Portals and Puppy Dogs - Amy Lane Page 0,6

happened since he was a high school junior, asking Cyndi Laughton to the prom. She’d said no, he’d gone stag, and he’d ended up making out with Julius Bridges instead, and while the revelation that he was pansexual had been welcome, the flop sweat had not.

“I, uh, would really like to eat with you,” Simon said humbly. “Barbecue is fine.”

He watched as Alex dropped his chin to his chest and pulled in a deep, cleansing breath. “Okay,” he said at last. “But we’d better hurry. I have work to do.”

“No worries,” Simon said, trying to get back to that moment at the crosswalk when Alex had gazed up at him with a sort of reverence in his green eyes and the world had stood still. “Turns out, I know your boss.” He smiled hopefully, but Alex gave him back an almost wounded expression. God. How could he have screwed up so badly in just a few sentences?

“I know you do,” Alex said, and the words didn’t indicate that was a good thing.

Simon hung in there, though. They ordered, and Simon paid for both of them, insisting that he’d suggested the food truck idea. It was his fault they were there.

Alex accepted gracefully, and when they took their sandwiches and fries to one of the nearby tables, Alex sank onto the bench with a grateful sigh.

“Mm,” he said, inhaling gratefully. “Protein.” He looked up and eyed Simon suspiciously. “No cracks about how you think Wiccans are all vegan?”

“No,” Simon said, thinking it was probably safer to keep his surprise to himself. “But you are looking like meat isn’t your usual.”

Alex grimaced. “My roommate—”

“The friend who gave you the pendant?” Simon was thinking about being possessive, but Alex gave a happy smile. Not a lover’s smile, but he wasn’t wishing Simon would just disappear, either.

“Yeah, Bartholomew. He bakes every weekend. He sells his stuff at local conventions and events, but even when he doesn’t have an event, the house always smells… well, good, actually.” He half laughed. “But like sugar and vanilla. On the one hand, there’s always comfort food in the pantry, but on the other….” He took a healthy bite of his sandwich and closed his eyes.

“Protein,” Simon said, getting it. He was almost afraid to pick up his sandwich—the black turtleneck looked good, yes, but a big glop of barbecue sauce would wreck that.

Alex eyed him, and almost like he could read Simon’s mind he said, “You can tuck a napkin at your throat. Don’t worry, you won’t ruin the big bad boss image with me.”

“Thank you,” Simon murmured, doing that. “I didn’t realize how much I relied on that image until now.”

Alex gave a brief chuckle. “Well, you do work at being imposing.”

Simon grimaced because it was true. “I was five two until my sophomore year in high school,” he explained. “And when my growth spurt hit, I was—”

“All ears and elbows?” Alex asked kindly.

Simon felt a smile tilt his lips. “Yes,” he said. “To put it nicely. And acne scars and braces. All my friends got theirs off in junior high, but my jaw was apparently rotated at some sort of bizarre angle, so I got the full-court press until my senior year. My feet were too big, and I swear, shit just jumped off of shelves when I walked into a room. I was a mess.”

“Well, yeah,” Alex said, but his eyes were understanding. “But weren’t we all? I’m not sure I glanced up from my physics books until college.”

Simon let out a breath. “I wish. I could have hidden in my school books and D&D until I hit twenty-five and could maybe pass for human, but….” He shook his head. “My parents are in politics, and there was boarding school and debate team because it was good for me and student council so I could make the old man proud.” He shuddered. “It was a perfect storm of awkwardness,” he confessed. “I worked really hard after I got out of college to make sure it didn’t happen again.”

“Mm.” Alex was looking at him with quiet speculation in his eyes but not pity. Simon masked his discomfort with a bite of sandwich and was grateful for the napkin tucked in at his throat when that promised glop of barbecue sauce dove for the exit.

“What?” Simon asked, more off-kilter with this quiet man in the plain white button-down and Dockers than he ever had been with his work partners, both of whom were rampant extroverts and self-professed