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Though I haven’t seen him do that in a long while, which is nice.
It always makes my stomach churn. Not because I want Easton—which okay, maybe I do—but the man belongs on billboards and magazine covers…or whatever the equivalent of magazine covers is these days since print is dead.
Either way, he should be riding the high of his chiseled abs and his cherubic cheeks and blond curls. Not stuck in some hellhole small town.
But I can be the bigger man and admit quietly to myself that I’ve been crushing on him for a good, long while. And I can admit that it’s the exact reason he pisses me the fuck off every second of every day because he is the worst.
It’s nice to forget about him for a second when London raises his hand and waves at me. His fingers are slightly bent, which I assume now is from his spinal injury. Teddy said accident, and I feel pretty safe in assuming that’s what it is.
“Hey! Angry pharmacy guy,” he says as I approach.
I grimace. “Was I angry that day?”
“You were yelling at your text messages about them not having everything you needed,” he says. He rolls his chair closer to me as I approach the restaurant door. “Trust me though, I get it. These small towns are always out of something, and then I have to ask Teddy to drive to Boston to get it for me.”
I study him for a longer second. He and Teddy really do look nothing alike. London has a very long torso and long arms, and fingers that my mom would have said were good for playing piano. He’s kind of delicate, and not because he’s a wheelchair user. There’s something soft about him that doesn’t exist in most of the guys I know.
“Are you freaked-out about the wheelchair, or…”
“No. Sorry.” I take a breath. “It’s been a long day. And at the risk of sounding like one of those douchebags, my son is a wheelchair user, so I’m used to all the equipment.”
His eyes widen. “Oh. Teddy didn’t tell me that.”
I reach for the door handle and hold it for him as he rolls past me. His chair is a hybrid manual with a small joystick so he can maneuver over large bumps, and he gets in just fine. I follow toward the small queue lined up to order, and I try not to think about how much my lactose intolerance is not going to appreciate me for stuffing it with all this cheese.
“I don’t talk about him much,” I say when we’re settled in our waiting spot.
London frowns. “Your kid? Why not? I know people can be weird about disability, but—”
“No. It’s…” I let out a sigh. “It’s complicated with his mom, and my ex, and…anyway. It invites questions that I really don’t want to answer.”
London grimaces. “Fair enough. He’s off topic.”
“Thanks.” It’s a little easier when I know the conversation doesn’t have to focus on Elio. “Sorry for crashing your cousin date, or whatever.”
“Oh, man. Don’t say it like that,” he complains.
I burst into laughter. “Sorry. Uh…super fun, getting to talk shit about family time?”
London snorts as we move one spot closer. “That’s better. And yeah, we’ve been kind of avoiding the shit out of our family.”
“That sounds like there’s a story there,” I tell him.
He laughs, but this time, the sound isn’t amused. “Let’s get our carbs and cheese before we get into that.”
I’m about to remind him that he doesn’t have to tell me anything, but he rolls up to the counter, and the man behind the glass looks at him, then looks at me and says, “What can I get for you both?”
I can see London’s face tighten. “We’re on separate checks.”
The counter guy blinks at him.
“He’s ordering separately. I don’t even know this guy,” I add.
London glances at me, and I can tell he’s fighting off a smile now. “Yeah. That was a weird assumption, bro.”
The guy doesn’t miss a beat. “What can I get you?”
The moment passes, and London orders, and I stare at the menu. Frankly, I’d rather be at the station, filling my belly with North’s carbonara, but it’s probably a good idea for me to get away for a bit.
