Chapter 8
“That’s the saddest-looking dinner I’ve ever seen,” I said, eyeing Xander’s food as we claimed a spot at one of the laminated square tops in the café.
Following our win, Oliver immediately tried roping us into another game of capture the flag.
Everyone agreed with the exception of me, Xander, and Alec.
I wanted a break after playing for nearly an hour, so Xander suggested we grab something to eat, while Alec begged off in order to greet the rest of his guests.
“I don’t disagree.” He opened the single serving bag of Lay’s Classic potato chips, set it on the table, and pulled what looked like a plastic soap case out of his pocket. “Be right back. I have to wash my hands. Can you make sure no one touches these?”
“Sure thing,” I said as I arranged my own lunch in front of me. The world’s cheesiest nachos turned out to be a bag of stale tortilla chips and fake liquid cheese, but I didn’t discriminate against any form of my favorite dairy product, even the processed kind.
When Xander returned a few minutes later, I noticed how careful he was not to touch anything as he sat down.
Maybe he was a germaphobe? If so, eating lunch at a laser tag arena probably wreaked havoc on his blood pressure.
I wondered if he was grossed out that I’d skipped a trip to the bathroom and opted for the hand sanitizer in my purse?
“I should have packed a lunch,” Xander said glumly as he stared into the bag.
“Not a fan of concession stand food?” I asked, rescuing a stray jalapeno from the nacho sauce before it sank to its cheesy depths.
He shook his head. “It’s not that. I can’t have anything they’re serving, and unfortunately, this was the only item in the vending machine I knew would be safe to eat.”
“You gluten free or something?”
“Or something.” He popped a chip in his mouth as he settled back into his chair. “Remember at Comic Con when I mentioned I have allergies? Well, that was a bit of an understatement. I could write a book on all the foods that would send me into anaphylactic shock, so I have to be super careful.”
“Like what?”
“Gluten, soy, shellfish. Any kind of nut. I also try to stay away from dairy and red meat, but that’s more of a food intolerance than an actual allergy.”
I froze, a nacho halfway to my mouth. “Jesus, what can you eat?”
“Salad, baked potatoes, eggs, and green smoothies are my go-to. A bit of rice and lentils. Oh, and chicken. Lots and lots of chicken.”
“I wouldn’t survive,” I said, shaking my head. “Seriously. You’d have to pry the pizza from my cold, dead hands.”
“My allergies started developing when I was a toddler, so I don’t know what pizza tastes like,” he admitted.
My mouth dropped open. This must have made him uncomfortable, because he ducked his head. A tangle of reddish gold bangs spilled forward, but he quickly finger combed them back into place. When he straightened up and his eyes met mine, I realized I was staring.
“That,” I said, forcing my gaze back to my food, “is a catastrophic crime.”
“Maybe, but it’s a life-saving one.”
“Death by pizza wouldn’t be a terrible way to go.”
This coaxed a small smile from him. “I’d rather die peacefully in my sleep at the ripe old age of ninety-five.”
“Yeah, me too,” I agreed as I turned over this new piece of information about Xander. It had to be scary for him, monitoring everything he ate. Going to a restaurant was probably a nightmare. What if someone messed up his order? “Do you have to carry an EpiPen around with you?”
Xander stood, propped his foot on the chair, and yanked up his pant leg. A black pouch with an EMS emblem was strapped around his calf. “I have a case that attaches to belts as well, but I don’t like the way it bulges underneath my shirts, so normally I wear the leg holster. Sexy, huh?”
Hearing this, I nearly choked.
“You okay?”
“Food down the wrong pipe,” I coughed out.
I took a sip of soda and, once I was able to breathe again, decided to pretend the last five seconds hadn’t happened.
“Is that thing uncomfortable?” I asked, gesturing at the EpiPen holder.
It looked like one of those armbands people used to carry their phone when exercising.
“The holster? Nah,” he said, rolling his jeans back down and taking a seat.
“I don’t even notice it’s there. I actually had more difficulty getting used to this when I was a kid because I didn’t like wearing jewelry.
” He slid his arm across the table so I could inspect the medical alert bracelet hanging from his wrist. It was a simple stainless steel chain attached to an engraved plaque that read:
XANDER JONES
ALGY: SOY, GLUTEN,
SHELLFISH, PEANUTS, TREE-NUTS
GIVE EPIPEN CALL 911
ICE 503-555-0127
An alarmed look must have crossed my face, because Xander laughed. “Don’t worry about me. I’ve been dealing with this my entire life, so I know how to handle it. I haven’t had an attack in years.”
For some annoying reason, a flush crept up my neck. I masked my embarrassment with what I hoped was an air of nonchalance. “Who said anything about being worried?”
Xander smirked. “You didn’t have to. Your expression was clearly one of concern.”
“Psst, yeah right,” I said, dismissing him with a wave. “I don’t have the energy to worry about someone who’s going to live to the ripe old age of ninety-five.”
“Whatever you say.”
Rolling my eyes, I said, “Can I ask you one more question?”
“Sure.”
“What’s with the soap?”
“The soap?” he repeated, his eyes still sparkling with amusement.
“Well, when you went to wash your hands, you took out a box that looked like one of those travel soap thingies.”
“Oh, right.” Xander fiddled with his shirtsleeve. “I bet you thought that was super weird.”
“Maybe a little.”
“Well, I promise I’m not some bizarre soap savant, but I always have to bring my own with me. The kinds used in most public restrooms have dairy or nuts in them.”
Damn. The poor guy couldn’t catch a break. Not only did he need to monitor every morsel he ate but the entire world around him. A peanut or dairy product could be lurking around any corner.
Out of nowhere, some type of electronic buzzer went off, and we turned toward the arcade. A group of people were crowded around one of the games, which was flashing and spitting out tickets. I blinked in surprise. Somehow, over the course of our conversation, I’d managed to forget we weren’t alone.
“Guess what?” I asked, making a point to switch gears once we turned back around. Xander was being perfectly polite, but I could tell he wasn’t entirely comfortable with the subject. “I decided to apply to that cinema makeup school Melody told me about.”
“Really? That’s awesome, Indie. You’ll be a shoo-in for sure,” he said, and I could tell by the way his face lit up that he meant every word.
“Thanks. I’m not sold on a career as a makeup artist, but I’ve been in a major funk lately. I have to submit a portfolio as part of my application, and I’m hoping the creative process will snap me out of it. First things first, I need to come up with a theme.”
“Sounds fun. Can I help?”
Was he serious? I couldn’t wrap my head around why Xander was so willing to lend a hand.
Someone cleared their throat before I could answer, and we both looked up to find Felicity standing in front of our table. “Hey, guys. Do you mind if I join you?”
Her voice was soft and silvery. Part of me had expected to hear Violet’s low, husky tones, but everything about Alec’s girlfriend was sweet down to her button nose. Which made sense since my sister was the devil incarnate. Wasn’t that how doppelg?ngers worked? One good twin, one evil?
Offering her one of his wide, lopsided smiles, Xander kicked out an empty chair. “Of course not. Did you guys already finish the second round?”
“No, but I’m not very good. As soon as I ran out of lives, I ditched.
” She grinned sheepishly and sat down beside me.
The similarity between her and Violet still startled me, but up close, I was able to pick out more differences between the two.
Unlike Violet, Felicity didn’t have a cleft chin, her face was peppered with freckles, and her outfit was too girly for my sister’s taste—she wore a pink high-waisted skirt paired with a lacy top and a necklace beaded into the shape of a bird.
“So what were you guys talking about before I interrupted?”
“Indie was just telling me about the makeup school she’s applying to,” Xander said. “We’re going to brainstorm ideas for her portfolio. Wanna help?”
“Beauty makeup?” She directed the question at me, but since I’d just shoveled another nacho into my mouth, Xander answered first.
“No, prosthetic. You should see what she did at Comic Con. Turned me into this super freaky alien with purple skin.” He pulled out his phone and showed her one of the pictures Melody had taken.
“Is that really you?” she asked, glancing between Xander and the photo.
He nodded. “Awesome, right? I walked around the convention floor, and nobody knew who I was.”
Felicity shook her head. “Wow. I didn’t realize you could do something like that with makeup. You’re super talented, Indie.”
“Thanks,” I replied, trying not to squirm at the attention. It felt weird to be complimented on something other than a violin performance.
“I was thinking,” Xander said as he continued to scroll through his camera roll. “There are some really great shots here. Why don’t you do an alien theme for your portfolio? That way, you already have some of the work done.”
“That would certainly make things easier,” I said, “but aliens, fairies, zombies—basically any kind of mythical creature or monster? They’re way overdone. Besides, I didn’t make the prosthetics I used on you, and Melody helped with the application, so it’s not one hundred percent my work.”
“I might have something,” Felicity said, leaning into the table, her eyes darting to Xander. “But it would require the assistance of a certain band.”
“What kind of assistance?” he asked.