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He smiles, but this time it doesn't look as polite.
"What about your name?" my mom asks.
He looks at his dad. When Carl widens his eyes like he doesn’t have a clue, Ezra looks down at his plate. "One of the weirder Bible names,” he murmurs.
"I don't think it's weird," my mom says quickly.
"Sounds like an angel,” I say. “But the Old Testament kind, where you don’t know if they’re holy or a villain that’ll kill you with a death stare.” I pin Ezra with my own smirk as he chews.
"I think it's a beautiful name," my mom says.
For the next...what feels like two hours, I try to keep my head down and clean most of my plate.
"Look at you," my mother says at one point—and I can't tell from her tone if she means me or Ezra. I don't look up.
"You're as good an eater as Josh. Would you like seconds?" I glance up at Ezra's plate, and am surprised to find it empty.
"Josh can always go for seconds,” Mom says.
"Sometimes thirds," Carl teases.
"Goes back to middle school," I mutter.
So my mom tells that story. I was too skinny for the wrestling team, which all my friends were doing, so I had to bulk up.
"He was already eating plenty, but he was all elbows and knees then. So he started eating two or three plates each meal."
I look up to find Ezra's eyes on me. "Looks like he grew out of that."
What the fuck? Is he calling me fat?
"We can't all be built like coked-out rock stars."
Mom says my name as Carl says, "Well damn, son. Not you, Ez." Carl's hand comes behind my neck, squeezing. "Joshua," he says, sounding jovial even though I hear the edge in his drawl. "That's not very nice."
"I was just joking.”
"Joshua thinks I look like a rock star?"
I refuse to look at Ezra, but I can fucking hear the smirk in his voice. "More like a weird model."
"What's that mean?" Ezra’s voice is low and soft.
I run a hand into my hair as I feel my mother's eyes glued to me. "You know. Not like...all-American. Not like Northface," I say lamely. My eyes meet his. "More like Gucci, with the stark cheekbones."
"Well, shit. I guess I’d better get some seconds." Ezra piles a few rolls onto his plate, eyeing me in a way I think he intends to be comical as he chews them.
"Yeah, yeah."
His eyes are so unnerving. They're like laser beams.
My mom says, "I don't know what's gotten into Joshua." There's a stern note in her voice as she says my name. "You are very handsome. The perfect mix of Carl and your mother, who's a very pretty lady."
I shoot my mom a look, and she says solemnly, "She is. In fact, Carl, she was briefly a model. Isn't that right?"
"Sure is."
So now this shit is awkward, and it's my fault.
"Sorry," I offer to Ezra.
"Josh gets teased for being chubby even though he's not," Carl explains.
"It's the cheeks." Ezra's eyes move over my face, and my throat forgets to swallow.
"He's got little boy cheeks. But they're beautiful," my mother puts forth.
"God, can we stop?"
I feel Ezra's eyes on me as I take my plate to the sink and get a bottle of Powerade from the fridge. I twist the top off and nearly jump because he's somehow right beside me. "Mountain Berry Blast," he says in a low voice, like he's announcing it.
"Your drinks are in the door," Carl says.
Ezra steps around me, reaching into the door and coming out with...Propel. Actually, it's called Propel Zero. "Grape," I mutter, and he arches a brow at me. I notice my mother is wrong: He doesn’t have blond hair. His hair is light brown—short on the sides and longer up top—and the top part has been dyed more blond.
He makes a bug-eyed face at me, and I realize I was staring.
"Does anyone have any plans for tonight?" my mom asks, setting her plate in the trough sink.
"We do," I'm glad to be able to tell her. "I’m going to Mason's in a few, and Ezra’s going with me."
"Be sure you drive or at least lead the way,” Mom tells me. “No offense," she says to Ezra. "It’s just that Mason lives way out there."
Ezra gets ensnared by more of my mom’s small talk, so I take the opportunity to go upstairs and look for my wallet, which I’ve noticed I don’t have. I find it fast, and then don’t want to go back downstairs. I look in the mirror, frowning at my face. It really is such a damn kid face. Baby face. I’m already able to get a light beard, so I’m thinking maybe when I can get it thicker, that’d be the way to go.
I give myself a flat-lipped look and make myself leave my room. Dude probably won't even want to ride with me. I get to the bottom of the stairs and there he is, like a homecoming date with a corsage.
