Page 62 of Coach
I panicked and ordered cheese fries.
“Fries, yes,” Mike said, nodding like a war general. “And wings. Dry rub. No blue cheese.”
“Two pitchers of beer,” Matty added, “and a round of tequila, because we’re professionals.”
“I want the sliders,” Omar said, flipping the menu like it offended him. “The ones that come with their own nuclear mushroom cloud of spicy heat.”
“You mean the Impossible Sliders,” Elliot grunted.
“God, he speaks in riddles,” Matty whispered, delighted.
Bartender Todd, who had reappeared at our table like a gay smoke genie, scribbled the orders without blinking, winked at Shane, and vanished again into the sweaty chaos of the bar.
Shane didn’t flinch.
Probably because nothing about this place couldtop what he’d already survived in life. Or because he’d gone catatonic. Either way, I chose to be impressed.
Then Matty leaned over the table, his evil pixie eyes gleaming with nosey intent.
“So, Shane.”
Here we go.Dread welled up in my chest.
“What do you do exactly? You build furniture, yes? Do you have an Instagram? Can you make me a headboard with LED lights and mounts for handcuffs?”
Omar chimed in, grinning. “And a sling. We need a four-poster bed that can handle the weight of a sling . . . and a grown-ass man . . . a naked, grown-ass man.”
“I—” Shane started, caught mid-sip.
“Did you meet in the wild?” Matty pressed, skipping past Omar’s line of questioning. “Online? At one of those sexy farmers markets?”
“We met at the Decatur Antique Fair. I told you that,” I said, a little more defensively than intended.
“Right,” Matty said, like an inspector ruling out suspects.
“God, I hope you’re sleeping with him,” Omar said with a smirk.
I glared across the table. “I swear to Beyoncé, I will knock this table over.”
“Don’t waste the food.” Elliot lifted a single chicken wing in warning, raised one brow, and added, “Besides, the vow’s worth shit if it’s not sworn on the OG.”
“Betty White?” Omar asked.
Elliot shook his head. “Madonna. Pure and simple.”
“What about Cher?” Omar’s brow furrowed.
Elliot shrugged. “She’d do. I count them in the same class.”
I leaned in and whispered to Shane, “They’re entertaining themselves. Do not engage. Trust me on this.”
“Oh, he’s engaging,” Matty said, a triumphant smile on his lips. Apparently, eavesdropping had become an Olympic sport, and Matty held the record. “Time to play ‘Get to Know Shane’ everyone!”
Omar—our quiet, shy Brit—began humming the theme song to one of those old game shows; I think it wasMatch Game.
I tried to not slink below the table.
Shane sat ramrod straight, his face impassive, his eyes barely blinking. For a moment, I thought I might need one of our resident nurses to check for a pulse.
