I start laughing, and no amount of hand-waving on Mr. Mysterious Ame’s part is gonna get me to stop. “Sure. Whatever you say.”
Oddly, he doesn’t say anything. He simply nods and takes a step back. Someone grabs me from behind and by the time I freak out, figure out it’s Damon, and turn around again, Mr. Ame gone.
“What the hell, Ezra? Are you okay?”
“Um... “ I have no idea what to say, but I do know what not to say. Anything close to the truth. “Low blood sugar, man.” I deliberately echo his words. “Let’s blow this place and get some dinner.”
His expression makes it very plain that he doesn’t believe me. Rather than push, he takes my hand and says, “Let’s go.”
That’s when I begin to think Mr. Ame might be right, that I could tell Damon the truth.
But I won’t.
Chapter Twelve
Damon
Dick’s and dancing,” Ezra says.
I grin, keeping my eyes on the road. We’re merging onto Interstate 520, and it’s the first thing he’s said since we got into the car. “Come again?”
“Yes, please.”
“Ha ha. I asked what you meant.”
He gives a sly little laugh. “It’s early enough to get a Dick’s burger and then go dancing.”
“I’m not really dressed for dancing.” Gay men in a nightclub have higher standards than your average Seattle crowd, and I’m in jeans and a hoodie.
Shifting in his seat, he gives me a bold once-over. “Your body is hot enough that nobody’s gonna worry about what you’re wearing.”
Talk about hot. My cheeks might just turn to flame. “Um... thanks?”
“You have got to know how good you look, Big D. I wouldn’t have come all the way out here to a damn carnival... “ His voice trails off, his expression closing down.
“It had its moments,” I say before things can get too awkward.
He settles back in his seat. “Sure did.”
Part of me wants to ask something that’ll help me figure out what the hell happened back there. Common sense, or something like it, says I should leave well enough alone. For now. The rain is coming down hard and there’s enough traffic on the freeway that I have an excuse for keeping quiet.
But geez, figuring out what the hell just happened seems to be a recurring theme with Ezra. It’s hard not to want to bethat guy, the one who pries. It’d be so much easier if he’d just tell me what’s going on.
It’s not even seven o’clock, and, if we were to go to Dick’s Drive-In, we’d be done by eight. “That’s too early to go to a club.”
Ezra jumps like I’ve poked him. “What?”
“Your plan. Dick’s and dancing. We’d get to a club by like eight, which is too early.”
He chews on his bottom lip for a minute, his expression getting saucy. “Then you’re going to have to come up with another way for me to blow off some steam.”
A car in the lane to my left chooses that moment to send a cascade of water over my windshield, which is a problem because my dick is totally on board with Ezra’s plan. I manage to both keep us in our lane and control my breathing. “Got any ideas?”
“My apartment.” He pulls out his phone. “What are you hungry for?”
You. “Uh, a burger is fine.”
“I got this.”
