“I suppose.” Kyle’s voice drips resignation from somewhere near the counter, where he’s been watching—lurking—Alex work.
“Sounds fun!” Nathan adds, his enthusiasm matching Gerard’s.
“I’ll clear my schedule,” Elliot calls as he emerges from the restroom. The dry amusement in his voice is palpable.
“Alex?” Gerard prompts.
A pause. Then, so quietly I almost miss it: “Okay.”
“UNANIMOUS!” Gerard throws his arms up in victory. “The motion carries! Fifties night is officially a team event!”
I glance at Ryan, who looks like he’s been hit by a very enthusiastic truck.
“Ryan.” Gerard turns the full force of his attention back to our booth. “You’re coming, right? Bestie duties require attendance at all team social events.”
“I don’t think that’s an actual rule.”
“It is now. I’m making it one. Oliver, back me up.”
I should probably help Ryan escape. Give him an out, a graceful excuse to retreat into his comfort zone without feeling pressured. But the truth is, I want him there. Want to see him awkward, out of place, and utterly himself. Want to dance with him, maybe, if the universe is feeling generous. Want to keep building this thing between us, whatever it is, wherever it’s going.
“It would be fun,” I say, meeting Ryan’s eyes. “No pressure, but…I’d like it if you came. Plus, the fifties are right up your alley, aren’t they?”
Ryan’s shoulders drop a fraction of an inch, and the tight line of his mouth softens at the corners. His eyes, fixed on mine, flicker with something I haven’t seen since we were kids climbing the oak tree in my backyard—that moment of hesitation before taking the leap to a higher branch.
“Just wear what you’re wearing now, and you’ll fit right in,” Gerard says, sensing Ryan’s uncertainty.
Ryan glances down at his attire. “I…suppose that’s true.”
“Is that a yes? Please say yes. I’ll owe you one. I’ll owe you so much. I’ll name my firstborn after you.”
“Please don’t.”
“Ryan Gunnarson has a nice ring to it?—”
“Fine!” Ryan holds up his hands in surrender. “Fine, I’ll go. Just…stop talking about naming children after me.”
Gerard launches himself across the table and engulfs Ryan in a hug. Ryan goes rigid, then slowly, tentatively, pats Gerard’s broad back.
“This is going to be the best night ever!” Gerard releases Ryan. “I have to plan my outfit! And practice my dance moves!” He’s already halfway across the café before he turns back. “Eight o’clock! Don’t be late!” And then he’s gone, flip-flops slapping on the linoleum, leaving chaos in his wake.
Ryan stares after him, slightly shell-shocked.
“Thanks for agreeing to come tonight,” I say to him. “I know it’s not really your scene.”
The corners of his mouth twitch downward for a second before he steadies them. I find myself leaning forward, waiting for what he is about to say, without meaning to.
“It’s not,” he admits quietly. “But I’m trying to be more present and involved. Jackson keeps telling me I need to stop hiding, and maybe he’s right.”
“Jocks usually are.”
That earns me a small smile, and it’s like the sun breaking through clouds. I want to bottle that smile, keep it safe, make it appear whenever Ryan needs to be reminded that he’s worth knowing.
“Besides,” Ryan adds, his voice dropping even lower, “you’ll be there. That makes it easier.”
My heart does something. Flip, stutter, soar—I’m not sure which, maybe all three at once. “I’m glad. Uh, that I make iteasier, I mean. I want to”—I stop, recalibrate—“I want us to be friends again. Real friends. Not just people who used to know each other.”
Ryan holds my gaze. My fingers twitch against the table, and I curl them into my palm, pressing my fist against my thigh under the table where he can’t see it.
