“So how's America treating you, Howie?” Howie's old roommate and lifelong best friend, Marcus, asked as he sipped a beer. “What's the rest o’ the police there like?”
Howie glanced at the phone propped on his bathroom shelf as he shaved. “They're pretty nice blokes, all told,” he said, returning his attention to the mirror. Right bunch o’ porkers, though. The Big Boss has a middle that's practically a planet! Not that I blame a one of ‘em for it,” he added, looking at the phone again. “The folks around here love to feed a policeman, and the food's bloody fantastic. I've put on a full stone since I got here.”
Marcus whistled. “Wow, mate. Thought you was lookin’ a little puffy in the face. Now I know why.”
“Oi! Stow that talk!” Howie said indignantly, looking at his face with mild alarm as he rinsed it, having finished his grooming. Marcus chuckled.
“Relax, Howie, I'm only havin’ a laugh. Besides, not like I'm one to talk on that score,” there was a smacking sound that Howie recognized from long experience as Marcus smacking his paunch. His friend was a far cry from fat, but he liked his beer, and it showed.
Howie just grunted, examining his reflection critically. Was his lantern-jawed face looking a little fuller than usual? He didn’t think so. Black hair in a buzz cut, blue eyes, ruggedly handsome (in his opinion, anyway), nose slightly crooked from a blow to the face during a rugby match, freshly shaved with a strong chin…
“Howie, relax, Marcus said in exasperation. “A big tosser like you’s gonna take more than a stone to start lookin’ puffy. And would it be so bad if you did? I’m the team fat arse, and I pull the ladies just fine. And you play for both teams, so surely you could find someone lookin’ for a good time even if you doubled in size.”
“I suppose you’re right,” Howie said with a grin, his confidence restored. “Don’t know why I was worried–old habits, I suppose.” Howie had been considered homely in school, puberty having hit him like a freight train. By the time it was over, though, he was over 6 feet of masculine beef and proud of it. Sometimes, though, old insecurities surfaced.
Marcus chuckled. He’d been friends with Howie for as long as either could remember, and he remembered those days, too. “You’re handsome whatever, you vain tosser,” he said fondly.
“Arrogant arse,” Howie said, just as affectionately. “Right, I’ve got to get kitted up for the day. Same time tomorrow?” Marcus agreed and the pair ended the call.
==
Having finished his ablutions, Howie tossed the towel onto the shower curtain rod to dry and walked into his bedroom. His home during the exchange program was a modest, one bedroom flat, with a small living room and kitchen, with the bathroom off the lone bedroom. The bedroom was decently sized, though; only a little bit smaller than the living room. Whistling a little, he pulled on boxers and socks before plucking a suit from the closet. He took a moment to admire his reflection in the slim mirror on the back of the bedroom door: His shoulders were broad and his muscles beefy, his biceps large and strong (and snarling badger tattoo on his left bicep never failed to bring back fond memories of being pitched with Marcus, who had a matching badger on his right bicep) his legs strong and his waist thick. He'd never had abs, he liked his grub a little too much to cultivate the shredded look, but his middle was fairly flat nonetheless. He scrutinized his pecs critically: they looked a little larger; a tad puffier, and he spotted a slight bulge over the waistband of his boxers where it looked like he might be budding some love handles.
He shrugged and turned around. Marcus was right: He was a handsome devil, and a few pounds wasn't going to change that.
'Might be more'n a few, the way these blokes feed a fellow,' he thought with a chuckle as he set to work putting on his suit. A fair few of the other detectives embraced the relaxed dress code for detectives, but Howie didn't feel right going to work without the proper formality. He was as casual as the next sod off duty, but on duty he had standards (plus the looks on people's faces when a muscular bloke in a spiffy suit spoke in brash, borderline cockney were never not funny). Tying his tie and putting on his jacket, he strode through the living room and grabbed his keys off the hook, heading out to start the day.
'Might do to get a spot of breakfast on the way,' he thought to himself as locked the door behind him.
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