The One That Got Away Read Online Free PDF Page B

road, but the stuff I’m trying to do with USAS relies on people still having some idea who I am.”
    “Strike while the iron is damp,” I mutter.
    I settle back in my seat and reach again toward his little heap of diced pepper, but he swats my outstretched hand away. “Hey! Stop stealing that, or there won’t be any left for the omelets.”
    I shake my bangs out of my face, unrepentant. “Whatever, just put less in Danny’s.”
    “Why don’t you make yourself useful and go kick him out of bed?”
    I can’t help returning his knowing grin. Danny requires food, caffeine, and at least sixty minutes of warm-up time in order to qualify as a human being after he wakes up in the morning. It’s a testament to how much he loved swimming that he was able to tolerate the practice schedule for so many years.
    My knock goes unanswered, so I poke my head around his door. “Hey, Danny boy, time to get your ass out of bed,” I say to the long mound in the middle of his blankets.
    The only response I receive is a short grunt of denial.
    “Eamon’s making omelets,” I wheedle. “And there’s coffee.”
    A long pause, then he rotates far enough to squint at me over his shoulder. His Popsicle-blue eyes are bleary, and all the parts of his elfin face look slightly misarranged. “What the hell is he making omelets with?”
    “That was my question. He got a bunch of veggies at the cornermarket on his way back from a run. He’s been up since six-thirty, being fit and productive.”
    Danny shudders. “Christ, he’s inhuman. What time is it, anyway?”
    “A little before ten. Come on, this whole house-hunting thing was your bright idea, anyway.”
    “Fine,” he groans, peeling back his covers as if they were an especially stubborn onion skin.
    “Look what I found,” I call to Eamon as we enter the kitchen a few minutes later.
    “Ugh, what is the matter with you?” moans Danny when he catches sight of Eamon, monitoring a bubbling omelet. “It’s Saturday. Why are you up so early?”
    “You know I can’t sleep in,” says Eamon. “And what happened to
you
? Back in the day, you used to be up at the ass crack every day too.”
    “I know, and then I quit swimming and got a life.” Danny slumps disconsolately onto a stool and grasps the mug of coffee Eamon shoves at him.
    “And now you’re dissolute.” Eamon ignores the baleful stare Danny shoots him over his coffee mug and flips the omelet. We all know the accusation is ridiculous; Danny’s schedule might have shifted, but his work ethic is firmly in place.
    “I’m a bar owner; it’s in the contract. And besides, at least I’m not
retired
,” Danny mutters into his mug.
    —
    Since Danny refuses to be seen driving his car—a scruffy Toyota that predates the Flood—any more than is absolutely necessary, that leaves my modest little Civic as the vehicle of choice for the driving tour of Austin. My car resembles a bomb site at the bestof times, and I wince to see that today it is even worse than usual: the backseat and passenger side are strewn with an untidy potpourri of gas receipts, half-empty water bottles, material samples, and battered rolls of drawings. Danny attempts to secure shotgun on the grounds that he is older, but Eamon claims two additional inches of leg. I half-expect them to break into an arm-wrestling match at any moment.
    “Oh, for god’s sake,” I say. “How
old
are you two? Danny, get back there. Pretend you have manners.” He slumps into the back with a deep sigh. I crane around until I can see him. “And no kicking Eamon’s seat, or I
will
turn the car around.”
    He gives a bark of laughter and settles back against his seat, arms crossed.
    “He can’t help himself,” Eamon explains. “He’s like the extra older brother I never needed. Speaking of which, how
are
your thirties treating you, Danny?”
    Danny, who just celebrated his second straight thirtieth birthday, shoots him a nasty look.
    “So,
anyway
, this is Barton