Golden Boys (Golden Boys, #1)(51)

“But I’m not thinking about that right now,” I say to the guy in the mirror, who’s looking pretty cute if I might say so myself.

I meet Matt in the lobby, and I find myself lost in his smile. There’s a sort of smile that he saves only for me, it seems, where his eyes get a little wider, and one cheek turns up a little higher than the other in this casual smirk. He could so easily be a jerk and get away with it because he’s so freaking hot, but he’s not.

“Always with the cute shirts,” he says. “I really need to increase my number of tree outfits, you know? I felt like I knew so much about you from that shirt you were wearing when we first met, and now I feel like I’m getting it again.”

“You look nice too,” I say, and he shrugs.

“I tried to pick out a nice shirt, but truthfully I’m a little behind on my laundry and this is what you’re stuck with.” He cringes. “Didn’t need to tell you about my dirty laundry, I guess. Ready to eat?”

The four of us go to the same restaurant a few times a week. It’s close, it’s cheap, and it has such good food. So it follows that we’d go there even if it’s just the two of us. But when we get to the restaurant, he hesitates.

“Question. You’ll be getting the chicken parm again, like every other time, right?”

I laugh. “Sorry, I’m a creature of habit. Why? Did you want to split something else?”

“Whew. No, no. I just. Hold on one second, I have a surprise.”

He ducks inside the restaurant, and I stand kind of awkwardly outside. Should I follow him inside? Will this be long? I find a bench near the entrance and sit there, letting my mind wander. It’s an odd request, and I generally don’t like surprises, but … I’m intrigued, to say the least.

A couple of minutes later, he returns, holding a tray with two large plastic drink cups and a bag filled with plastic containers.

“We’re getting this to go?” I ask.

“Okay, so. I should have asked first, but I called in our order ahead of time for pickup.” He gestures across the street. “I walk through that park every day to go to Quincy Market, and there are so many great spots for a picnic, and this is hands down the coolest day we’ve gotten all summer. I thought maybe you’d enjoy it?”

I feel a blush take over my whole body, and for some dumb reason, Sal comes to mind. How comfortable I feel with him, but how he’d never do something like this. (And how I’d never think to do it for him, for that matter.)

“Silence is never good,” he says, almost to himself. “Crap, sorry. Maybe if we go in they can just let us eat this at a table?”

“Oh, no,” I say quickly. “This silence is good. I promise. That’s just … super thoughtful. Here, let me carry something.”

“Whew, good.” He sighs. “And no, I’m carrying the things tonight.”

He carries all the things—his backpack, the drinks, the food—across the street and into the park, and I follow behind him with my arms folded, wishing I could be more useful. It’s a kind of weird chivalry that I’m not used to.

We pick out a spot that is semi-shaded in the setting sun. The shadows of trees fan out over our spot, and I take the blanket out of his backpack and spread it across the grass. He sets down the food and passes me tiny plastic silverware.

“I got us the zucchini fries to split as an appetizer, in Art’s honor. Though I guess this was our one chance to get a nonvegan appetizer.”

“But it’s tradition,” I say before popping one into my mouth. “And it comes with ranch dressing, which I find comforting.”

“Midwesterners are so predictable,” he replies.

“Says the guy from New Jersey!” I laugh. “What do you know about the Midwest?”

“Hey, I say this out of respect. I don’t think I ever told you, but most of my dad’s family is from out that way. They’re in northern Indiana, so not exactly close by. But we visit a lot. I have, like, sixty cousins.”

“Oh, no way. It’s weird, before this trip I’d have said that was impossibly far away, but now that we’re all the way in Boston I count all the Midwest as next door.”

We start eating our main courses, which is a little hilarious because I’m trying to saw through a chicken breast with a tiny plastic knife while Matt can’t find a level place to set his Diet Coke, so it keeps falling over.

“Tell me about your friends,” Matt says. “We don’t have many people who are out at my school, so it’s hard for me to imagine having all my best friends be queer. What do you like about them? What do you secretly hate about them? Who’s dating? Who’s hooking up with whom? That kind of thing.”

I blush. “Well, um, right now no one’s hooking up with anyone.”

“Right,” he says pointedly. “Seriously.”

“None of us have ever dated, but it’s complicated, I guess.” I stuff some pasta in my mouth and look away, giving myself time to decide that honesty is probably the best answer. “I’ve hooked up with Sal before, my friend who’s in DC. But that’s over now. It was strictly a friends’ thing. But I don’t think the other guys have done anything. If they have, they’ve been super secretive about it.”