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“Yes,” Theo said. “Exactly. That’s all.”
For some reason, that made Auggie bring his head up and level a challenging look at Theo. It lasted only a moment, long enough for discomfort to prickle in Tean’s belly, and then he went back to his phone. Theo, looking miserable, pushed his hair back with both hands and shook his head.
“I’m Jem,” Jem said, touching his chest. He wrapped a hand around Tean’s knee. “This is Tean.”
“What does that name mean?” Emery asked.
John shushed him. “John-Henry Somerset,” he said. He wrapped his arm around the bigger man. “Emery Hazard.”
“North McKinney.”
Shaw straightened up on North’s lap. “Kingsley Shaw Wilder Aldrich.”
“Auggie,” he said without looking up from his phone.
The man with the longish hair was silent for a beat too long before he finally said, “Theo.”
“How do you all know each other?” Jem asked.
North rolled his eyes. Shaw quivered, bright eyed with excitement. Emery made a disgusted noise. John-Henry said drily, “Long story. You’re both here for the wildlife conference?”
“Tean got invited,” Jem said. “He’s, like, a guest of honor.”
“I’m not,” Tean said. “I’m speaking on a panel, that’s all.”
“He’s being modest,” Auggie said, still focused on his phone. “They were super excited to get him.”
“I knew it!” Jem half-shouted. When Tean shot him a look, he lowered his voice, but only barely. “I totally knew it!”
“They weren’t super excited—” Tean tried.
“Yes, they were,” Auggie said. “They told me to get a million photos. They want photos of you eating and talking and laughing. I think you’re the unofficial poster boy.”
“No, I—”
“Oh my God,” Jem whispered with what sounded ghoulishly close to glee.
Face heating, Tean tried a diversion. “You’re—you work with animals too?”
“I work with a dog who won’t stop pissing in my kitchen,” Emery said. “What’s that profession?”
“Oh,” Shaw raised his hand, “dog whisperer, dog piss whisperer, dog piss boy, dog piss slop boy—”
He tried to say more, but North got a hand over his mouth.
“Our son bought us tickets to attend,” John-Henry said. “For Father’s Day. He knows Emery likes, um, informational events—”
“Didn’t he make you go to a pen convention once?” Auggie asked distractedly.
“It was not a pen convention—” Emery began.
“But,” John-Henry said over him, “Colt didn’t realize it was a professional conference.” Amusement lacing his voice, he added, “Turns out, that doesn’t really change anything for Emery.”
“All I said was that the panel on zebra mussels was both engaging and entertaining—” Emery stopped and set his jaw. “I will not be baited into this conversation again.”
“A panel on mussels,” Theo said and rubbed his eyes.
“It actually was a good panel,” Tean said. “All three of the speakers were very funny.”
