Chapter 86
“Yeah,” D’ante piped up, totally ruining the moment, because it was D’ante. “He paid for you, fair and square.”
Elaine picked up one of the throw pillows from the sofa and hit D’ante in the shoulder with it. “You are completely unromantic.”
“Pillow fights now,” Andy said, smug. “Totally a sleepover. Next we’re going to do our nails and talk about boys.” He considered. “Or girls, or…whatever. Equal opportunity crushing.”
“I’d talk about my crush,” Scooter said, “but he’s right here in the room, which would be rude.” Andy hid a stupid smile against Scooter’s leg.
“It’s totally me.” Jason said, striking a pose.
“True, alas,” Scooter said, pulling a stage-worthy tragic face. “Forever doomed to pine from afar, the object of my desire within reach, save for the she-devil who tempted him from my grasp.”
“Kat,” Andy complained, “give me some ice cream so I can refuse to share it with Scooter.”
Kat laughed, delighted. “My young padawan,” she said, sniffing disdainfully at Scooter and ruffling Andy’s hair. “I have for you…” She went back into the kitchen and returned a few moments later with a pint and a spoon. “Mint chocolate chip.”
Andy sat up and took them from her in something like…shockwas probably too strong, but startled surprise. “Oh my God, you remembered?” Kat was so, so beautiful in the soft candlelight, smiling back at him. “No one ever remembers.” Nick never remembered, he meant. Nick had bought whatever Nick wanted, and offered to share it with Andy as if he were being generous and indulgent. And it wasn’t like Andy hadn’t enjoyedthose flavors, but…
He was suddenly furious that it had never once occurred to Nick to get Andy’sfavorite. He wasn’t even certain Nick knew what Andy’s favorite was
But Kat, who wasn’t even sleeping with him, for pity’s sake, Kathad remembered. For weeks, months. He was shaking as he pried the top off the carton, vacillating between anger and affection.
“Not nobody,” Elaine said, sounding half-offended. “Your favorite color is red. And you drink your coffee black.”
“You like tiramisu cake, and your favorite dish your mom used to make was lasagna,” Jason said, from his spot at the window.
“You claim to hate Miley Cyrus,” D’ante said, “even if you know all the words to ‘Wrecking Ball.’ Don’t deny it; I’ve heard you singing when you’re sweeping the porch.”
“And you like sour gummies from Mrs. Collin’s shop, and chocolate covered coffee beans,” Scooter finished off, and then whispered in his ear, low enough to not be heard by anyone else, “and you like it best when you ride me.”
Oh, God. Oh God. They all knew him. They all knewhim. They knew him, not a mouthy brat or a flirty party-boy or a malleable pet. When was the last time anyone had seen through all the walls and the masks? When was the last time he’d let himself be genuine—and when was the last time someone had actually wantedhim that way? Not Nick for certain, not even in the early months when things had been so good between them.
His hands were shaking too hard to hold the ice cream. He had to put it down on the table and curl into Scooter’s chest, overwhelmed and balanced on the edge of tears.
Arthur, who never talked much, glanced over, gave Andy an encouraging sort of smile, then said, “Do me next…” He pointed a finger at his sister. “Not you. You already know too much.”
And the group started listing off things they could remember about Arthur; whose favorite color was metallic silver, who had a rose tattooed on his left butt cheek (he was required to pull down his pants and show it to everyone who hadn’t seen it before), who loved lime sherbet, and who refused to eat peas under any circumstance.
Elaine liked green and told a long, complicated story that didn’t actually make any sense about why she hated tequila.
Scooter wasn’t even ashamed of his love for eighties pop music and had blue as a favorite color and preferred sea salt caramel to all other sorts of junk food, and blushed very bright when Andy got revenge on him by whispering in his ear about his biting habit.
Then there was D’ante, who loved red as well, drank orange juice straight out of the carton, and loved seventies music, especially Motown.
Jason liked apple pie and baseball—Kat was smug about her “almost perfect American boyfriend.” He liked to read 17thCentury poetry, and had once had dreams of being an oil painter. At Scooter’s insistence, Jason dragged out a few of his pieces of art for Andy’s viewing pleasure, along with several sketchbooks, which he passed around the room, blushing nearly as hard as he had at Kat. The paintings weren’t bad, although the stack of caricatures he’d done during a summer working at Busch Gardens were better. He had a really nice one of Scooter that made his best friend appear halfway between being the biggest goofball ever and an anime-style bishou. It was utterly ridiculous, and Andy adored it immediately.