Page 41 of Tell Me Lies: Manlove Edition

“Yes,” I answer belatedly, then drop my head on the table.

“Can I be a hundred percent honest with you?”

I mumble affirmatively.

“You mind looking at me while I’m a hundred percent honest with you?”

I lift my head to see he’s filled my huge water bottle. I drag it over and suck on the straw.

“Jude said you were out of town. I came up here to break in.”

“You did?” It wasn’t the first time.

“Yeah. My big idea was to get your key, plant some of my nasty toys under your bed, and go through your mail and figure out what the hell your real name is.”

That amuses me. “Jeremy Sowenberger.”

“Sowenberger?” He made a face of exaggerated horror. “Oh, no! We’re cousins.”

He went on gamely when I only gave him a weak smile. “Jamie renamed you?”

I nod. “It sounds like broken glass and burnt things, but was actually salad.”

There was a joke in that and I totally botched it.

“Jamie likes their nicknames.” He goes on, “Never thought I’d get one shorter than Larry, but hey.”

“It suits you.” Just like broken and burned things suit me. I swallow most of my cheesesteak in a few bites.

Before the silence quite solidifies, Laur said, “I introduced Jamie to Jude, you know?”

“Wow.” He must have known them both a long time. That put things into perspective with Jamie and I suddenly realized why Jamie “forgot’ how they met.”

“You helped them find housing, didn’t you?”

Laur nods and drinks water from this tumbler and makes a face when he realizes it’s not booze. “Then we sued the homeless shelter for gender discrimination.”

“And Jude? Was she in your army group thing?”

“My unit? Dude, we didn’t even serve in the same branch.” He chuckles. “We met after our final tours. In rehab.”

I stare at him blankly.

Laur carries the conversation. “She likes to say we learned to walk at the same time. But she only had a broken leg.”

“Right. Driving a supply truck that crashed. Her knee bothers her sometimes and she lets me massage it.” It’s taking advantage, but I can’t stop myself. “What happened to you?”

Something deeper than rage flashes across his face, but he sucks in his lip to keep control. “Two shattered tibia, multiple severe muscle lacerations, left fractured femur.”

“I bet you make jokes the whole time about how it would be less painful if they just cut them off.”

Laur sits straighter. “How—”

“I was going to school to be a physical therapist. I did great in the practicals, but I flunked out.”

“Pity, you’d be really good at it. Encouraging. Fun to be around. Just like the gym.”

He means it as a compliment, but it rings hollow. I don’t feel encouraging, fun to be around, or—

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