Beau backed the truck up into the warehouse, moving the float with skill. “Same as backing up a hay wagon,” he said, dismissing charges of awesome driving with a wave of one hand.
Vin pulled on a pair of sweatpants over his leprechaun outfit. “A skill I will, gratefully, never need,” he said. He rubbed his hands up and down his arms, then dove into the backpack again, finding a not-quite-dirty cardigan underneath his crumpled up notes from his Conquering Europe seminar. It smelled like pencils and ashtray, but it was warm. Er.
“Are you going to the game?” he called out. Beau climbed out of the pickup truck and locked the doors.
“What about the float?”
“Oh, we’ll get together for a tear down tomorrow. Late tomorrow. As I don’t know about you, but I plan on drinking down our shame and cr
