He asked, “You’re leaving for Boston tonight, right?” and his speech pattern changed a little—pitched lower and faster, more casual. Comfortable. They really were old friends.
“Yeah. Can you still give Tom and me a ride to the airport?”
“Depends.”
“On what?”
“Is Tom going to be gagged and tied up in the trunk?”
Adam sighed. “Holden.”
“I’ll allow him in the back seat, but if he doesn’t keep his mouth shut, I’ll ditch him on the highway.”
“Fine. I’ll let him know.”
Holden seemed satisfied. “Anyway, I didn’t mean to interrupt.” He patted Adam’s shoulder once more, but he was looking at Olive.
“It’s okay.”
“Really? Well, then.” His smile broadened and he pulled up a chair from a nearby table. Adam closed his eyes, resigned.
“So, what are we talking about?”
Why, I was just in the middle of lying my ass off, thank you for asking. “Ah . . . nothing much. How do you two . . .” She looked between them, clearing her throat. “Sorry, I forgot how you and Adam know each other.”
A thud—Holden kicking Adam under the table. “You little shit. You didn’t tell her about our decades-deep history?”
“Just trying to forget.”
“You wish.” Holden turned to grin at her. “We grew up together.”
She frowned at Adam. “I thought you grew up in Europe?”
Holden waved his hand. “He grew up all over the place. And so did I, since our parents worked together. Diplomats—the worst kind of people. But then our families settled in DC.” He leaned forward. “Guess who went to high school, college, and grad school together.”
Olive’s eyes widened, and Holden noticed, at least judging by how he kicked Adam again.
“You really haven’t told her shit. I see you’re still going for brooding and mysterious.” He rolled his eyes fondly and looked at me again. “Did Adam tell you that he almost didn’t graduate high school? He got suspended for punching a guy who insisted that the Large Hadron Collider would destroy the planet.”
“Interesting how you’re not mentioning that you got suspended alongside me for doing the exact same thing.”
Holden ignored him. “My parents were out of the country on some kind of assignment and briefly forgot that I existed, so we spent the week at my place playing Final Fantasy—it was glorious. What about when Adam applied to law school? He must have told you about that.”
“I never technically applied to law school.”
“Lies. All lies. Did he at least tell you that he was my prom date? It was phenomenal.”
Olive looked at Adam, expecting him to deny that, too. But Adam just half smiled, met Holden’s eyes, and said, “It was quite phenomenal.”
“Picture this, Olive. Early two thousands. Preppy, ridiculously expensive all-male DC school. Two gay students in grade twelve. Well, two of us that were out, anyway. Richie Muller and I date for the entirety of senior year—and then he dumps me three days before prom for some guy he’d been having a thing with for months.”
“He was a prick,” Adam muttered.
“I have three choices. Not go to the dance and mope at home. Go alone and mope at school. Or, have my best friend—who was planning on staying home and moping over gamma-aminobutyric acids—come as my date. Guess which?”
Olive gasped. “How did you convince him?”