Steve stepped out of the bathroom, toweling his wet hair, and crossed the hotel room to the bedside table to check his phone – again – for any messages. He wasn’t worried about Christian getting to Dallas in time; he wasn’t. Yeah, Kane had missed his flight last night because filming had gone longer than he’d expected, but … Steve wasn’t worried. Not one little bit.
No way would Chris miss Jen’s wedding. No way in hell. And how hard could it possibly be to get a flight out of Portland to DFW?
Still …
He dropped the towel onto the bed, sighed, and reached for his phone. Wouldn’t hurt to check. Christian and airlines didn’t always get along.
Hard to believe, right?
He checked for any new texts or voicemails. Nada. Shit. Chris always texted once he was up in the air. Officially to let Steve know what time he’d be landing, but really to let him know he’d made it one more time without ending up on the No-Fly List. Steve searched again. Still nothing.
So not good.
He took a deep breath, braced himself, and texted Chris. So, how’s the flight?
He waited for a reply. And waited. And waited. Not good at all. What else did Christian have to do on a plane but play with his iPod and answer his phone?
Provided he was on the plane–
His phone buzzed, and Christian’s name appeared on his screen. Exhaling in relief, he opened the text–
And stared at the message in utter confusion.
Flight?! How the help would I know? Haven’t left the duckin airport yet! Frontier shirtheads can’t find my duckin reservation!! And I’ve got the confirmation email right here! Ducktards!
Steve frowned, shook his head and read the message again, then began his reply. Ducks? What’s up with the ducks, Kane? You– He snickered aloud in sudden understanding and added, Gina’s there, isn’t she? She still trying to clean up your language?
Seriously, now that she had a daughter, the woman was on a mission. But Chris’s own mother had given up on this years ago. Wasn’t enough soap in the world for her boy’s mouth, she’d declared–
The phone buzzed again, and he could almost feel Kane’s frustration scorching through the circuits. What? No! Gina’s not even here. I’m not typin duck, I’m typin DUCK. duck duck. Duck. It. All. Stop it. STOP! IT! DUCK! Duckin iPhone keeps autocorrecting me! Duck DUCK!!
And Steve couldn’t help himself. Goose?
If Christian had been there with him, he knew he’d be doing a little ducking himself right now, trying to dodge the iPhone that would be flying toward his head. But, deprived by distance of any outlet for his anger, Kane could only text.
Duck you, askhope.
Steve had to laugh. Christian Fuckin’ Kane, stripped of his profanity by a stupid phone. He could easily imagine how the other man must look right now, blue eyes blazing, face twisted into one of his trademark scowls, no doubt punching or shaking his phone and snarling aloud every single curse his phone wouldn’t let him type.
Hell, there probably wasn’t another passenger within fifteen feet of the seething man right now–
His phone buzzed again, and he opened the text.
Finally! Frontier duckwits STOP IT got me a ducking seat. Sun of a beach, STOP IT! Tell Jenny and Daniel D.A.N.N.E.E.L. Got you, mustard. Shirt! Tell J&D I’ll be there. And somebody better duckin well have a bottle of Jack waitin for me.
Steve chuckled quietly and shook his head. Sorry, Kane. I’m under strict orders to keep you sober until AFTER the wedding. And Mom’s helping. She confiscated all the liquor from the minibar in your room and won’t tell me where she hid it. You’re doing this dry.
He sent the text and half waited for his phone, and quite possibly the universe, to burst into flames as Christian realized he’d have to get through the rest of this day without his favorite alcoholic crutch. When his phone buzzed, he drew a deep breath, braced himself, and opened the text.
Duck my wife.
Steve threw back his head and laughed until he damn near cried.
Just Ducky
No way would Chris miss Jen’s wedding. No way in hell. And how hard could it possibly be to get a flight out of Portland to DFW?
Still …
He dropped the towel onto the bed, sighed, and reached for his phone. Wouldn’t hurt to check. Christian and airlines didn’t always get along.
Hard to believe, right?
He checked for any new texts or voicemails. Nada. Shit. Chris always texted once he was up in the air. Officially to let Steve know what time he’d be landing, but really to let him know he’d made it one more time without ending up on the No-Fly List. Steve searched again. Still nothing.
So not good.
He took a deep breath, braced himself, and texted Chris. So, how’s the flight?
He waited for a reply. And waited. And waited. Not good at all. What else did Christian have to do on a plane but play with his iPod and answer his phone?
Provided he was on the plane–
His phone buzzed, and Christian’s name appeared on his screen. Exhaling in relief, he opened the text–
And stared at the message in utter confusion.
Flight?! How the help would I know? Haven’t left the duckin airport yet! Frontier shirtheads can’t find my duckin reservation!! And I’ve got the confirmation email right here! Ducktards!
Steve frowned, shook his head and read the message again, then began his reply. Ducks? What’s up with the ducks, Kane? You– He snickered aloud in sudden understanding and added, Gina’s there, isn’t she? She still trying to clean up your language?
Seriously, now that she had a daughter, the woman was on a mission. But Chris’s own mother had given up on this years ago. Wasn’t enough soap in the world for her boy’s mouth, she’d declared–
The phone buzzed again, and he could almost feel Kane’s frustration scorching through the circuits. What? No! Gina’s not even here. I’m not typin duck, I’m typin DUCK. duck duck. Duck. It. All. Stop it. STOP! IT! DUCK! Duckin iPhone keeps autocorrecting me! Duck DUCK!!
And Steve couldn’t help himself. Goose?
If Christian had been there with him, he knew he’d be doing a little ducking himself right now, trying to dodge the iPhone that would be flying toward his head. But, deprived by distance of any outlet for his anger, Kane could only text.
Duck you, askhope.
Steve had to laugh. Christian Fuckin’ Kane, stripped of his profanity by a stupid phone. He could easily imagine how the other man must look right now, blue eyes blazing, face twisted into one of his trademark scowls, no doubt punching or shaking his phone and snarling aloud every single curse his phone wouldn’t let him type.
Hell, there probably wasn’t another passenger within fifteen feet of the seething man right now–
His phone buzzed again, and he opened the text.
Finally! Frontier duckwits STOP IT got me a ducking seat. Sun of a beach, STOP IT! Tell Jenny and Daniel D.A.N.N.E.E.L. Got you, mustard. Shirt! Tell J&D I’ll be there. And somebody better duckin well have a bottle of Jack waitin for me.
Steve chuckled quietly and shook his head. Sorry, Kane. I’m under strict orders to keep you sober until AFTER the wedding. And Mom’s helping. She confiscated all the liquor from the minibar in your room and won’t tell me where she hid it. You’re doing this dry.
He sent the text and half waited for his phone, and quite possibly the universe, to burst into flames as Christian realized he’d have to get through the rest of this day without his favorite alcoholic crutch. When his phone buzzed, he drew a deep breath, braced himself, and opened the text.
Duck my wife.
Steve threw back his head and laughed until he damn near cried.