The Same Place (The Lamb and the Lion #2) - Gregory Ashe Page 0,59

Dalmatians?”

“Exactly, but more awesome because it’s a million instead of a hundred and one. Now check your phone.”

Their waiter came back with the Cokes.

“He wants a single leaf of lettuce,” Jem said. “Hold the salt. And if you could squeeze it to get all the water out of the lettuce, that would be perfect.”

Tean snatched the menu back and threw a murderous look at Jem. “I want the chili burger with fries—”

“Cheese fries,” Jem said.

“Fine, with cheese fries.”

“And an order of onion rings,” Jem said.

The poor waiter’s eyes were huge, ping-ponging back and forth.

“And an order of onion rings,” Tean said, his voice betraying his effort to control himself.

“And for you, sir?”

“Well, I don’t want to look like a pig,” Jem said.

Tean was making a noise like a kettle about to boil.

“What’s your best burger?”

“Well, if you look at this page of the menu—”

“No, what’s the best one? Your favorite?”

That was a stumper, and the waiter had to think about it, chewing the tip of his pencil. “I guess the Red, White, and Bleu.”

“Do you like bleu cheese?” Tean said.

“I’ll try that,” Jem said.

“Have you ever had it before?” Tean said. “It’s kind of strong.”

“I’m sure I’ll like it,” Jem said to the waiter. “And don’t forget the onion rings. He’s never had an onion ring, and this is one of those make-a-wish kind of things where he’s about to die of a terminal illness and he just wants to eat onion rings before he croaks.”

The poor kid backed away, holding his order pad to his chest.

“You can’t tell people—”

“Tean, why don’t you want to check Prowler?”

“Because it’s got a stupid name.”

Jem waited. Speakers tucked in the corners of the ceiling were playing Dolly, barely audible over the low roar of conversation. She was pouring herself a cup of ambition.

“And because I never wanted to be on it,” Tean said, staring at a point somewhere to one side of Jem, “and Hannah did it without even asking me, and—and the guys on there are crap.”

“Five cents in the swear jar,” Jem said.

Tean shook his head and grabbed a wad of napkins from the dispenser, and then he just sat there, staring at them, obviously not knowing why he had grabbed them.

“Ok, let’s start from the beginning,” Jem said. “I know you didn’t want to be on there. Fine. But you aren’t seeing Ammon, and you aren’t going on dates. What’s the harm in trying?”

More color flooded Tean’s cheeks. “It’s embarrassing.”

Jem burst out laughing. He covered his mouth, and then he dropped his hand and said, “Sorry. I just—it’s not embarrassing. Millions of people do it, right? And it’s particularly important for gay guys. It’s not like it’s easy to meet people once you’re in a job and out of school.”

Tean rolled his eyes. He was playing with the edge of one napkin now, folding it back and forth.

“So what’s the harm in trying?”

“The possibility of being murdered, skinned, tanned, and turned into a rug.”

“You’ve got no imagination at all. At least say they’d use your skin to make wallpaper. Or they’d use your intestines for haggis. Or they’d put your eyes in the taxidermied head of a moose, and then your ghost would spend the rest of its life stuck inside a moose head.”

“’My ghost would spend the rest of its life stuck inside a moose head.’ Do you even hear yourself sometimes?”

Nudging Tean’s leg under the table, Jem smiled and said, “Why are the guys crap?”

“They just are.”

“I think you want it to be a bad experience so you can just write it off.”

“Fine. You want an example? Here. Here’s Robert, who’s fifty-seven—”

“Too old for you.”

“—and for his favorite memory put, ‘eating ur ass.’ U-r, Jem. Not y-o-u-r. And he’s almost sixty.”

“I think you should be flattered that he enjoyed your ass so much.”

“And here’s—really creative pseudonym, by the way—BigGuy69, and look at these pictures.” Tean held out his phone.

“He’s not that big.”

“He’s with his mom! In every single one of them.”

Jem swiped through the pictures and then he grabbed the phone.

“Hey!”

“I just want to see your profile.”

“Absolutely not.”

Jem ignored him and tapped over to Tean’s page. Tean was reaching across the table, trying to get the phone back, but Jem absently batted his hands away. “Not bad,” he said.

“If it’s horrible, it’s not my fault. Hannah made it.”

“I said not bad. You’re way cuter than you look in this picture though.”

“It’s my face. That’s my face. It doesn’t change.”

But it did, Jem thought. Tean’s face when he walked