Page 26 of Date With Skates

“Me either,” I agree. “Nico doesn’t rush into those sorts of things, but he’s definitely smitten by Roman.”

“Roman can go either way, depending on his mood, but I haven’t seen Nico around my room.”

“I haven’t seen Roman around Nico’s.”

He thinks about it for a minute. “Maybe that’s what they’re doing right now.”

I laugh and dig into my food—sweet potato fries.

“Lucky them,” I comment. “What’s it like at home for you?” I ask, grabbing a fry.

We don’t need to keep talking about Roman and Nico fucking. I’d rather not think about my cousin naked.

“Hard to consider it home when I travel so much. There’s nothing at home to make it feel that way, other than Spike.”

“Spike?” I ask. “Is that like a big, scary dog or something? One of those Rottweilers?”

Connor smirks as he pulls out his phone, clicking a few things before showing me a picture… of a weird lizard.

“What the hell is that?”

He yanks his phone back, frowning. “Don’t look at Spike like that. He’s my bestie.”

I lean over the table to snatch his phone. He lets me, and I look at the picture again.

“What is it?” I ask, feeling a mix of intrigue and disgust.

“He is a bearded dragon.”

“Why in the world would you want this thing?” I zoom in to see his scaly skin.

“Because he’s cool.”

He grabs his phone and flips to another picture of him basking under a light with his head turned up and his eyes closed. Then he swipes to a video of him eating a bug.

“Is that—”

“A roach, yeah.” His words come out proudly, like eating a cockroach is something to be proud of. Yuck.

I shiver. “That’s gross. No thanks.” I push the phone away.

“Well, for the record, Spike would like you. He likes everyone.”

“He’s probably crunchy.”

Connor barks out a laugh as he puts his phone down. “Crunchy?”

I wave him off. “You know what I mean. Scaly. Dry. Scratchy.”

“He’s not. I mean, his head is a little bumpy, but he’s soft. His nails get sharp sometimes.”

“Why don’t you have a regular animal? Like a kitten or a bunny?”

“Is that what you have?”

I put my hand on my chest. “I don’t have time or patience to take care of anything. It’s hard enough managing myself.”

“Because you’re high maintenance as fuck,” he mutters, digging into his pasta.