“Pretty good. I aced the test I’d been worried about and tried to be there for Moira and Ray. Moira’s taken the news of her relatives’ deaths hard, but she told me to stop hovering and get out of the house tonight. How about you?” Despite his light tone, the wrinkle between Jules’s brows spoke of how much he cared about his foster aunt and uncle.
Elouan’s week was a lot better with Jules sitting close. Strange that Jules didn’t mention who had died. Close kin, or a distant relative but still held dear? “Same ole. Got to watch a cute college student having lunch once. That always makes my day.”
“Well, I got to watch a hot construction worker traipse across steel girders like he was taking a casual stroll across a floor. Maybe he's part mountain goat.”
Really? Had Elouan been so careless as to let others see something they shouldn’t have?
“Elouan? Is something wrong? You just got a strange look on your face.”
“What? Oh, no. I’m fine. Looks are deceiving from down here. We have all kinds of safety measures in place. I was in no danger of falling, I can assure you.”
Jules winked. “What makes you think I was talking about you?”
Oh, Elouan loved this teasing side of Jules. “Well, I hope it’s me, because Leon is married to a cop and Earl is barely house-trained.”
“It’s you,” Jules conceded, a lovely blush staining his cheeks.
The server approached with two wine glasses and the Chianti. He deposited the glasses on the table and filled both, leaving the bottle. Elouan loved beer, but he could put in extra effort when he tried. He’d heard admonishments about how princes should drink wine, not ale. Good thing he wasn’t a prince in this realm. His and Curtis’s refrigerator had a three six-pack minimum. After the server left, Elouan took a sip of his wine and paused to observe Jules.
Jules raised the glass, took a big sniff, then took the tiniest sip. His lopsided smile hiked his lip up on one side. “That’s good!” He took a bigger sip.
“Go slowly,” Elouan cautioned, remembering less-than-stellar drinking binges. “The first wine I ever drank went directly to my head.” Dragon metabolism meant he’d only managed to get rip-roaring drunk on one occasion, shortly after arriving in this world, during a period of mourning, but Jules didn’t have such a dragon-based advantage.
The server arrived, opened a small stand, and placed a loaded tray on top. He transferred a bowl of salad and two smaller bowls to the table, then waited until Jules and Elouan served themselves to ask, “Cheese?”
“Please.” Elouan sat back, giving the man room to work.
Jules followed Elouan’s example.
The server grated cheese onto each of their salads, deposited a bowl of breadsticks, then retrieved his tray and the stand. “May I get you anything else?”
Elouan glanced at Jules, who was staring at his salad with more than a little interest. Elouan remembered himself at that age, always hungry. Of course, no one’s appetite beat a juvenile dragon’s. Elders often suggested leaving juveniles in the forest to fend for themselves. He hoped they jested. “I believe that will be all for now. Thank you.”
The server returned the way he’d come, leaving Elouan and Jules alone once more. They each took a bite of salad. Jules moaned. “Oh, this is so good.” He moaned again.
How much more moaning could Elouan take before he discarded all noble intentions to show Jules a good time and simply dragged the man back to the apartment?
No. He’d give Jules a proper date, then see where the night went. Soon he’d have his own place to take Jules to.
Elouan discreetly pushed all the tiny, round tomatoes to the side before really getting busy with the other veggies. Humans ate more green stuff than dragons, who would likely subsist off nothing but meat if not for dragon parents holding a wooden spoon, ready to rap some knuckles if their young didn’t eat what they put on a plate for them.
Teron filled that role in the last few years of Elouan’s time in Adrakus. Jules ate everything in the bowl without prompting. Either he’d been taught to eat whatever Moira served, or he wasn’t picky.
They’d just finished their salads when the server returned, duplicating his earlier tray and stand routine, this time placing a steaming plate before them both.
What a wonderful scent: tomato sauce, beef, spices, cheese. Elouan’s stomach rumbled.
“Can I get you anything else?” the server asked.
Plenty of wine and plenty of bread remained. Elouan looked to Jules for confirmation. Jules shook his head. “No, I think we’re fine, thanks.”
“Very good, sirs. Enjoy your meal.”
“I’m sure we will.” Elouan sipped his wine while watching Jules study his serving of lasagna. One of the first discoveries Elouan made in this realm had been the wonders of restaurant food, since his new-found roommate only cooked breakfast.
Jules took the tiniest bite with his fork, closed his eyes, and moaned once more, a blissful smile on his face. He swallowed. “This is amazing. Thank you for bringing me here. How have I existed all my life without this?” He pointed his fork toward his serving of lasagna.
Elouan could barely eat for watching Jules’s enjoyment. He sipped his wine, draining the water glass instead. Somehow over the course of dinner, he managed two glasses of Chianti and stopped, used to pacing himself so others wouldn’t notice his sober state after he’d drunk enough to inebriate five humans.
