Page 53 of Doing Life

“Among other things.” Sloan tapped his hand, which he was learning was Sloan’s way of winking at him. “Have you talked to the rehab guys about getting with a job counselor? There has to be one?”

“No. No, I haven’t hit that part of the progression yet.”

“Well, you have time. Or you don’t have to do anything, if you don’t want to.”

“Oh, that was what I was just thinking. I need to— Oh, holy hell, is that smell for us?”

“Yep. Hot and crispy fried things with ranch.”

Brittany giggled. “Here you go, y’all. All the good stuff.”

“Thank you, ma’am.”

“Okay, where’s what?” Lance asked. He needed this food like he needed air.

“Pickles are at your twelve. Mozz at three. Onion rings at nine. Ranch in the middle in a four-inch-across bowl.”

“Nice.” He touched the edge of the tray, testing the heat of the food. “Whoo. Smoking hot.”

“Yeah. Watch the pickles. I bet since they’re the wettest thing, they’ll burn your lip.”

“You know it.” Onion rings were always the best to startwith, because they cooled the fastest. “Are the mozzarella things sticks, or are they like Chili’s? Wedges.”

“Sticks. So I’ll break one open for both of us.”

“Thanks, babe.” He grinned, grabbing and dipping. He leaned over the plate Brittany had given him, just in case he dripped. He figured Sloan would let him know if he needed to wipe himself down. He’d worn a vest for that reason.

“Oh, God. Yum.” Sloan sounded almost like he was having sex. Almost. Lance knew exactly how amazing the man was during the real deal.

And this was a pale echo of that sound.

Still, when Lance tried the onion ring, he got it. No bad oil here. This was fresh and hot and had a hint of hot sauce in the batter. “Damn. We need to eat here every week.”

“Deal.” Sloan crunched into something, and he thought it had to be a pickle. The dill smell was suddenly intense. “Good thing we’re both eating these. Garlic dills.”

“Ah. Yeah, close quarters later would be bad if only one of us indulged.”

“You get it.” Sloan hummed. “Band is about to start. You need anything else before it gets loud?”

“Napkins?”

“By your right hand and little up.”

“Thanks, babe.” He felt… good. Not perfect. There were a few noises that made him tense, a few moments where he was afraid he looked like some kind of prehistory man, shoveling food into his mouth.

But when the band fired up and he could jam and eat and everyone’s focus was so not on him? Lance felt himself relax.

He kind of wanted to call Brick and tell him. “Look, I’m out in a bar, eating onion rings, listening to a cover of ‘Blue Clear Sky’ with Sloan, and I spent the night there last night, and I’m doing great. Everything is going right.”

He didn’t though, because he didn’t want to miss any of this.

How often did this happen? Where things were the way they were supposed to be?

Not very fucking, that was for sure.

“They’re pretty good.”

“Who?” He thought they were amazing, both him and Sloan.

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