“Stubbed toesareunfair. You're just walking and then suddenly—pain. Just like that! How do humans tolerate it?”
“Booze and hookers.”
“What?”
Before Dustin could wave Greg off, the food arrived. Coffee and pie for Dustin. A burger the size of Greg's head for Greg.
Greg stared at it.
“That's very large,” he said.
“Welcome to America. Eat your food.”
Greg picked up the burger with both hands. His grip was uncertain, like he was handling something fragile or possibly explosive. He took a careful bite and chewed slowly.
His face lit up.
“Oh,” he said.
“Good?”
“This is—” Another bite, less careful this time. The burger shifted in his grip and something slid out the back: a tomato slice, trailing ketchup and landing on the plate with a wet splat. Greg didn't seem to notice. “This isn’t like the food at headquartersat all. This is?—”
He gestured vaguely with the burger. A glob of sauce dripped onto the table. Then onto his tie.
“Delicious?” Dustin offered.
“Wonderful.” Greg took another bite. More sauce dripped on him. A shred of lettuce escaped and stuck to his chin. He was holding the burger too tightly and at the wrong angle, causing everything on it to slide toward catastrophe. “How do humans eat this every day and get anything done?”
“We don't eat burgers every day.”
“Why not? If I had access to this, I would.”
Dustin felt his lips twitch. Even spilling burger all over himself, this idiot was too damn endearing. “You’ve got something there.” Dustin gestured at his own chin.
Greg blinked. “What?”
Dustin grabbed a napkin from the dispenser and held it out. “Clean yourself.”
Greg took the napkin and dabbed at entirely the wrong spot, somehow making it worse. There was now ketchup on his cheek as well as his chin, and his tie was a lost cause altogether.
“Burgers may be too advanced for you,” Dustin stated.
Greg made a frustrated sound. “Why would you design food that falls apart when you try to consume it?”
“It's part of the experience.”
“You’re supposed to make a mess?”
“You're supposed to use napkins.Beforeyou become a crime scene.”
Greg set the burger down and attempted to clean himself up. He managed to smear the ketchup further across his cheek before Dustin sighed, grabbed a fresh napkin, leaned across the table, and wiped the mess off himself.
Greg went very still.
It wasn't until Dustin was already dabbing at his cheek that he realized what he was doing. How close he'd leaned. How Greg was staring at him with wide eyes. He had nice eyes.
Warm eyes, for someone who claimed to be a reaper.
