“Is this his flighty drunk mode?” I hear Trevor ask Lumi.
“Unfortunately,” she answers, not remotely out of breath enough for someone running in four-inch stilettos.
“Todd,” I call again, a hint of growl in my voice. “We’ll get you some waffles. Just…stop running.”
“I need them, Isaac. I need them so bad.”
Lumi chokes on a laugh.
Todd turns a corner, and I worry about losing sight of him, but we catch up a few seconds later. He’s braced with his hands out, a dead end behind him.
“Don’t do it,” I say.
He zigs in one direction before zagging past me. I make a grab, missing him by an inch.
“Toddathon,” I growl properly this time.
“That’s not my name.”
“Well, your name is too short to convey the amount of ire I feel in this moment. You know I’m not made forrunning.”
“Is that a waffle?” Trevor interrupts loudly.
Todd comes to a skidding halt, and Lumi traps him in her arms.
“Babe,” she says soothingly, petting Todd’s hair like he’s a skittish horse. Which isn’t far off the mark. “We’re here to help you. Let us guide you toward waffles.”
“Really? You will?”
“Of course.”
Todd sniffles. “I feel like…if I don’t have waffles inside of me, I’m going to die. Is this how Isaac feels about dick?”
Trevor coughs as I sputter indignantly.
Lumi loops an arm around Todd’s shoulders, steering him in the direction of a twenty-four-hour diner. “Yeah, precious thing. That’s exactly it.”
“That’s not…” I toss my hands in the air, giving up. “I take it all back. You two are the worst.”
Trevor twines his fingers with mine, tugging me close and kissing my temple. “You don’t mean that.”
I groan loudly. “No. I don’t. Butugh.”
Trevor and I follow in Todd and Lumi’s wake. A bell jingles when we enter the diner, the space fairly deserted apart from a few groups of people likely having come from a night out like us. Lumi guides Todd into a booth before boxing him in, in case he gets the urge to bolt again. Trevor hands me a menu once I slide in next to him.
“Crap,” I realize. “We forgot about Camden and, uh…”
I trail off, but luckily Todd follows my line of thought. “Text them?”
“I, um…”
Todd blinks an eye open to look at me, having been resting his head back on the booth. “You don’t have either of their numbers, do you?”
“Nope.”
He shakes his head, tugging out his phone. “You antisocial little butterfly. Here. Camden is saved under Big C.”
“I really hate that nickname,” I inform him, scrolling through Todd’s contacts until I find it. I send a quick text, letting Camden know it’s me talking and that we took off. I mentionthe diner, but my guess is they’ll head back to the house. “It doesn’t make sense. He’s not even that big.”
