“Didn’t you have him in your pervert pool, or whatever you want to call it?” Bud reminded him.
They all laughed. Gabe held up three fingers to the guy behind the counter for how many pitchers they wanted to get started with.
“Hey, Caldera, you spike the Gatorade? Wade’s hallucinating,” Louis chimed in.
“Nice try, trying to blame your inability to hit a damn thing on the Gatorade. Why would Townes be anywhere near here?” Gabe collected one of the pitchers.
And then suddenly Wade was half indignant, half vibrating with the thrill of certainty. “No, man, I swear, that really is Jasper Townes! And check it out! He’s with a wo—”
Suddenly Mike grabbed Gabe’s elbow and pivoted him up against the counter like a cop about to tell him to spread his legs.
“Hey, I think I might want something different this time. Or maybe we should get Chinese instead of pizza. And... and... German beer. Let’s just stand here and read the menu for a while. They might have added something new. We don’t do that often enough.”
“Get off me, man.” Gabe extricated himself. “What the hell are you doing?Germanbeer? Did you get hit in the head? You don’t like change. Of any kind.”
“I’m just not in the mood, suddenly. And... oh wait... I think I left my wallet at the high school. We have to go back right now!”
Gabe frowned at him.
Suddenly all of the guys were still, forming a little phalanx between him and whoever was in the back of the restaurant.
Something was up.
He deliberately sidestepped Mike and stared toward the back of the restaurant.
He went motionless.
Mike saw this, closed his eyes, and swore softly.
The rest of the guys went still and stone silent.
The rest of his team hovered behind him, and three of them reflexively, absently, removed their hats and covered their hearts, as if they were at a funeral for Gabe’s love life.
Or perhaps saluting Jasper Townes, the way one stands for the national anthem.
No one said a damn thing. Nothing snarky, nothing profane.
Which made it even more horrible. Because that alone confirmed it was indeed as bad as it looked.
He felt himself moving before he was aware he’d given that command to his feet.
“Gabe. No, Gabe. Stay, buddy.”
Lloyd said this as if he was talking to his dog, Hamburger.
But Gabe didn’t hear him over the strange roaring sound in his ears, which he supposed was the beat of blood. He couldn’t stop moving if he tried, anyway. He moved as if he was mounted on a dolly, tugged forward by a hideous fascination, like peering over to get a close-up view of a cobra even if you knew it would bite you.
He had to see it up close because he was no fucking coward.
He had to see it with his own eyes.
He knew it was going to hurt; it already hurt.
His gut was wall-to-wall ice.
Eden was pale. She fidgeted with the wrapper of her straw. She’d already tied three knots into it.
Townes looked up. He didn’t even give a start.