Jackass Flats

Dave pulled off a bit from the turn off and put the Dodge into park. The dome light popped on, making Tate yelp and squeeze his eyes shut, the sudden brightness more than he could take.

"Jesus, kid."

"Nope. Dave. Look at me, Tate. It's Tate, right?"

"Uh-huh." Opening his eyes seemed harder than it should, but not because of the sleepy. More the spinny. He did it, though, staring into bright green eyes, the color true as a fucking crayon.

"Shit. You're totally gone. Well, we can wait here for Ram and he can follow me back to your place, then take me back to the bar."

Tate blinked. The kid's growl seemed to come from nowhere, with no damned provocation. "Oh, fuck that," he said, opening the truck door and sliding out into the snow. "I'll just walk back. You leave my girl here and I'll hike up and get her in the morning."

"Are you crazy?" The driver's door popped open and Dave appeared in front of him, snow covering the down jacket fast, making the kid look like the Michelin man. "Look, I'm sorry I snarled, okay? Come on, sit in the truck. The way Ram drives it'll be five minutes, tops, then I'll be out of your hair."

Well.... It was awful cold. Tate nodded, slogging back to the truck and climbing in. They both settled in, the heater warming them through again, and Tate turned to get another look.

High and tight in an indeterminate brown color. Those pretty green eyes. Strong jaw and heavy shoulders with very little neck to be seen with the coat. Built like a brick shithouse....

"Is Ram your boyfriend?" he asked, not even thinking it might be a bad question.

"What? No! No. Jesus. He's just a buddy."

"Oh." Tate nodded sagely. "Buddy."

Dave's eyes narrowed, the shock becoming a glare. "You don't believe me? He's married, has three kids. He's just been a good mentor to me since I've been here."

"Sorry, sorry." Holding up his hands, Tate grinned, trying not to burp in the guy's face. "I was just making a stupid joke, okay?"

"Yeah, well watch the jokes. Oh, thank God."

Headlights appeared behind them, another, far newer pick-up pulling up alongside.

"Trouble, man?" a Dave clone called from the other vehicle.

"Too cold to walk. Follow me down?"

"Sure!"

Then they were off, and before Tate could even blink, really, he was home, a military escort on either side of him, the guys walking him to his kitchen door.

"Here you go, Tate," Dave said, helping him get the door open.

"Thanks." He shrugged a little. "I mean, really. Sorry if I was an ass." He smiled, glad as hell to be home. "I'm a little drunk." He pulled out his wallet and tried to give them ten bucks for gas, which they refused, and he argued until Ram threatened to pop him one.

Dave laughed finally, clapping him on the shoulder. "No problem, huh? Just don't make me drive you home ever again."

"Sure. You bet." He watched them walk away, looking like a poster for being all they could be, and figured the chances of seeing Dave ever again were pretty remote.

Damned good thing, too. Army types were far too law-abiding for an old cowboy like him.

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