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“Both.”
“That’s funny,” he says, tonelessly.
“Then why aren’t you laughing?” I ask.
He’s staring at my mouth again. Maybe because I was just moving it? “I guess I find this sort of darkly entertaining,” he says. “I’m laughing on the inside.”
“You look good,” I blurt.
“So do you,” he says in that sexy low voice.
“My hair got fucked up on the way here.”
“How?” There’s that possessive edge again.
“I was wearing a hat. Elodie found it unacceptable.”
Drew’s shoulders drop a few inches, and he gives me a quizzical look. “I can’t picture a hat on you. Was it like a disguise?”
“You said to dress like a normal boy. I was making an effort to blend in, okay?”
He laughs. An actual laugh. I see his teeth and everything, and fuck if I’m not totally blinded. His bright blue eyes crinkle in the corners, and I want to grab him by the lapels of his open-necked shirt and force my mouth onto his. But I don’t think I’d be able to stop there.
“Come have a drink,” he says, putting some space between us. “Relax.”
“This is the last time I’m coming out with you and your girlfriend,” I tell him, following him out of the bathroom and up the stairs.
“I figured. Glad you came, though.”
“Really?”
“Yeah.”
I don’t press. I’ll take whatever affirmation I can get.
Wine helps. My anxiety untwists itself with every hearty sip, and while I was in the bathroom, Elodie and Jericho found more things to talk about. Finally, I start engaging with Drew. “So have you been here before?”
“It’s one of my favorite places in the city,” he says.
“Is the food good?”
He nods. “I recommend the lasagna.”
“So basic,” I tease.
“Fine. You do you, Peach. Whatever you get’s gonna be amazing.”
“I’m a picky eater,” I tell him. “The bane of my mother’s existence.”
He relaxes into the surprisingly easy conversation. “I’ve always wondered—do you speak French?”
Always, huh? “Oui.”
“Say something in French.”
“Voulez-vous coucher avec?—”
He waves a hand to shut me up and smiles. “Never mind.”
