ME: Shut up and get your ass outside.
DACEN: You’re here?
ME: Nah, I want you to stand outside for the hell of it. Yes, I’m here.
DACEN: You seem kinda cranky. Do I need protection?
I send him an eggplant emoji and a question mark and snort at his reply.
DACEN: So NOT what I meant, smart ass. So did you come here to threaten my life, or are we doing something?
ME: I had planned on taking you to go eat tacos. Now I’m thinking you don’t deserve it, after the shit you pulled.
DACEN: Bite your tongue. I’ll be out in five.
Dacen’s grinning when he approaches my truck. He calls out through the open window as he opens the door and gets in. “Well, hey there, handsome. Imagine seeing you here.”
I flick him on the ear as he buckles. “You have the worst fake southern accent. And you are totally banished from ever touching my phone.”
He grins at me again, so I reach over and cup his cheek with my hand, giving myself two seconds to enjoy the feel of it, and then jokingly slap him. He presses his lips together and attempts to look annoyed but doesn’t quite pull it off. I start the truck up and pull away from the curb.
“So where are we going? Not that it matters, because if there are tacos involved I literally don’t care where it is.”
I glance at him as I shift. “There’s a place over in Camden Hill I thought we could hit up. Rylee and I ate there a few times over the summer. They have really good tacos.”
Dacen holds a hand up and shakes his head. “Seriously, say no more. Just drive, baby.”
In my peripheral vision, I see him freeze and catch a glimpse of the bright red flush as it creeps up his cheeks. I keep my eyes trained forward, pretend not to notice, and just drive.
* * *
Dacen glancesaround the restaurant while I dip a tortilla chip into the salsa and take a bite. I cough and reach for my drink as my eyes water uncontrollably. Holy shit, this salsa is way hotter than I remember. I’d already downed three-fourths of my water waiting for our chips and looking over the menu, and finish the rest of it now in two seconds. My mouth still burns with the heat of a thousand suns. Dacen shoves his glass over and I grab it and gulp back the rest of his, too.
“Are you a spicy food lightweight, Ryne?”
I glare at him while I wipe my mouth with my napkin, and once I can breathe normally again and my eyes are no longer watering, I answer. “Not usually. Last time I was here the salsa didn’t have hellfire as one of the ingredients.”
He smirks and thankfully the waiter brings new drinks along with our food. Dacen has a plate of tacos and I ordered cheese enchiladas. He practically melts into his seat as he bites into his first taco and chews.
“Okay, seriously Ryne. You’ve been holding out on me. These are so freaking good. I don’t know if I should be mad at you for not telling me about this place sooner, or kiss you for bringing me here this evening.”
“I’d prefer the kiss if you’re taking votes.”
“Noted.”
We eat in peaceful silence. Eventually, I lean back in my chair and watch Dacen as he finishes his last few bites. “I was kinda curious, and you don’t have to answer this, but how often do you get panic attacks?”
Dacen wipes his mouth and sets his napkin back in his lap. “It honestly depends. Certain things trigger them, but they’re more likely to happen if I haven’t been sleeping well. When my brain doesn’t shut up and the anxiety takes over, it keeps me awake. Then my body gets worn down, and my anxiety gets worse. Then the panic attacks can start. It’s a vicious cycle.” I nod, not really sure how to respond. “I know it’s ridiculous. The extrovert who gets panic attacks. Kind of backasswards. I’m a walking contradiction. It’s frustrating and sometimes feels like it’s all I am. A walking, talking, ball of anxious energy.”
Dacen’s face loses some of its brightness, and his eyes are cast down on his plate. After he had that panic attack I looked up anxiety disorders online and from what I read, it all sounds completely exhausting. I swallow hard. “I don’t think there’s any one perfect, or imperfect, recipe for anxiety. It doesn’t discriminate, ya know? You’re not a walking contradiction, or a walking, talking, ball of anxiety.”
Dacen peers up at me. “Then what am I?”
I close one eye and stare at him, then blink. “A sexy, smart, sassy, taco-obsessed guy who drives me fucking nuts half the time. You are not your anxiety, Dacen. You’re more than that. A lot more.”
“Thanks, Ryne.” Dacen exhales and plops back against his seat. “This conversation took a weird turn. Your fault.” He looks at me pointedly but smiles softly.
“Yeah, whatever.”
