In Loving Memory, Frank Warren

Chapter 28: Guy Night

The light drizzle did not dampen their spirits. It was Guy Night, hopefully the first of many. Everyone dressed Pat-friendly, even Dean. Frank had fully expected Dean's jeans to be a fancy designer brand. Instead they were a no-name generic, real work style jeans, and he wore one of the correct size green t-shirts Frank had purchased.

Pat slung an arm over Dean's shoulders. "About time you decided to come join me in the gutters."

"It smells better where I live," Dean chuckled.

"This guy spends more on his clothes than I make in a year," Pat complained. "Which means you're buying, right?"

"Jackass." Dean's arm lifted around Pat's back to grab his buddy by the shoulders. "Arm wrestle you for it. Loser buys."

"Oh, no way." Pat's laugh was loud in the nearly empty street. "You're not suckering me again."

"You keep telling me how soft I am now," Dean argued, his eyes fairly twinkling.

Frank could tell this evening was long overdue. He and John followed closely while listening to the easy banter. Leaning way to one side, Frank intentionally bumped John's shoulder. For his trouble he received a confused glance, nothing more.

Failure.

Determined, Frank veered way off course to push John off the sidewalk into the street. Stumbling over the curb, John nearly fell on his ass.

"We're playing that game?" John demanded, planting his feet under him before rushing at Frank. The men in front of them separated enough to peer back as John slammed into Frank's shoulder, knocking him off balance into a wall.

"Hah!" John called out in triumph.

Grinning, Frank raced sideways to plow into John's side, sending his best friend skidding off the curb in a flail of arms and legs. With an echoing plop and curse, John landed on his ass in the street.

"Who won?" Frank taunted.

"Oh, shut up and help me up," John complained, holding out one hand. "Come on, I think you cracked my tailbone."

Relenting, Frank reached down to grasp his hand. He should have known better. With a smile far more evil than Frank was capable, John grabbed Frank's forearm with both hands and twisted his body toward the pavement. Yanked off both feet Frank plummeted into asphalt shoulder first, pain flaring across his chest and stealing his breath. Together they rolled across the wet pavement, laughter dispelling his pain. Frank landed on his side facing John.

"Asshole," Frank panted.

"You started it," John laughed. "Come on, big guy. I'll buy first round." With a slap to his uninjured shoulder, John jumped up easily. In-shape asshole.

"At least help me up," Frank groused. His right shoulder felt like John had nearly knocked it off. He held up his left hand.

"Do I have stupid tattooed on my forehead?" John demanded, glaring down at him. "Just get up."

"My turn." Dean stepped around John to grasp Frank's reaching hand. While trying to suppress a wince, he let Dean pull him to his feet.

"Are you all right?" Dean demanded, staring him in the eye. "No chest pains or anything?"

"Just the pain in my ass," Frank assured while brushing off his butt. "It's name is John."

"Oh, yeah, make me the bad guy," John groused. Standing off to the side, arms crossed over his chest, he gave Frank the 'who do you think you're kidding' look. "You started it."