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“Classy,” I teased. “Perfect.” The three of us came here all the time in college. Even though Hunter went to a different school, he was Ramsey’s roommate then, and hung out with us even outside the bedroom. I’d never minded, because he respected our alone time, and I liked Hunter.
The only other diners inside were a single family, who looked to be finishing up their meal. It was a Monday night in the middle of winter—not a lot of call for ice cream.
The waitress gave us a lingering glance and smirked when she arrived at our table. “Love the outfits.” She was sincere. “You know what you’re having?”
Same things we always had. Ice cream on a brownie for Ramsey—extra cherries on top. Two scoops of whatever caught my fancy in a waffle cone, and a banana split for Hunter.
As she left, a new thought occurred to me that I was surprised hadn’t before. “This is a formal affair tomorrow night? Or will I show up in my blue satin to everyone dressed in parachute pants and leg warmers, like it’s the 80’s?”
“That’s an oddly specific visual,” Hunter said. “And not at all what we planned. There’s still time to change things if you’d like.”
“Definitely not.” I didn’t have time to shop, but I had the formal wear on standby.
“Let me take care of the dress. Don’t pack anything but toiletries.”
I stared blankly at Ramsey, trying to convey,Do you even know me?with a gaze. “Like I’m not going to pack for any possibility. Is this so you can make sure I look appropriate?”
“You always look appropriate.” His assurance was smooth. “But I want to surprise you.”
I frowned. I hated surprises.
“I know. But this one will be good. I promise,” Ramsey said.
An awkward lull settled between us. It was worse because we’d never had trouble with conversation in the past. Even the silent moments always felt right. The family on the other side of the dining room left, giving us the entire place to ourselves. Our ice cream arrived, and we dug in, while I tried and failed to ignore the glances Hunter and Ramsey kept exchanging.
This was too much. “How’s the campaign going?”
They both looked surprised at the question.
“You really want to talk politics over ice cream?” Hunter asked.
There was no reason. I already had a good idea of what their politics were. “I’m looking for more of ahow are you feeling about the racekind of vibe.”
“I’m set to win the primary.” Ramsey’s confidence was no surprise.
“Big plans for when you win the general election?” I was pushing him in a specific direction. He’d been groomed by his family for this path. Known for years that he’d do this. So we used to play a game that took things to the extreme.
“Equality.” Hunter ticked off one finger. “Prison reform. Schools.”
I didn’t want a list of public talking points. “This is me. You can give me therealdish. No matter how over the top it is.” I wanted more fantasy—thewhatever his heart desireskind not thetie me up and fuck mekind. Though…
I shook the second notion away but couldn’t get rid of the rush of heat it brought with it. The point of this game was to pickanything, no matter how ridiculous. Comic-book-level stuff. Better.
“Ah.” Recognition flashed in Hunter’s eyes. He nudged Ramsey. “She wants to know how you’re going toBatmanthe place, Bruce Wayne.”
Ramsey rolled his eyes. “Don’t joke. You know how I feel about Batman.”
We did. “That Christian Bale was the pinnacle—”
Hunter joined in. “And no one else could ever reach that bar,” he said in unison with me. We finished with giggles.
“Don’t knock the Dark Knight.” Ramsey looked stoic. “He’s always watching. Knows when you’re sleeping. When you’re awake.”
Hunter looked like he was struggling to keep a straight face. “That’s Santa.”
“Who hurt you, that you can’t tell the two apart?” I asked with mock concern.
Ramsey stuck his tongue out. “You have to get a lot more naked if you want the illicit details of how I feel about pain.”
