.
Bruce rapped his knuckles on the surface. “It’s solid wood.” He proceeded with the panel removal much more gingerly. It took him a good twenty minutes to complete the job, and when he did, the five of them stood in a semicircle to take in the view.
From about waist height all the way to the ceiling, a painted jungle scene covered the wall. In the middle of lush green foliage perched a huge blue bird. Yellow letters above announced: The Blue Parrot. Someone, a
At the time, Teag had contemplated restoring it, but now, inspecting the thick paint filling the grooves, he had to admit the futility of the idea. “Rip it,” he said, resigned.
While Bruce stomped off to the pile of tools in the back, a thunder of feet on wooden stairs announced the arrival of the Boys from upstairs.
Dylan, Olly and even Olly’s friend Jem showed up en masse on Monday morning, staunchly determined to pitch in. Teag had no idea what to do with them, but Bruce had them scraping paint from windowsills and frames and clearing out the minor detritus left from the weekend’s destruction.
Of the three, Olly had been the only one remotely dressed right for construction work—he’d had on worn jeans and a shirt and hiking boots. The other two, in their tennis shoes and fashion-forward outfits—especially Dylan—couldn’t have been more unsuited for the occasion. Regardless, Bruce gave them tools, face masks and plastic safety goggles.
“You look like a cross between a boy band and the Village People,” Teag had sniggered. “You need a band name.”
“In-sink, with a K,” Bruce had suggested. Dylan, Olly and Jem had given them a group frown.
“No Direction,” Teag had retorted. The collective frown had deepened.
To which Bruce slapped down the trump card. “Back-Alley Boys.”
The name had stuck, though mostly shortened to Boys . It was simpler to say than all three names when Bruce and Teag had to allude to their helpers.
“We finished!” Dylan, the self-appointed band leader, announced as they spilled into the room.
“Watch your steps,” Teag warned them in the reflexive tone of an older brother in charge. The last thing he needed was one of the Boys stepping on a nail or twisting his ankle climbing rubble.
Bruce came back too, wielding a crowbar. Thankfully, he’d also found his shirt. Though the white cotton wasn’t thick enough to conceal the bump of his nipple—the one with the stud.
Teag snapped his gaze back to Bruce’s face, only to see the man’s lips curve. Smug bastard . What he would give to wipe that smile from Bruce’s face. Teag slammed on a mental brake before his train of thought could derail.
“You all right?” Dylan asked.
“Yes, I am. Why wouldn’t I be?”
Dylan schooled his face into a false expression of innocence. “You seem flushed.”
“You’re imagining things.” Teag stared daggers of warning at his friend. Dylan said nothing in reply but still managed to annoy. Olly and Jem were watching the exchange with undisguised curiosity. Teag turned his back to their gaggle and fixed a pointed gaze on Bruce. “You may proceed.”
“Aye aye, Captain.” He limped to the wall Igor-style—or perhaps as a one-legged sailor—oblivious of Teag’s glare. In a just world, it would’ve burned a hole between his shoulder blades. Unsinged, he set to work but had a hard start. “Someone nailed these on tight,” he said, stating the obvious. At last, he managed to pry an edge loose, wrenched, pulled, and a sizable section of the panel tumbled to the ground. “Shiver me timbers.” He stepped back.
“Arrgh,” Dylan agreed.
Jem added, “Blimey.”
“What the hell’s that?” Teag cut in before their pirate gibberish could go overboard. The exposed piece of wall showed multiple shades of green paint applied in irregular patches.
Bruce rapped his knuckles on the surface. “It’s solid wood.” He proceeded with the panel removal much more gingerly. It took him a good twenty minutes to complete the job, and when he did, the five of them stood in a semicircle to take in the view.
From about waist height all the way to the ceiling, a painted jungle scene covered the wall. In the middle of lush green foliage perched a huge blue bird. Yellow letters above announced: The Blue Parrot. Someone, a
Similar Books
