slid in opposite him.

“There are…menus,” Shawn said, rubbing his thumb over his temple.

Ryan picked up one, opening it. “I like this place. Have you been here before?”

“I’ve had lunch here,” Shawn said, opening his menu. “A few times.” He closed it. “Faculty, faculty lunches.” He turned it over. “Once a month.” He rubbed his thumb over his temple.

Ryan stared at him. It was safe to stare; Shawn hadn’t looked up since they’d sat. The guy was a nervous wreck. Ryan wanted to ask him if he was okay, but that would draw attention to his agitation, which would probably only make him more flustered.

Maybe if Ryan got him talking, he’d calm down. “Is that how you know Tim and Paul?” he asked. “You work at Kenfield High?” He already knew that Shawn and Paul taught at the same school, but he was trying to make conversation.

“Yeah,” Shawn said, opening his menu. “Yes, I teach algebra. Six years. I’ve been teaching for six years. Paul’s a great teacher. His students love him.” Shawn smiled to himself, or at his menu, or at nothing. “Especially the girls.”

Of course they did. Paul had to be the coolest teacher there. Ryan would have bet that Paul was the most attractive teacher there, too, before he’d seen Shawn. He took a moment to study Shawn over his menu. The way Shawn was blinking probably just meant that he was nervous, but also might have indicated that he was wearing contacts. Ryan felt a twinge of disappointment at the idea that those strikingly blue eyes might not have been quite that naturally blue, after all. Shawn’s hair looked naturally blond and flopped softly onto his forehead. He wasn’t wearing any jewelry, only a watch, and the top button of his shirt was open. His ears stuck out just a millimeter too far. He was beautiful.

“Good evening. Are you ready to order?”

Ryan glanced up. The waitress was staring at Shawn. He couldn’t blame her for it; he’d been staring, too. “Shawn?” he prompted, feeling very smooth for a moment. To anyone watching, it looked like he and Shawn were friends, or lovers, or connected in some way, coming to dinner together. He was close enough to this gorgeous man to call him by name, anyway.

“The Caesar salad, please, with the, the chicken Caesar salad and,” he rubbed his temple, “Coke please, no ice.” He blinked at the waitress. “A baked potato with sour cream and butter.”

“All right,” she said, jotting that down on her notepad. “And for you?” she asked, turning to Ryan.

He wanted to ask her if she found Shawn’s tics charming or off-putting, but he settled for saying, “The chicken fingers, please, with fries and macaroni salad. And a Sprite.”

“Okay,” she said. “What kind of sauce would you like for the chicken fingers? Ranch, barbecue, honey mustard?”

“Uh, ranch,” he said.

“All right, thanks,” she said, taking their menus with a bright smile and leaving.

Ryan looked at Shawn.

Shawn chewed briefly on his lower lip, then stopped and looked off to one side. At the salt shaker, possibly.

“You like algebra?” Ryan asked.

Eye contact; the quickest flash of a heart-stopping smile. “I love algebra.”

Progress! Ryan hadn’t been prepared for how good that would feel. “Why algebra?” he asked, to