The Same Place (The Lamb and the Lion #2) - Gregory Ashe Page 0,60
in the door and saw Scipio. Tean’s face when he was reading. Tean’s face in the blue-black shadows of morning twilight, when he searched the mountains for something he’d never been able to name for Jem. Tean’s face when he laughed, really laughed, and the lines around his mouth and his eyes opened, like the time Jem had tried to fix the light switch in the bathroom. Tean’s face when he was grumpy from lack of sleep. Tean’s face in the morning, before he’d even attempted to tame the wild mane of hair. Tean’s face asleep, the only time the poor guy seemed to relax. Tean’s face when they went hiking, when something seemed to open inside the doc, every inch of him alive and vibrant. Like today, when they’d driven into the valley, and for a moment he’d been so beautiful that it had shattered Jem.
“You know what?” Jem said. “We should get a picture of you out in nature. Somewhere you really like. I’ll take one when you’re not expecting it.”
“That sounds like assault.”
“Then I’m describing it correctly. Is World Wildlife Fund really who you’d give a million dollars to?”
Tean rolled his eyes.
“I thought you’d at least cut me in on some of it,” Jem said. “Or, if not me, that absurdist philosophy program you’re always talking about.”
Dolly wasn’t getting enough credit; she was singing to them all about it. In the next booth, an older man in a Stetson was trying to explain to two grade-school children—his grandkids, Jem guessed—how to properly castrate a steer. Tean’s face was full of some emotion that Jem couldn’t read.
“What?” Jem said.
“Nothing,” Tean said. “Life’s just funny sometimes.”
“We’ll doctor up that profile. It’ll be irresistible gay bait by the time we’re done.”
“I don’t want to be gay bait on an app called Prowler,” Tean began to say, cutting off when another growl from the phone interrupted him. He tapped the screen.
“How bad is it?” Jem said.
“He’s ok. I mean, ears, nose. You know.”
“Great, he’s passably human.”
“He says he likes dogs.”
“Check.”
“He’s a coder for a startup in Lehi.”
“Oh, man. Money, money. Check.”
“Not necessarily. Some startups—”
“Nope, no getting sidetracked,” Jem said.
Tean lowered the phone. His eyes were huge. “He sent me a message.”
“Did he ask you to take your shirt off? Maybe wait until we get out to the truck.”
Tean just stared at him.
“What did he say?”
“It starts, ‘hey,’ and he says, ‘how’s your day going?’” Tean’s eyes, if anything, had gotten bigger.
“Damn, he’s not going to make this easy for you, is he?”
“What do I say?”
“Well, how’s your day going?”
Tean shook his head. His mouth was slightly open, and his eyes were glazed. Cartoon characters usually had little birdies dancing around their heads, but Jem couldn’t see any sign of that.
“I mean,” Jem said, “do you want to say something? Because you can just ignore him if you’re not interested.”
“Should I?”
“Do you want to?”
“He’s not horrifying.”
Jem bit his lip. When he trusted himself again, he said, “Ok. He passes the first test. Why don’t you tell him how your day is going?”
That opened a floodgate. Tean messaged. The phone growled. Tean messaged. The phone growled. Dolly had already punched out, and now Reba was asking does he love you, does he think of you. The grandpa in the next booth had decided words weren’t enough, and now he was illustrating the process with a steak knife and a pair of dinner rolls. Grandma, who was wearing a lace dickey, was completely focused on separating the green beans and carrots on Grandchild #1’s plate. And Tean was still messaging.
When the food came, Jem said, “You don’t have beer?”
The waiter shook his head.
“Whiskey?”
“I just need you to cut into your burger, sir, and let me know if it’s ok.”
“Cough syrup? The kiddie kind, grape flavored if you have it.”
“If you could just check—”
“Rubbing alcohol. Does that make you go blind? You know what? It doesn’t matter. A double shot of rubbing alcohol.”
“His burger is fine,” Tean said without looking up from his phone. “Thanks.”
The kid beamed at them as though he’d really accomplished his life’s purpose, but he was a little too fast for Jem to catch his sleeve.
“What about those little things of jet fuel they use for camping stoves?” he shouted after the waiter.
“What is going on with you?” Tean asked, his gaze still locked on his phone. Then he giggled. Honest-to-God giggled. “Orion is kind of funny.”