The Mexican restaurant, like their motel, was small and wood paneled, the walls strung with Christmas lights and papel picado. Ben and Alexei settled into a table in the middle of the room and opened their laminated menus.
It had felt strange walking here from the motel, free of their packs, their bodies light. Ben worked to make his heart feel the same way.
A waitress with sleek brown hair dropped ice waters in plastic cups in front of them, asked if they wanted a drink. Ben quickly scanned the placard on the table for beer options.
“A Pacifico would be great.”
“Water’s fine, thanks,” Alexei said.
“Do you not drink?” Ben asked once the waitress had walked away. “I hope that’s okay to ask. It’s fine if you don’t. I just don’t want to make you uncomfortable if I do.”
Alexei took a sip of his water.
“My family believed it was a sin. So yeah, no keggers for me growing up.”
Ben’s mouth tilted. It was a good sign, he thought, that Alexei was attempting to make jokes about his family.
“But I don’t care if you drink.” Alexei shrugged. “I’vetriedgetting into beer, since moving out on my own—it’s sort of, you know, a thing in Portland—but I can’t do it.”
“Yeah, beer’s not for everyone. Have you ever tried anything else?”
“Some liquor. Whiskey and stuff.” Alexei winced. Like the whiskey had wronged him. Which Ben imagined it probably had.
“Got it. But have you ever had…”Ben flipped to the back page of the menu, holding it up to highlight the brightly colored drinks displayed there. “A Big Bear City margarita?”
Alexei frowned.
“Are you making fun of me?”
Ben’s smile fell. “What?”
“Because, you know.” Alexei took another sip of water, his movements too fast, shoulders tight again. “Gay guys like margaritas. Or whatever.”
Oh, geez. Ben suppressed a sigh. This poor guy.
“Lex,” he said, trying to infuse his voice with sincerity, make it clear he wasn’t making fun of Alexei, for reasons homophobic or alcoholic. “Anyone with taste buds likes margaritas.”
“You didn’t order one,” Alexei refuted immediately, stubbornly, and Ben smiled.
“The night is young, my friend.” Ben leaned back in his chair. “We are a quarter mile away from our motel and have nowhere to be tomorrow. This”—he tilted the beer bottle the waitress had just dropped off—“is merely my appetizer.”
Alexei looked at him for another dubious second before staring back down at the menu. He turned to the last page.
“Anyway, Lex, sorry. Drink what you want. Just…”Ben shook his head. This conversation had gotten away from him. “You’re in Big Bear City, and the only person here who knows you is me. The world is your oyster.” Ben flipped back a few pages in his own menu. “Fight the patriarchy and let yourself enjoy a margarita if you want to.”
When the waitress returned, Ben ordered a smothered burrito. Alexei ordered enchiladas.
There was an odd pause. Ben glanced across the table.
Alexei was staring at the back of the menu, frowning.
“I don’t know which margarita to choose,” he muttered. “It’s like the Cheesecake Factory of tequila back here.”
Ben barked out a surprised laugh. He smoothed away his giggles with his palm before turning to the waitress.
“This fine gentleman will take a peach margarita, blended. Sugar on the rim.”
As she left, Alexei shot a rather menacing glare Ben’s way. Or maybe it was closer to a pout. Either way, it was a look Ben hadn’t seen before, and it tickled him in every possible way.
