"How sure are you?"
"What do you mean 'how sure am I'?" Jim asked, growling in irritation.
Blair raised his hands, placatingly. "Hey, you're the big bad sentinel with ten years experience on the force and I'm just a lowly rookie, but I gotta ask: are you willing to put your money where your mouth is?"
"I know the regs, Sandburg."
A sly smile tugged at Blair's lips. "So, you're confident enough to, say, bet your pinks?"
Blair composed his face into the perfect picture of innocence. "The title to your truck."
"Unless you have another truck I don't know about."
"You want to bet our vehicles?" Jim asked incredulously.
Blair shrugged. "What do you care? If you're right you have nothing to lose."
Jim frowned, looking unsure for a moment.
"So you're willing to admit you could be wrong?" Blair leaned back in his chair, a satisfied smirk gracing his face.
"I'm sure, damn it!"
Blair simply held out his hand and raised a challenging eyebrow. Jim frowned again, but grabbed the hand and gave it one hard shake.
"Hey, Blair," Joel Taggert greeted as he walked through the police parking garage. "Did the Volvo break down again?"
Blair pushed the lock on the truck's door and slammed it shut. "Nope."
Maybe, just maybe, once Jim quit whining, he might give him an opportunity to win his baby back, but until then, he was just going to enjoy driving a classic that didn't need to be in the shop every month.
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