I can’t believe that thought just came from my head.
Taco Socks turns his head a tad to talk to someone. Standing next to him is the jackass. Jeremy reaches over and places a hand on Dacen’s arm and then points toward the menu board with his other. He leans into Dacen to tell him something and grips his arm even tighter. An angry swarm of bees gathers in my stomach. Dacen’s laughter rings out, the sound deep and strong and clear, and from this angle, I can clearly see the dimples that have popped in his cheeks. I think about the last time I saw those dimples up close and personal, when he’d looked at me with a huge smile on his face, eyes lit up, and then those dimples showed up.
I haven’t seen those dimples quite so closely since then, which is probably for the best. They’re dangerous. But now seeing someone else bring them out is like a punch to the gut. Jeremy has his other arm behind Dacen, lightly resting on the center of his back and gently guiding him forward in the line. As if Dacen can’t walk himself forward two steps. One by one those angry bees dive into my bloodstream and take off, buzzing through my veins.
“Look at that dipshit over there, trying to rub himself all up on Becker. He reeks of desperation and cheap cologne.”
Tyler raises an eyebrow at my outburst and the others stare blankly at me.
“You can smell him from here?” Evan sniffs the air sarcastically.
I bite back the response on the tip of my tongue. I’m already irritated and as much of an asshole as I can be, I don’t want to take it out on my friends. “It’s just an assumption. But he needs to back off. It makes him look really desperate and it doesn’t look like Dacen’s into it.”
Roman pauses with his drink halfway to his mouth. “Did you just call him Dacen?”
I cringe because I totally did.
“Well it is his name, Rome,” Tyler remarks dryly.
Roman flips him off and then continues with his thought, addressing me. “Why do you care, anyway? Who gives a shit if he’s not into Jeremy?”
Many responses are threatening to burst out of me, none of which would be conducive to keeping my confusing, private thoughts private. I choose a safer route. “I don’t have to care to see he isn’t into Jeremy pawing all over him.”
“He’s a big boy. He can take care of himself. Why are you wasting your energy and brain cells on the guy?”
I wad up a spare napkin and toss it at Evan’s face. It’s so light he easily bats it aside before it hits him. I turn my head back toward the irritating duo in line. That slimeball’s next move has a tsunami of cold rage crashing down over my body. He moves his hand lower and lower, until he slips it into one of Dacen’s back pockets, right all up on his ass, and squeezes gently. I clamp my eyes shut and clench my jaw.
Get your goddamn hands off him, jackass. He doesn’t belong to you.
As thoughts like these swirl through my head, I realize there’s no point in trying to live in denial. I’m jealous and it sucks. My nostrils flare and the napkin-wrapped plastic utensils I’m holding snap in half from my death grip. The jagged edge of the broken fork rips through the napkin and pokes me in the hand. I throw the whole damn thing down on my tray and lean back against the booth with my arms crossed over my chest.
“What just crawled up your ass and died?” I look over at Roman and he gestures at my face and arms.
“What?” The sharpness of the word betrays my feigned innocence.
“The expression on your face right now looks like a cross between constipation and hatred, and you just annihilated your silverware. Are you still bothered by whatever is going on in line over there?” Roman cocks his head in the direction of the register area.
Before I can think of some reason that doesn’t involve the whole truth, Evan pipes up.
“Y’all ever wonder why we call eating utensils ‘silverware’ anyway? They’re not made out of silver. Especially this stuff, it’s plastic.” He taps the side of his head with his fork, then cusses when he ends up with pie filling in his hair. Roman and Tyler exchange a glance and then stare at Evan like he’s not from this earth while he wipes at his hair with a napkin. For once I’m thankful for the nonsense that randomly spurts out of his mouth. It’s usually at the worst of times, but right now? He inadvertently redirected Roman’s attention, for the moment anyway, and I’m grateful.
Tyler answers his question because he has the patience of a saint. He’s usually the only one of us who can respond to stuff like this with a straight face anyway. “It used to be made from silver, still is sometimes, but it’s not something you’re going to find at any restaurant around here.”
“So why keep calling it silverware if it’s not made from silver?”
“I don’t know. I guess it’s kind of like Kleenex. A lot of people refer to all tissues as ‘Kleenex’ but that’s an actual branded item, not a generic product.”
“Could we talk about something else before I fall asleep over here?” Roman closes his eyes, drops his head back, and pretends to snore.
Their conversation turns to the video game coming out soon that they’re all dying to check out, Midnight Carnage IV, but the topic doesn’t hold my attention. I glance back over at the register area. The only solace I have in this shitty moment is I witness Dacen remove the hand from his pocket and sidestep away from Jeremy. I hide my smile in my glass as I take a drink.
I told you he doesn’t belong to you, jackass.
The thought perks me up the tiniest bit until I look back over and see that presumptuous dick slip his hand into Dacen’s back pocket again. Before it registers what I’m doing and how it may look, I slide out of the booth while Evan is mid-sentence, saying who knows what to me. My steps are heavy against the black and white checkered tile floor and I ignore my friends as they call out after me. I’ve got tunnel vision right now, and the end of the tunnel holds two things I want.
Number one is easy: remove Jeremy’s hand from Dacen’s back pocket and maybe pummel him into the ground. Just a bit. For fun.
I saunter over and get behind them in line. At first, I don’t think they know I’m here. Then a wave of goosebumps spreads over Dacen’s neck and he cranes his head around to peer over his shoulder. Our eyes lock.
