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“Seems that way.” Mason squints at Pax.
“Doesn’t he have anything better to do? Like some librarian?” I remember reading through Mason’s texts.
“That was Noah.” Pax speaks up. The Uber is heading our way now.
“Oh, right, sorry,” I say.
“Librarian?” Ruby asks me.
I shake my head. “Boys.”
“Boys suck.” She glowers. “And so do men. Sorry, present company excluded ... maybe. But I’m going to be a nun. A nun who can wear whatever she wants and swear if she feels like it.”
“I don’t think they have that kind of nun,” I say to her. Mason holds the door open for us and we all pile in, with Ruby first, then Pax, then me, then Mason.
Pax gives the driver an address in Jersey City, and we pull away. We’re mostly silent during the ride, and I’m painfully aware of Mason’s nearness. He smells so good, and I want to press up against him and feel those hard muscles and bury my face in his hair and breathe him in.
Instead, I ask Ruby how her classes are going, which just earns me a shrug.
We arrive at a dive-y restaurant a short while later. It’s got red-and-white-checkered tablecloth, plastic grapes hanging on the wall, and a red glass with a white candle on each table.
“I love it,” I enthuse.
Pax looks at me suspiciously. “You’re not making fun of it, are you? Because my man Luigi is a great guy.” He sits down in a booth, and Mason sits next to him, and Ruby and I settle in across from them.
“Of course not. I like restaurants with character. Restaurants that aren’t part of a chain, that are owned by a person who pours all their hopes and dreams into them.”
A sixty-something guy with a big curled mustache bustles over to us with menus. “Welcome back, my friend. Staying out of trouble?”
“You know I’m not,” Pax grins at him. “I’ll start out with a house red. You?” he asks Ruby.
“Water for me,” she says.
“And me,” Mason chimes in.
“I’ll also have some of your house red,” I say. When he returns with our drinks, I order a turkey club and fries, Mason orders a grilled chicken wrap and onion rings, Pax orders a meatball sub, and Ruby orders a pork roll, egg, and cheese sandwich.
“Yes, we really do eat actual food,” I say to Mason.
He nods. “I like a woman who eats, instead of asking for one lettuce leaf and then staring at my plate the entire time.”
“Well, in fairness, there’s huge societal pressure for women to be unnaturally thin,” Ruby points out. She sips her water.
“Men are such bastards,” Pax chimes in. “Should I punch myself in the face? Would that make you feel better?”
She pretends to consider it. “Maybe a little.”
“No violence at the dinner table,” I protest. “Unless it’s against your ex-boyfriend. Maybe we should invite him here.” I narrow my eyes.
“Leave it,” Ruby warns me.
We change the subject and are talking about the next Rover’s game when our food is delivered. A plate of nachos is set down in front of us.
“Who ordered this?” I ask, looking around the table.
“They know me well here,” Paxton says, grinning down at the plate. “Come here often enough, score free food.”
We all eagerly dive in. It’s amazing. There is nothing like diner nachos and a turkey club in the early morning hours.
