"Wasn't aware I was coming to a yenta convention tonight. Fuck, man." The non-Jews at the table all exchanged a look of confusion and Big snorted into his glass. These were his bros, but they really were idiots sometimes. "Forget it," he muttered.
"Daaaamn," Matt called, in a rare outburst, when a group of attractive women walked into the bar. "Look at that one in the purple. That is one fine mocha-skinned honey. Dibs!"
"Rutherford just jizzed in his pants," Big laughed, leaning casually back against the booth.
"Get Bent," Matt grumbled.
Mike craned his head to get a better look at the women. "Hot, but too high maintenance. The Changster knows," he offered sagely, tapping a finger to his head.
"You're retarded, Chang," Big said companionably. "I'll go get us another pitcher."
Once Big walked away, Mike grinned. "Okay, let's place bets on how long it takes Big to pick up one to take home." He pulled out his wallet and slapped a ten on the table. "I'm going with the tall blonde and," with a glance at his watch, "12:30."
"No, no," Matt shook his head, digging out a ten spot of his own. "The redhead at 11:30."
James hesitated before pulling out two fives. "The brunette in the red and I'll give him until 11:45."
"God, this game is so fun. Been a while since we've played, eh?" Mike asked.
"Yes, it has been," James agreed, trying to remember the last time he'd seen his best friend hitting on a woman.
"Rutherford, just go over and talk to your African Queen already if you're gonna drool all over the damn table. God Almighty," Mike snapped, kicking his friend under the table.
"I will later," Matt said, kicking him back.
"Pussy," Mike coughed into his fist. "Oh, excuse me. Terrible cough I'm developing."
Big returned a few minutes later with two pitchers in his hands and slid back into the booth. "Wanna shoot some pool?"
The other three exchanged looks of confusion. "Wh-what are you doing?" Mike asked, totally incredulous.
"The fuck does it look like I'm doing? Drinking beer with you faggots. How many times have I told you it's essential for you to wear the protective gear at work, Chang?"
"How come you're not trying to pick up a chick to take home?" Matt asked, perplexed.
He shrugged and looked around. "Nothing that piques my interest," he drawled, bored.
"Oooh—did you get uh, a little something from someone?" Mike asked in a stage whisper, pointing to his pants.
Big glared and flipped him off. "I'll pretend you didn't just ask me that, asshole. My business is clean, thankyouverymuch."
Mike held up his hands. "Hey, you can't blame me for asking. I don't think anyone would be surprised. You do rake in a ton of pussy. 'S all I'm sayin'. Alright, Matt is gonna stroke out if he doesn't get to talk to that girl over there. C'mon, buddy, I'll be your wingman." He stood up and picked up his beer and grabbed Matt by the collar, dragging him out of the booth.
James looked up and saw another firefighter from their station. "Tony!" he called loudly.
"Whattup, bitches?" he greeted. "Tickets for you, Biggerone."
Big looked in the envelope and nodded his approval before pulling out his wallet and slapping some bills into the other man's hand. "Thanks," he grunted. "Appreciate it."
"No sweat. Sorry, can't stay. Got my lady waitin'. See you fucksticks later." With a little salute he walked away.
James snatched the envelope off the table before Big could put it in his pocket and pulled out the tickets for inspection. "Well, well, what do we have here?" James asked, shooting Big a curious look. He waved the tickets in front of his best friend's face. "Tickets to the Jets/Colts game."
Big shrugged and sipped his beer. "So?"
"You hate the Jets."
Big scowled. "Can I have my tickets back, asshole?"
"Hmm," James hummed exaggeratedly, tapping a finger to his lips. "Who do we know that likes the Jets? Oh, wait, no—not the Jets, the COLTS! That's funny; I seem to recall that Alisha is a huge Colts fan. These tickets wouldn't be for her, now would they, Big?"
"Dude—nunya! Seriously."
James smirked. "Oh, my God! They are for her. When the hell did that happen?"
"Keller, let it go," he said, rolling his eyes. "There's nothing going on with me and Larrington," he lied, running a hand over the back of his head.
"Bullshit, dude."
Big narrowed his eyes and James lifted a brow. "Fine. These tickets are for her. We're friends and we hang out sometimes and that is all you're getting from me. Drop it."
James opened his mouth to say something else and Big cut him off.
"I'm also enacting the Bro Code of Silence. So you can't tell your girlfriend or anyone else about this. And I fucking mean that."
James studied his dark-haired friend for moment before shaking his head and taking a long pull from his beer. "Guess none of us are winning the bet tonight," he said smirking. "Mike and Matt will be so disappointed."
"Come on—I'm ready to kick your ass at pool," Big grumbled, sliding out of the booth.
Wednesday night rolled around and Big and Alisha sat in the middle of his living room listening to music and sharing Chinese food. He leaned in and dug his chopsticks into her carton of sweet and sour pork.
"Hey, get your own," Alisha playfully scolded, knocking her chopsticks against his before relenting and offering him the carton.
"We're bad Jews," he smirked, scooping the pork into his mouth.
Alisha laughed and nodded her agreement. "And this close to Hanukkah, too. Will you please pass me the chicken?"
He found the white carton and handed it to her. "Were you planning on feeding us until Hanukkah next year, Larrington?" he asked.
She stuck her tongue out at him. "Shut it—I like my food."
"I know, hoss, I know," he grinned, laughing when she kicked his leg.
"You're mean," she
