Not mine, but who houses them? Who keeps them in lube and condoms? Darn right, it's me. So they owe me, big time. Oh, wait, that's why they got me the video camera
Originally a birthday story for Maig. Love you guys at TSL.
Blair looked at the elevator, then at the stairs. It was Friday, which meant the elevator, but he needed to think, which meant the stairs. But he was pretty damned tired, which meant the elevator, but he'd done something stupid and really should punish himself, which meant the stairs. But he figured he'd banked a hell of a lot of good karma in the last three years, which meant he deserved the elevator, plus he was a really nice guy and hadn't Maig just told him that not four hours ago when she roped him into signing up to do the really stupid thing? Yes.
Blair shook his head and started up the stairs.
Man, he was so stupid. How in the hell was he ever going to live this one down? His reputation as a serious academic would be in jeopardy and his rep at the station would be completely destroyed.
Wait - he didn't have a `serious academic' reputation, he had the `crackpot' reputation, and he certainly didn't have the kind of reputation that needed protecting at the station. Hell, his rep might actually be enhanced. Blair stopped, turned around, walked the seven steps back down to the lobby, and got into the elevator.
He was just about to punch '3' when he remembered Jim. Jim did have a reputation at the station, and having a partner doing what Blair was going to do Saturday night would do nothing to enhance said reputation.
Blair pushed the 'open' button and when the doors slid aside, he got out and started up the stairs.
Life really sucked sometimes.
"So how much is Saturday going to cost us, Chief?"
The plate Sandburg was rinsing slipped between slippery fingers.
"Just a plate, man, just a plate. Two easy pieces. I can glue them together when they're dry."
Blair picked the broken parts up and set them carefully aside. He went back to rinsing off the dinner dishes before placing them into the dishwasher.
"So, how much?"
Blair closed his eyes. "Well, the tickets are fifty a piece, but once there, you'll also have the chance to bid at a silent auction as well as bidding on the opportunity to, uhm, er, take part in several of the special... uhm, events."
He heard the paper rattle and could tell that Jim was folding it up. A moment later, the man was standing in the kitchen.
The predatory gleam in those icy blues told Sandburg that Jim had figured out more than Sandburg wanted him to know. Why did Jim have to be a detective, let alone one with heightened senses?
"Uhm, yeah, you know, special events."
"Care to elaborate?" Jim leaned casually against the island.
"Oh, you know, special events."
Jim crossed his arms over his chest. "Gee, buddy, thanks for that clarification. No wonder your students do so well in class." Jim cupped an ear and said, "Why, I can hear one of them now. 'Ah, Mr. Sandburg? What chapters again?' followed by your in-depth answer of, 'Oh, uhm, you know... those chapters.'" He shook his head in wonder. "Yep, you really know how to add those important little details, Chief."
Blair tossed the towel he'd been drying his hands with behind him, then shrugged in what he hoped signified a total lack of information. "Hey, man, I'm only a TA at Rainier, I'm not privy to all those pesky little details. I just know that a couple of--"
"Let me guess; a couple of special events?"
"Jim, you really should give some thought to the Improv's open mike night on Thursdays. It's good to know you can fall back on something when those crafty Cascade criminals start wearing you down."
"Sandburg? The special events?"
Blair repeated the "I know nothing" shrug as he walked nonchalantly into the living room and dropped down into the yellow chair. He added the famous, "Honest, I really don't know anything" hand wave as he said, "Oh, they'll probably do some kind of professor auction like they did last year. Only to take part in the auction, you have to bid on your chance to get into it, see?"
"You have to bid on the chance... to bid?"
"Uhm, yeah. Remember, this is for charity."
Continuing in the time-honored tradition of Sandburg-nonchalance, Blair picked up the TV Guide from the arm of the chair and pretended to peruse it.
Jim was not fooled.
"I don't suppose anyone I know will be involved in any of those... special events?"
Blair casually turned the page, frowned, bit the left corner of his mouth, and said thoughtfully, "Mmm, well, Professor Wilding will be in the auction."
"Huh-uh. Anyone else?" Jim shoved Blair's body over and took up residence on the arm of the chair.
Blair scratched the back of his head. "Well, I think I recall someone mentioning that Marilyn will be taking part in the boxing special. You remember Marilyn? The flexible TA you met last month? I think you were lusting after her."
Jim plucked the TV Guide out of Blair's hand. "Boxing, Chief? And I don't remember lusting after any TA named Marilyn."
"Boxing, yeah. It'll be held in the gym. TA's against professors, that kind of thing. Everyone says that event is going to bring in more money than the auction, and you were lusting after her. She can do amazing things with her legs."
Jim flicked a piece of imaginary lint from Sandburg's shirt. "Anything else, Chief? And no, I wasn't lusting, and her legs?" he asked.
"You were lusting, and, well, that's all that I... that anyone ... really, that's all that's on the program so far."
Whew, trying to word something without lying just wasn't as easy as it used to be.
"Ah, so there'll be a program. So Simon, Connor, Taggart, Brown, and I will be able to use the program to decide which of these... special events to bid on attending, right? And I'd remember lusting."
"Uh, yeah, undoubtedly. And you're rather famous for not remembering things, Jim."
Jim rose gracefully, patted Blair on top of the head, and said, "I'm sure we'll find something to make the loss of fifty bucks worthwhile, and I always remember lusting."
Blair looked up at his partner, eyes full of innocence, as he said, "Why, Jim, that money is going to charity, remember? Even if you didn't bother going, if say, you had a date with someone you lusted after, it would still be worthwhile because you'll be doing a good deed and racking up some great karma."
"I don't lust and I don't have a date, Chief. Except with you, our co-workers, and Rainier University."
"Oh, well, sure."
He was so dead.
Saturday Night - Rainier University
"You sure I'm not gonna regret the fifty bucks, Jim?"
"I'm sure, Brown. I don't know yet what Sandburg got himself roped into, but knowing him, and reading all the signs he's been so careful to avoid transmitting, I'd say, yeah, we've spent a very good fifty bucks."
Connor came up alongside the two men and said, "Come on, guys, it's for charity. Even if Sandy isn't involved in anything, you'll have spent the money well."
Rafe pocketed the valet parking stub as he said, "Nice try, Connor. Nice try. You know damn well the only reason we're here is that Ellison promised us something good, and I'm counting on Sandburg to provide it."
Joel and Simon joined the four detectives at the entrance to the Rainier Auditorium. As they came abreast, Simon gave a low whistle. "Valet parking? How much of our fifty went to that instead of the charities?"
"None. Sandburg assured me that the kids parking the cars are students here and volunteering their time for a good cause. Same with the food, wine, you name it. One hundred percent of our contributions will be going to charity. According to the back of your ticket, your supporting 'SCAN', the Ryder Scholarship Fund, Greenpeace, and RUDD." Jim waved his ticket in front of Simon's face.
Five detectives looked at each other, then said almost in complete unison, "SCAN? RUDD?"
Smiling, Jim said, "'Stop Child Abuse Now', and 'Rainier Designated Driver'. That's apparently a pilot program that allows students to call for a DD when they're out and have too much to drink, or think they're going to have too much to drink."
Simon nodded approvingly. "I can get behind all of those, but does the back of my ticket also tell me just what little bit of joy Sandburg will be bringing us tonight?"
Jim held open the door as he said, "We'll have to go to the programs for that information, and considering his attempts to misdirect me, I'd say we're going to have fun tonight, lady and gentlemen."
On top of Maig's diabolical scheme to get him to be a part of "Special Event Number Two", Blair had also been roped into manning the food table for the first two hours of the Fifth Annual Rainier Charity Extravaganza. He was standing behind the dessert table and refilling the pecan tart tray when he heard Henri Brown's laughter. With a small groan, he looked up and spotted his friends at the entrance. One of his fellow TA's was handing each of them a program.
The good news was that his event didn't name names. He might just make it through the evening without a raging case of mortification. As he watched his friends, Jim glanced up and unerringly connected with him. The older man raised a hand and gave him a small salute. Blair recognized it for it was; a challenge. Jim had already noted the lack of names on four out of five of the special events and he was telling Blair that mortification was just around the corner.
"Okay, it can't be the wet t-shirt contest, that's undoubtedly--"
"Uh, Brown, where are you going?" Simon interrupted Rafe with his question.
"Oh, um, well, see, the wet t-shirt contest is in thirty minutes, and I thought I'd get a good... it's at the indoor pool? Other side of the university?"
"Yeah, but the bumper bike races are at the same time, and I'm betting that's where we'll find Sandy," Connor posited.
"No, no," Rafe interjected. "He's gonna be in the ice cream sundae eating contest. That's Hairboy all over. And we need to bid now if we're gonna make that one. It closes in just a few minutes."
Simon rubbed his chin thoughtfully as he read his program. "It looks as though we have a conundrum, people. There are six of us, and from what I can see, three possible events." He looked pointedly at Brown as he continued with, "We need to forget the wet t-shirt contest and concentrate on the other three, namely the sundae contest, the bumper bikes, and the blind putting contest. Two of us per event."
With a bit more discussion, everyone finally agreed to Simon's proposal. They paired off, with Connor taking Rafe, Taggart taking Brown (to ensure that he didn't skip out on them for the wet t-shirt contest) and Jim and Simon partnering. They temporarily separated, made their bids, then met back at the silent auction.
"Okay, so we're ready?" Simon asked.
"Yep, all signed up. The bidding closes in ten, so we'll soon know if we won our spots. If we did," Connor said, "the bumper bike contest is on the basketball court at nine, so we'll have plenty of time before Rafe and I need to head over there. The ice cream sundae contest is in the cafeteria, which means you, Joel, and you, Henri, need to head out as soon as it's announced. Simon, you and Jim will have the same amount of time as Rafe and I, and the blind putting contest is, believe it or not, in the Russell Library."
"Nice job, Connor," Jim said with a grin.
Before she could say anything in response, a young woman came up beside Jim and tapped him on the arm. "Detective Ellison? Do you remember me? I'm--"
"Sure, Maig, right? We met last month at that faculty dinner, didn't we?"
Nodding happily, she said, "Yes, at Professor Wallingham's. I don't mean to interrupt, but you only have five minutes to bid on the wet t-shirt contest, and I just know Blair would hate you to miss him in it. Can you believe it? We're already on page twenty of the bids! Last year, when we ran the typical female version, we only had seventeen bid pages. I'm pretty sure this is going to be the hit of the event and the big moneymaker. But you'd better hurry, only the top one hundred bidders will be allowed into the natatorium."
With that, the petite brunette hurried off.
For a moment, silence reigned. Then--
"Okay, Rafe, Connor, you two are in charge of erasing us from all the other bid forms. But first," Simon yanked Rafe back before he could disappear in his rush to erase, "hand over every dime you have. We're going in on this one as a group."
Cash, credit card limits and checking accounts were disclosed in hurried whispers. Finally--
"Okay, Jim, you have the amount. Go forth and sign us up as Major Crime," Simon ordered.
Saluting smartly, Jim said, "Aye, aye, mon Capitan."
Connor and Rafe hurried off to do their erasing while Jim rushed over (in a very nonchalant manner) to the wet t-shirt bid table. When he arrived, there was still one minute left to bid. Jim was an honorable man, but the idea of seeing Blair Sandburg, his secret wet dream, in a wet t-shirt contest forced him to use... secret powers; his sentinel senses.
Standing tall, he simply read the bids from several feet away, then waited until the last minute, walked up and casually wrote down on the last line:
Major Crime $600
Their maximum bid.
He figured that based on the numbers he'd seen, they'd be ninety-nine of the hundred.
All this to see wet t-shirts on men? What was the world coming to?
Whatever it was -- he liked it.
Sandburg had managed to avoid his friends so far, and by remaining close to food, he suspected he was doing a good job of keeping Jim's senses at bay. He checked his watch and gave a mental "Yikes!" He was late. Scanning the crowd, he was surprised that nowhere in the auditorium could he spot Simon or Jim. He hoped that meant that the entire gang was already at some of the other events. They'd never peg him for the wet t-shirt contest. No way. He headed out.
Jim prepared himself for the smell of chlorine, then followed his fellow detectives into the building. The humidity hit them first, followed closely by the chemical odor.
Bleachers stood on each side of the indoor pool and since the winners of the bid had been announced from highest bidder down, the bleachers on the East side of the pool were already filled to capacity. Jim and the rest of Major Crime had indeed been the ninety-ninth winners. They weren't the only ones to have pooled their resources in order to win the bid, and thus the ability to be here. There were at least three hundred people in the natatorium, most of them women in the form of students and faculty.
The "Wet Down" was scheduled for nine-thirty and by the time they made their way over to the bleachers, it was nine-twenty. They managed to climb up and squeeze in to the fifth row. Once settled, Simon asked, "So how do they do this? Line 'em up and hose 'em down?"
"No," a young brunette woman next to him answered. "There are fifteen entrants and they have to go into the pool, duck completely under, then climb out and take their positions over there." She pointed to a stage that had been erected to their right. "Did you get your voting cards?"
Everyone glanced down at the packets in their hands. Simon nodded. "Seems so. How--"
"When we're asked, simply hold up the card that corresponds to the guy you're voting for," the young woman explained with a smile.
A chorus of "Ah's" greeted her.
"Um, would you guys be with Mr. Sandburg, by any chance?"
Jim held out his hand. "Detective Ellison. This is Captain Banks, Detective Taggart, Brown and Rafe, and this is Inspector Connor. How'd you--"
"You look like cops," she said with a disarming smile. Then she looked with interest at Jim. "You're his partner, right?" At Jim's nod, she added "So he's pretty much assured of at least one vote. Not that he needs to worry. A whole bunch of us are his students and we're loyal. But it's gonna be tough. He's going up against Chuck Moore, our quarterback, and Linus Williams, and Clete Backus, and--"
"We get it," Connor said, holding up her hand. "Sandy may be short, but I'm betting he wins. Easily."
A blonde next to their helper snorted, then said, "Care to wager some hard money on that?"
Connor's eyes narrowed. "Twenty-five?" she taunted.
The blonde took out her wallet, extracted two tens and a five, then waved it in the air. Connor looked over at Jim and wiggled her fingers in his face. With a grunt, he took out a twenty and a five. Megan took it and said to the blonde, "You're on."
"Ooh, here they come, guys," the brunette said.
All eyes turned west.
"You know, Mr. Sandburg, we're gonna slaughter you. I just hope you don't take it personal when it's time for grades."
Blair glanced over his shoulder at the football player. "Oh, don't worry, Chuck. No hard feelings." He pulled off his sweater, which left him in his baggy t-shirt and blue jeans. He was also barefoot. The other fourteen candidates were stripping down to their t-shirts before heading out to the pool. Glancing down at the bag that Maig had given him earlier, Blair remembered her command to use what was inside. He opened it and took out the tank top. He wasn't as sure as Maig that the tank would be "Just what the doctor ordered", especially since the other guys had arms like tree limbs versus his twigs. But hell, what did he really have to lose? It wasn't as if he was going to be dating ever again, right?
Just when was the last date he'd had anyway?
Blair took off his t-shirt and put on the white tank top.
"ALL RIGHT, LADIES AND GENTLEMEN, IT'S TIME FOR THE FIRST ANNUAL MEN'S WET T-SHIRT CONTEST! ARE YOU READY?"
A loud multi-yelled "YES!" was the enthusiastic response. The Emcee, a woman who introduced herself as Professor Martel, cupped her ear and said into the mike, "What was that? I couldn't quite hear you?"
"YES!" screamed the energetic bidders.
Smiling, she said, "That's much better. Okay ladies," she grinned wider, "and gentlemen, this is how it works. Our fifteen entrants will be paraded out in a few moments and will immediately enter the pool. They must go completely underwater before climbing out. Once out, they'll be given their identification numbers and take up a position on stage with me. I'll make sure that you see everything you need to ... see," she paused to allow the cheering, "before the voting begins. Your applause will be appreciated by the entrants, but remember, it will be your vote cards, held high in the air over your heads, that will determine the winner. Our counters are scattered throughout and will quickly count up the cards. Don't put your card down until you're given the all-clear, or your vote might not be counted." She paused again, then said, "Is everyone ready?"
Another chorus of happy "YAY'S" filled the natatorium. Professor Martel gave a wave, music from The Entertainer started up, and from the locker door entrance, the men marched out.
Jim immediately spotted Sandburg and found his grin widening. This was going to be so good, but Monday and the fall-out? Even better.
The fifteen men walked to the shallow end of the pool, where most either walked in at the stairs, or jumped in. Blair was the one exception. He kept walking until he'd traveled half its length. He finally stopped, and poised on the edge, he arched his body slightly and completed a graceful and near perfect racing dive. His body cut through the water with a barely discernible splash. The audience cheered wildly.
Megan elbowed Jim and whispered, "He's gonna cream the competition."
Jim adjusted his jeans.
Everyone watched as fourteen men dove under the water while one man started to swim strongly back to the side of the pool. While most of the entrants walked out of the pool, a few, like Blair, climbed out. Most of the entrants chose to give the audience a close-up view and got out on the audience side of the pool. Blair was again the lone entrant to climb out on the opposite side. With one fluid motion, and a pause that showed off the wet and very tight rear of his jeans, he hauled himself up and out. He stood a moment in order to push his hair back before walking to the stage with the others.
It wasn't until all the men faced forward that everyone got the full effect of tucked in wet t-shirts and equally wet denims on men. And it wasn't until Blair faced forward that the audience got the full benefit of the mass of dark swirling chest hair, trapped under the now almost completely see-through shirt, and his --- nipple ring.
The gasps were probably heard in Tacoma.
"My God," Megan breathed out.
Jim was speechless.
All fifteen men were beautiful, but only one was beautiful from head to toe. Jim adjusted his jeans again.
Professor Martel picked up the mike and the volume on the music was lowered fractionally.
"All right, gang, here comes the `show' part of our ... pageant. I'll be walking behind each of our contestants and asking them to turn to each side, then turn around to give you the full... picture."
She had to wait for the cheering to stop before she could add, "When we've seen all fifteen, I'll go back down the line and call out the number of the contestant. If he's your choice, hold the matching card up high, and our referees will count them. All right, here we go."
Martel moved to the first young man, had him turn, pivot, then turn again. There were the expected whistles and cheers before she moved on.
Jim couldn't have cared less about any of the other contestants as he literally had eyes only for Sandburg. Sentinel vision took in everything from the wet curling hair pushed back from the angled face, to Sandburg's skin as the t-shirt stretched across his chest. His gaze took in the lower half of the man's body, where wet denim clung in all the right places, and finally, to the perfect bare feet. He followed several drops of chlorinated water as they fell on flexing shoulders, or from the square jaw onto the damp chest hair peeking out from the top of the shirt. His eyes took in the promise of the nipple ring which stood out proudly from one pronounced nipple, and he counted every swirl of hair that surrounded the taut bud. Without thought, his gaze followed the chest hair as it narrowed into a fine line that, along with the shirt, disappeared beneath the top of the jeans.
When Martel got to Sandburg, who was contestant number thirteen, the crowd went wild.
So did Jim's jeans.
The natatorium went strangely quiet as Blair stepped forward, pivoted, then turned so that his back was to the audience.
"Oh, yeah, best ass, hands down," Megan whispered.
Jim had the overwhelming desire to strangle her.
Simon groaned and said, "Connor, do you mind?"
"What? You don't agree, Captain?"
The man rolled his eyes as Henri Brown snorted.
"Not that I'm into men, or anything," Rafe offered. "But even I think Sandburg's just about the most perfect guy on that stage. Not that I'm into men, or anything," he finished lamely.
Jim decided to kill both Connor and Rafe. He could bury them together. Seemed fitting.
Martel had finished with the "Show" part of the event, and starting with contestant number one, she stood behind him and called out his number. About twenty people stood, cards with a number "1" on them held high. She continued on down the line and at number 10, the Rainier quarterback, a huge number of fans stood up and proudly waved their number 10 cards. At that point, Chuck had the highest number of cards raised.
It was finally Blair's turn. Martel walked up behind him, but before she could say any thing, a good hundred and fifty people rose as one, all holding cards that proudly proclaimed the number "13".
Jim, Rafe, Brown, Connor, Simon, and Joel were among the multitude of voters.
No one needed sentinel senses to see Blair blush to the roots of his hair.
The blonde who'd bet with Connor, immediately held up her money. Connor happily snapped it up, and Jim just as happily took it from her, along with his original twenty-five.
Even though there were still two contestants left, everyone knew the contest was over, and two minutes later, Martel made it official.
"Well, you've made your choice, people. The winner of the First Annual Men's Wet T-Shirt Contest is our very own anthropologist and Teaching Fellow, Blair Sandburg!!!"
The guys were slapping him on the back and his trophy stood on the bench in front of his locker. Blair should have been happy, but all he could think about was Monday morning. It had taken him all of ten minutes, once on the stage, to spot the gang from Major Crime, and he'd cringed inwardly.
Man, no way would Jim let him live this one down.
Just. No. Way.
As for the rest of the gang, well, maybe he could skip out?
"Sandy, there you are!"
He whirled around to find half of Major Crime descending on him.
"Geez, Connor, this is the Men's locker room. Are you nuts?"
The other contestants, all of whom were now dry and dressed, whistled at Connor while Chuck slapped Blair on the back and said, "Congratulations on the win, Prof. And trust me, we don't mind the lady at all. In fact, make sure and let her know she's welcome here anytime, okay?"
Everyone laughed, then began to make their way out, leaving Sandburg alone with his friends. Connor picked up the trophy, and turning it in her hands, said, "Wow, Sandy, this is a beaut. And I know exactly where to put it in the bullpen."
Jim took the trophy from her, set it back down, then with his hands on her shoulders, and using her as his method of clean-up, he propelled her forward, along with his friends. "Okay, everyone out. Sandburg needs to change, we'll meet you at the food. Go. Now."
With raised eyebrows, everyone, Simon included, went.
As Jim shut the locker door behind them, he could hear their mutterings.
"What's up with him?"
"I'd could tell you, but then I'd have to kill you, Rafe."
"Like you could, Connor."
Jim shut them out and turned back to Sandburg.
"Nice special event, Sandburg," he observed with a wicked grin.
"You're gonna make my life miserable now, aren't you?"
Jim cocked his head and regarded his partner thoughtfully. "Miserable? Your life? No, that's not what I have planned at all." He glanced over Blair's shoulder to the showers beyond, then back to Sandburg. "In fact," he added, "I'm thinking of having a special event of my own. Now. Here."
Blair's eyes widened. "Uh, Jim?"
"Don't misunderstand me," Jim said as he started to gently push Blair backward. "I loved the contest. I just think that from now on, I should be the only one in attendance when you parade around in a wet t-shirt, you know?"
Stammering, Blair said, "I...I, d-d-don't, I... n-n-ever--"
"Oh, but you will... for me. And only for me. Like... now."
Jim reached back and turned on the shower. As the steam rose, he took Blair by the biceps and moved him under the water. He then stepped back and out of the way.
"Doesn't it feel good, Chief?"
Blair nodded dumbly.
"Maybe you'd like to slip out of those wet jeans?"
Jim's words hung in the air with the steam. A small frown appeared on Sandburg's face as he said, "Jim, if this is just--"
Voice soft, low, and full of promise, Jim said, "Blair? Take them off. For me. Always just for me."
Something inside of Sandburg relaxed.
Slowly he unzipped his jeans, then just as slowly, he wiggled out of them. Kicking them away, Blair asked, "You did lock the door, right?"
Leaning against the tile, arms crossed over his chest, Jim nodded, his eyes focsed on the clinging white boxers.
Blair took off the boxers. He now stood under the warm cascade of water in nothing but the t-shirt.
"Aw, God, Chief, but you're beautiful."
"Jim, I have dry clothes, you don't. That was, by the way, a subtle hint."
Jim pushed away from the wall and disappeared around the corner. A few moments later, he came back... wearing nothing. He walked over to stand in front of Sandburg, who adjusted the shower head to give them both the benefit of the warm spray.
They were standing close enough to feel the energy between them, but weren't actually touching. As the water sluiced off their bodies, Blair murmured, "I can't believe it's gonna happen like this."
"I can," Jim whispered back. Leaning down, and without making any other contact, he kissed Blair.
Wet, slick, sweet, warm... and right.
They finally moved into each other, and as the kiss deepened, Jim rested his hands on Sandburg's hips, then slowly started to inch the t-shirt up. They parted just long enough for Jim to bring the wet tank top up and over Blair's head. As damp hair fell around his face, the shirt joined the jeans and boxers.
"You were incredible out there tonight, Chief," Jim said just before he nibbled the edge of Blair's ear.
"I was scared stiff, Jim."
His fingers encircling Blair's erection, Jim chuckled softly. "Good thing too."
Blair wrapped his fingers around Jim's cock as he said, "I love my... trophy... though."
"It's all yours, Chief. All yours."
"But no way is Connor gonna display it in the bullpen, right, Jim?"
"Connor needs to get her own trophy."
A few minutes later:
"Speaking of flexible... care to show me what your legs can do, Chief?"
"You know, these wings are pretty good," Brown said after licking his fingers.
"So's the corn, the chili, and the ribs," Joel added.
"Where do you suppose Jim and Sandburg are?" Rafe asked as he looked toward the entrance.
Connor looked up from her potato salad and deadpanned, "Probably polishing Blair's trophy."