The Same Place (The Lamb and the Lion #2) - Gregory Ashe Page 0,146

not a threesome.”

“Because that’s not really my thing. I like a guy’s full attention.”

“Please?”

“Why Ammon?”

“If I tell you, I’m afraid you’ll say no.”

Jem chewed his lip. “That’s not a great sign.”

“I know. But please?”

“Yes, ok.”

“Really?”

“Stop smiling. Think about your carbon footprint or how many ducks were boiled alive to get the feathers for your pillow or something like that.”

Tean managed to stop smiling; all he had to do was look at the bandages on Jem’s arm.

Ammon came downstairs that afternoon, and they loaded up in his car, which smelled like farts and fast food and industrial cleaner. Jem described these smells at great length and insisted on rolling the window down. Ammon didn’t say anything, but the muscles in his jaw got tighter and tighter.

“Thank you for doing this,” Tean said in one of the lulls in Jem’s monologue. He touched Ammon’s arm. “I know it’s a gray area.”

“I want to be part of your life,” Ammon said. “Whatever part you’ll let me be. If that means keeping you out of trouble, well, I’m just happy you’ll talk to me.” He reached over and brushed a thumb, feather light, up the black-and-blue bridge of Tean’s nose. “All I want is to keep you safe, make sure you’re happy. I don’t ever want to see you hurt like this again. It’s killing me.”

Jem was making gagging noises in the back seat.

Tean reached back to poke him. “Jem, be nice to Ammon, please. He heard there was a warrant out for you after what happened at Snow’s, and he got it taken care of.”

Jem didn’t say thank you, but he did stop making noises.

They drove west out of the city, following I-80 out of the valley and then turning south along the back of the Oquirrh Mountains. The Tooele Valley was green with blue grama and junegrass and buffalo grass, tender stalks fluttering in the breeze. They passed a pasture with a herd at rest, and one cow was leaning against a fence post near the highway, trying to clear a path. Her black-and-white coat made Tean think of a Rorschach test. A shingle beach, he would have said. Islands in the sea. A galaxy.

“Where are we going?” Jem said.

“To see LouElla,” Tean said.

“Oh no. Oh fuck no.”

“You don’t even have to get out of the car,” Tean said. “I promise. I just wanted you to see this. I thought—I thought maybe you needed to see this.”

“What the fuck does that mean?”

“Just wait. Just try to relax and wait. I promise, you won’t have to do anything.”

“As usual,” Ammon said. “You can sit in the car while Tean gets the shit beaten out of him.”

“Hey! I got mauled by a dog!”

“You got nipped a few times. Jesus Christ. You probably didn’t even need stitches.”

“Enough,” Tean said.

“Oh yeah?” Jem said. “Where were you when that inflatable ass toy was beating Tean’s face into the ground? Where were you?”

“Enough,” Tean said. “Enough, Ammon! Let it go!”

From the look on Ammon’s face, that was a bitter pill to swallow, but Tean didn’t back down. He’d backed down his whole life with Ammon. If they were going to find a way forward—if—then he had to learn to hold his ground.

A few miles later, Ammon said, probably in what he thought was a neutral tone, “I saw your Prowler profile.”

“No,” Tean said. “We are not going to talk about that.”

“I was just surprised. I thought you were dating the shrinking violet back there.”

“We’re just friends,” Tean said.

“Best friends, motherfucker,” Jem said, leaning into the front of the car. “How do you like that?”

Ammon was grinding his teeth again. After another moment, he managed to say, “I really liked that you put the World Wildlife Fund as the charity you would donate money to. I thought that was perfect for you. It shows how compassionate you are and what you really care about.”

“Thank you,” Tean said. He didn’t look in the rearview mirror; he didn’t need to. He could feel Jem grinning.

Ammon wanted to talk about Prowler the rest of the drive, circling around the questions Tean could tell he wanted to ask: have you gone out with anybody, how many, how often, why. Tean kept his gaze locked forward, the landscape blurring into browns and greens around him, and focused on keeping up his end of the conversation. He didn’t look back at Jem. Not once.

Guided by the app on his phone, Ammon stopped the car outside of a 70s-era split-level home, with the exposed timbers and