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“C’mon, Brit, where’s your sense of adventure?” Jack flashed his brother a wink. Why Marcus wanted to come here, he didn’t know—but he had his back. “I’m tired of the one by campus anyway, time for something different.”
“Whatever, but if I get sick….”
Jack put his arm around his best female friend. “You’ll be fine. Do you really think my uptight brother would take us to the hepatitis house?”
“I’m not uptight,” Marcus growled. Grabbing some menus from the counter, he led them across the mostly empty room to a corner table. He pulled back a high-backed, velvet-cushioned chair and plunked himself on it, chucking his bag on the floor next to him. Brittany followed suit, taking the wooden stool to his left.
Jack took the long route to the seat in the corner, scanning the entire place before settling in. “This place is… eclectic.”
“Whoa, big word there.” Brittany rolled her eyes at him. “Do you even know what it means?”
He sneered at her, pretending to laugh. “Of course I do. It’s the politically correct synonym for nothing matches.”
Marcus snickered, drawing a sideward glance from their friend.
“That just might be the gayest thing you’ve ever said to me,” Brittany said.
“I’m working on it.” He mouthed the word “hag” to his brother. Three times Marcus managed to stifle a laugh, but when Brittany exhaled loudly, he lost his control.
“You two are children, you know that?” Burying her face in the menu, she pretended to read. When she looked up, Jack gave her his saddest face. Deciding he might need to move closer, he saw the hint of smile blossom into a wider one. Shaking her head, she put down the menu. “How can I stay mad when you look so damn cute? If only you weren’t gay.”
“Crap.” Marcus covered his face with both hands. “Now he’s going to be on about how girls think he’s cute too.”
Brittany twisted in her chair, craning her neck all around. “Okay, I’ll admit this place is cool. And it says here that 20 percent of all profits go to the campus’s women’s group and the local battered women’s shelter. Where’d you hear about this, Marc? More importantly, why did you want to come here?”
“Dunno. Somewhere.” Jack noticed Marcus flicking his thumb, something he only did when he was uncomfortable. There was a story here, but he’d wait to ask.
“So, Brit.” Rather than let his brother squirm, he drew attention to himself. “Got any good suggestions on where to take Ed for dinner?”
“Oh yeah, when’s your next date?” She flicked a loose dark curl as if Marcus were invisible to her.
Jack hoped his smile would be mistaken for him thinking about Ed and not how well his plan worked. “Tomorrow. I was hoping for tonight, but he has class.”
“You have to choose a place this time, huh?” Her eyes glazed over, and a dreamy smile dimpled her cheeks.
Marcus snorted. “Yeah, Jack, whatcha gonna do? Feed him grapes and recite a poem?” Brittany hardened her stare at him and suddenly Marcus yelped. “What’d you do that for? And damn, your heels are lethal. Shit. I have a lacrosse game tomorrow.”
From behind Marcus came a soft chuckle. Jack glanced back. A girl a couple of tables down had her head bowed into a book, a grin stained on her face. Jack turned back to Marcus, noticing his gaze snap away from the girl.
“We need some drinks!” Marcus said hurriedly. “Where’s the waitstaff?”
Brittany tapped the menu. “It says you have to order at the counter.”
“Right, what do we want? I’ll grab ’em.”
Jack watched Marcus snake to the counter. Something about him was off, but he couldn’t place it.
“You could take him to that independent theater….” Brittany’s voice drew his attention from Marcus.
“Just dinner. I need a good restaurant to take him to.”
“What’s wrong with the usual places?”
“First—” Jack pressed his two index fingers together. “—I don’t have a ‘usual date place’ to take him to. Kieran and I never did more than pizza or wings. And second, he’s so not a chain restaurant kind of guy. He took me to that totally cool diner. It was in east donkey fuck, but it was a local place. And last night to a small pub that had authentic English food. I know I’m kinda lame in the romantic department, but I want to try anyway.”
“That’s… sweet.”
No one served Marcus, so he hit the bell. There was a scraping of wood against wood as a chair slowly pulled back. Head-in-a-book girl sauntered over, with quite the attitude in each step.
Marcus’s posture straightened as the girl ducked behind the counter. Her hair—blonde, sharply cut, shorter in the back than the front—swished as she shook her head.
“What do you want, Reynolds?”
Reynolds? Clearly they knew each other, but by the sound the girl’s tone, they probably weren’t friends.
“Oh, you’re working now?” Marcus said. “I just thought you had no friends, sitting there with your book and laughing to yourself.”
