Page 204 of End Game

Making sure people are okay.

Making sure Dex isn't covering something with a joke.

Making sure Cami isn't overthinking.

Making sure Griffin hasn't decided he's responsible for the atmospheric pressure.

Even at the shop, I'm the one people come to when someone is upset because apparently being quiet means you look available.

Maybe Ronan notices too much.

Or exactly enough.

We stay at the gallery almost an hour.

Dinner is at a restaurant a few blocks away, quiet enough that we can talk without leaning across the table.

Also expensive enough that I make a face at the menu.

Ronan notices my expression. “You're not paying.”

“I know.”

“Then stop doing math.”

“I wasn't doing math.”

“You looked at the steak and frowned.”

“It is an aggressively priced steak.”

He closes his menu. “Micah.”

I laugh. “Fine.”

Dinner is easier than I expected.

Maybe because after the first ten minutes, I stop thinking of it as a date.

Or maybe I stop thinking a date has to be something we're pretending not to know how to do.

We talk about the gallery. The D&D campaign. A sleeve I'm designing for a client. He tells me Shawn texted him about sitting in on a game sometime.

And that Jeremiah texted him more about shibari.

Eventually, the conversation circles toward the thing sitting between us, whether we acknowledge it or not.

I drag my thumb over the condensation on my water glass. “So.”

Ronan looks at me.

“This is a date,” I finally say.

“Yes.”

“You're very decisive about that.”

“You seemed unclear.”