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His week had just gotten a whole lot more interesting.
Chapter 17
Butch helped himself to the last of the sausage gravy and spooned it over his biscuits. “Damn, Matt. Your biscuits are better than my mom’s ever were.”
Matt laughed. “Is that a compliment?”
“Fuck yeah. Hers were awesome.” He took a mouthful and rolled his eyes. “I think I’ve died and gone to Heaven.”
Zeeb glanced at the four guests seated around the table. “Now you know why I said eat it while you can.”
One of the guests, Max, laughed.
Sol sat facing Butch across the table, eating quietly, not looking in his direction.
Do something. Show him things are different.Talking with Sol had made him feel as though he’d cast off a heavy weight.
“What do you think of Matt’s cooking, Sol?”
Sol jerked his head up. “Hmm?”
“Matt’s cooking…” Butch peered at his clean plate. “I guess you liked it.” He took a deep breath, his heartbeat shifting into a higher gear. “Except that’s not saying much. You used to love the food in the school cafeteria, as I recall, and that had to be the most tasteless shit I’ve ever encountered.”
Sol widened his eyes then quickly schooled his features. “It had to be better than those bologna sandwiches you brought.”
Butch waved a fork at him. “Ain’t nothing wrong with bologna.”
“Oh, I agree.” Sol’s eyes twinkled. “But you can have too much of a good thing.”
It was then Butch registered the silence. He gazed at his coworkers.
“Something wrong?”
As if he didn’t know.
Walt gaped at him. “Now wait a minute. Are you saying you and Sol knew each other in high school?”
“Seriously?” Matt stared at him.
Butch gave as casual a shrug as he could manage. “Yeah. Didn’t recognize him at first.” He flickered a glance in Sol’s direction. “He looks a whole lot different to how he was back then.”
Sol blinked. “And how was I?”
Another shrug. “You’d have given stick insects a run for their money.”
“I prefer to think I was a lean, mean machine.”
“You go ahead and think that, if it makes you feel better,” he replied in a soothing tone. Butch was starting to enjoy himself. He grinned. “Do you still listen to that same shitty music?”
Sol gave a mock gasp. “Excuse me? Michael Jackson wasnotshitty.”
“Not talking ’bout him. Although, while we’re on the subject... Remember that Christmas your folks gave you a Walkman? Have youanyideahow many times we caught you listening to that tape of “Bad”? Cal said he was sure you went to sleep listening to it.”
Sol put his fork down and folded his arms. “So what musicareyou talking about?”
Butch snorted. “You sure did listen to some weird shit. What was the name of that band? Oh yeah, Talking Heads. And then there was R.E.M.”
Sol glared. “There is nothing wrong with R.E.M. either.” He smiled. “But if you’re going to discussmytaste in music, maybe I should share whatyouwere listening to back in high school.”
