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shaggy brown hair. He too was on his 3 off, and sported a scruff of dark stubble along his narrow jaw. He swigged his beer, swallowing nearly half the bottle before belching.
    Fox slid over, making room for Brandon on the smaller couch as he shook his head at Pete. “I thought you said you were never getting back in the game, Decker.”
    Everyone at the station knew the story of Pete’s bitter divorce. His ex, Lucia, had been a knockout. Like, a ten to Pete’s seven (on a good day). Pete and Lucia got along like a house fire most of the time, cooing like a pair of lovebirds and always kissing and sneaking away to get some alone time. But when they’d fought, it was always a 5-alarm.
    She’d come from a very religious Hispanic family, and her parents had never approved of her marrying a non-Catholic. Lucia defied them and married Pete anyway, but any time they fought (which was almost as much as they fucked), she threw it back in Pete’s face.
    They’d managed to stay together for four years before the relationship finally crashed and burned for good, and Pete had a lot of resentment. Toward Lucia, her family (who he placed what seemed to Brandon like an inordinate amount of blame on — probably because he was still in love with Lucia), and women in general. And a lot of anger. Though, Brandon thought some of that was just a mask for the hurt.
    He understood that, to an extent. But he had always been a more laid-back guy than Pete. His buddy was volatile before he ever met Lucia. It was part of what had made him and the equally hot-blooded Lucia work so well… and fail so spectacularly.
    “I’m telling you, man,” Pete said now, reaching for another beer. “I tried this online thing Doyle told me about. He swore up and down he’s been meeting hot chicks all the time from this site. So I sign up and look around and there’s maybe two decent looking profile pictures. I chat up one of ‘em. Pam. She says she’s twenty-three, just graduated from NYU.”
    Pete scoffed. Brutarsky raised bushy eyebrows black eyebrows.
    “Kinda young for you, ain’t she, Pete?”
    “What, I’m only thirty-two. Not like I’m ancient as you, Brute. Or V over there.”
    V made a show of cupping his hand around his ear, as if he was hard of hearing. “Huh?”
    That cracked them all up. All of them but Pete, who was still scowling.
    “Anyway,” he continued, leaning on the word. “We agree to meet at Jerry’s.”
    Brandon shook his head. A first date at a bar? And not even a very nice one, at that. Pete was not the smoothest operator. He caught Fox’s eye and the other man rolled his eyes, lips twitching.
    “So, I show up and what do I find? Pam is not only more like twenty-nine than twenty-three; she’s about fifty pounds heftier than her pic. And not where it counts either.” He blew up his cheeks and curved his hand out from his flat stomach to indicate a round belly. “Total fatty.”
    Hollis’s normally jovial smile faded and his brows snapped down in a frown. “What the fuck, man? That’s not cool.”
    Pete threw up his hand. “I know, right? It’s like, women can’t ever just be honest about shit. Right, Flem?”
    Brandon gritted his teeth, uncomfortable with Pete’s attitude and his inclusion of him in his diatribe. But before he could say anything, Hollis pushed to his feet and stood over Pete, his fists clenched at his sides.
    “No, dude, I meant it’s not cool that you’re talking trash about that chick’s weight. That’s really fucked up, Decker.”
    Pete snickered through his nose. “You a chubby chaser, Probie?”
    Brandon saw Hollis’s shoulders tense and knew if someone didn’t step in, the new guy was going to take a swing at Pete. He didn’t know why the issue was such a raw nerve for Hollis, but he figured since it was his place, he’d better try and defuse the situation.
    “Hey, Hollis. Let’s go get those wings. I’m starvin’.” He pushed to his feet and hooked an arm around the