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“I’d rather tattoo myself with a rusty spoon andnotbe your receptionist,” I reply, a sweet smile on my lips.
“That’s okay. He’d give them to you anyway. Helikesyou, remember.”
“I’ve met himtwice,” I snap. “You can’t decide you like someone after seeing them formaybetwo hours total.”
“Yeah, you can,” Ezra disagrees and neatly stacks his empty plates. “Are you done?” He gestures at my plate, and I look at the half-eaten pancakes.
“Yeah,” I sigh finally. “I guess so.”
“Do you want a box?”
“What are you, the waitress?”
“I’m considerate. And I’ll take that as a no.” When I don’t argue, he slides my plate to himself and arranges it with the others, then puts them on the edge of the table carefully so that the waitress can just snag them as she comes by.
“Maybeotherpeople don’t look at someone and decide that person belongs to them or that they like them,” Ezra says, shrugging his lean shoulders. “But I guess…we aren’t like other people. We’re probably a little too fucked up to think that we’d havenormalreactions to shit.”
“Fucked up?”
“Well, you don’t become aLost Boybecause your home life is great and everyone loves you.”
The words hit me hard, and I stare at him, suddenly wondering what made Ezra like this. And in the back of my mind, wondering what made Isaac a perfect fit for their little group.
“Oh,” I say finally.
“Anyway, look at it as dating us. Not beingownedby us, if that makes you feel better.I’ddate us. I can tell you from personal experience we aregreatat being boyfriends.”
“Do you…play ‘boyfriend’ a lot with people who your gang tattoos with something they didn’t consent to and then stalk through their apartment before dragging them to breakfast?” I ask.
“No. But I’ve been dating Arlo for years and sleeping with Cyril for just as long, so I have some insider info.”
“But you just told me to pretend I’m datingallof you. Arlo andyouincluded.”
“I did. I also said yesterday that I’m asharingsoul. It’s part of what makes me so charitable.”
I don’t want to address that. Especially right now, so I ignore it. “Wow. Okay then,” I rest my face in my hands and dig the heels of my palms into my eyes until it burns. “Sowhat is ityou want from me then, Ezra?”
“Everything,” Ezra says cheerfully. “Every little or big thing you’re willing to give me. I wanteverythingbecause I’ve never met someone like you, and I know the other Lost Boys will tell you theexactsame.”
If there’s an answer for that, I certainly don’t have it, and I don’t even try.
