Re: Pat & Lou: boxes
The kid winked like that had gotten him out of trouble too many times to count. It was the kind of casual cashing in on good looks and a reputation that made Lou think of the old small town, the one that had gotten too tight, like a cardboard box falling apart at the seams. It was a look, and the kid was trying to make it work for him, along with the baby blues and blond hair. Lou wasn't a wink-er. Hadn't been something she could make off with, young like Patrick. It wasn't her speed now. Charm wasn't in her wheelhouse, but it was clearly in Gunster Jr's here.
"We'll push out the boat. White coffin, doves, roses, the lot," she suggested, in honor of his doomed youth. Winced, when he said he was twenty-two. Lou remembered twenty-two, like it was yesterday. She had a bike, back then, and no ink and she thought she could outrun anything that came for her. The wolf could probably get ahead of a lot that was on her tail, but Lou didn't believe she could shake anything that came now.
"Tree cop sounds like the trees are out of line. You arrest any trees lately, kid?" The smile was easy, the teasing was second nature. Lou had dealt with a lot of young men in pack, a lot of young men who weren't pack at all. She was comfortable, and if law enforcement sounded like the worst idea she'd ever heard of, she didn't show it. The radio buzzed, and Lou had never met a job she liked well enough to wear it on her hip to go drinking.
"Go. Arrest a sycamore," she said to him, and she hugged him, brief and hard and smelling that woods and ozone on his skin. She clapped him on the shoulder and she pointed him toward the door. "Go on, get out. Queen and I have unpacking to do."