“Just dandy,” Noah mumbled in reply. He knew Alistair would call him out for lying, so he added, “I tried to tell Landon without telling Landon that him bein’ here wasn’t a good idea. And he took it as me being a dick and not wanting to be his friend. So, yeah. I screwed up.”
“Perhaps with time, Landon will come to understand this evening was not the best time to pop in for a visit,” Alistair mused. “I know you did not mean to upset him, but the very fact you’re bothered by it at least shows that you cared.”
“Thanks.” Noah smiled a little.
“Aww, isn’t that sweet?” Roger sighed dreamily before bursting out into a fit of laughter. “Please tell me you used to talk to Cold like that too.”
“That I did.” Alistair smirked and took a sip of his wine.
Noah couldn’t be sure, but he thought Alistair looked a little, well, sad.
“I wouldn’t advise you reminding him of it,” Alistair went on. “He would probably not be receptive to traveling down memory lane, hmm?”
“Yeah, fuck no.” Roger cackled. “I don’t even think Jules would fuckin’ dare.”
“How is Jules?” Alistair asked, smoothly shifting the conversation. “I meant to ask Rowena when I last spoke to her, but ah, I did not.”
“Good,” was Mickey’s short reply.
“Oh, better than good!” Roger grinned. “He’s great! Got real serious with his lady.”
“Ah, Dr. Queen?” Alistair smiled.
“Yup!”
Noah tuned out of the conversation, focusing instead on seeing how fast he could drink his wine without Alistair fussing at him. He didn’t know who any of these people were the others were talking about, and he was busy focusing on the alien feeling of guilt that had taken up residence in his stomach.
He had never really liked Landon if he was being honest, but being confronted with how he’d hurt him? Yeah, well, it made Noah feel like shit. It wasn’t as if he wished any ill will toward Landon so much as he wanted him to go away.
That didn’t make him an asshole, did it?
Was he actually the worst kind of person?
He must have given something away with his expression or body language—or perhaps his empty wine glass—because Alistair’s hand found his beneath the table.
The air was a roar of laughter from Roger telling some crazy embarrassing story about Crybaby trying to ask Scout out for their first date or something, but it was only a distant hum. All Noah saw or heard was Alistair, those bright blue eyes burning into his as he asked, “Are you all right, dear?”
“Yeah, sorry.” Noah squeezed Alistair’s hand. “I, uh…”
“Something to discuss later?”
“Yeah. Later.”
Frida and Jamie came in then, each of them carrying a large tray loaded up with pasta plates. The aroma was incredible, and Noah’s mouth watered at once. He couldn’t believe he had helped make something that smelled so awesome.
“Damn, Crisco!” Junior laughed once he’d taken a bite. “Mighty fine fuckin’ job on the pasta!”
“Thanks.” Noah beamed.
Alistair touched Noah’s arms and leaned in close. “It’s excellent, dear Noah. I think a culinary career is definitely in your future. I’m proud of you.”
“Wow. Uh, thank you.” Noah’s cheeks pinked up from the praise, and he wanted to melt right down into his chair.
The rest of dinner went without incident, and everyone loved the pasta. Compliments were of course given to Frida for the sauce, but Noah liked to think he had something to do with that too. Even Erasmus ventured over to get a taste, and he nodded his silent approval.
The moment Roger’s plate was empty, he vanished—no doubt going after the tiramisu in the kitchen. Jamie shuffled about, keeping everyone’s glass full and clearing away the dishes as the others finished eating.
Scout was constantly whispering in Crybaby’s ear and making her blush, which was both adorable and still kind of disturbing. At one point, Scout poked Crybaby’s upper lip, and Crybaby looked like she was about to turn into a puddle of goo.
