Page 22 of The Lineman

And me?

I was just hungry, wondering if I’d have to stop for a burger afterward so I wouldn’t starve to death in my sleep.

Our server, a reed-thin boy of eighteen, maybe nineteen, whose long brown hair had been tied into a bun so tight I worried he might’ve pulled his eyes onto the sides of his head like some human fish, came by and took our drink orders. Matty got some pretentious cocktail with an unpronounceable name, Sisi ordered a margarita because “some things shouldn’t be messed with,” Omar asked for a glass of merlot, because of course he did, and I, like a sane human, ordered a beer.

Once Beeker with the Man Bun left our table to retrieve our drinks, we settled into conversation.

Or rather, Sisi launched her attack.

She stabbed a cherry tomato with unnecessary force, narrowed her eyes, and said, “So, are you going to tell us about the guy, or do we have to guess?”

I blinked like Bambi on crack. “What?”

Matty gasped, clutching his chest as though I’d just told him his credit card was declined.

“Oh . . . my . . . Gawd!” He turned to Omar, grabbing his arm for support. “Do you see this? Do you see his face right now?”

Omar, ever the cool, collected one, simply smirked and took a sip of wine. “Oh, yes. I see it.”

“You’re being suspiciously quiet.” Sisi pointed her fork at me. “I mean, you’re always quiet, but this is different. You’re hiding something. And you’re a gay man. That means you’re hiding another gay man, possibly in your pants, possibly at this very moment.”

“How would I—?” I groaned as she grinned. “I’m not hiding anything.”

Matty scooted closer, his eyes gleaming with unholy delight. “You’re deflecting, precious. Which means you are hiding something. Which means youdidmeet someone. Tell Aunt Matty all about him.”

“We are excellent detectives.” Sisi nodded sagely. “Now, talk, before I pull out the inspector’s lamp and blind your pretty little ass.”

I sighed, already regretting leaving the sanctuary of my home.

Omar leaned in, finally joining the witch hunt games. “Who is he?”

Matty gasped. “It’s a he!”

I rubbed my temples, fully knowing there was no escape.

Sisi gave a satisfied nod. “Elliot Ricky Martin Tanya Harding Hart, spill the tea before I dance on that pretty, caveman-esque head of yours.”

“Caveman-esque?” I gaped.

At that point, resistance was futile. They’d wear me down eventually, and I’d rather get it over with before Matty threw a full-scale tantrum. That would likely involve the defrocking of someone’s boa, which meant feathers would fly all over the restaurant, ruining everyone’s dinner.

I sighed. “Fine. His name’s Mike. He just moved into the neighborhood. He’s an English teacher.”

“A teacher?” Matty inhaled so sharply I thought he might pass out. “He’s probably adorable. Like, wears cardigans and loves books and tries to save troubled kids through the power of literature.”

Sisi grinned. “Oh, I love this already.”

Omar tilted his head. “How did you meet?”

I hesitated, knowing the moment I told them, I’d never hear the end of it. Worse, I would be giving them Mike’s location, which conjured up all sorts of devilish plans they might pursue.

But Matty was already onto me. “Oh no. That face. Something embarrassing happened. What did you do?”

Sisi gasped. “Was it cute embarrassing or tragic embarrassing?”

Omar smirked. “Considering it isourElliot, I would guess gruff but secretly adorable embarrassing.”

“God, I love when Elliot does that.” Matty clasped his fingertips. “It’s like watching Sam the Eagle fromThe Muppetstry to flirt with Miss Piggy.”

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