He had blinked at the little projectile's dull flick; James had graciously aimed it just shy of Adam's left eye, its minuscule point a hair's breadth from the dark liner limning his eyes. It was a terrible feeling to be so quickly and effortlessly transported two decades back in time. Terrible, but not so bad as that dream, whose memory James' last question too easily conjured up. He fought the flush that wanted to rise, wishing he could focus on the slightly less mortifying question of his interest in Alex. He wondered which question would be worse to answer truthfully.
"I didn't," he said, quiet, flat. He reached over to where the straw's wrapper had fallen, plucking it from the table and palming it without a moment's glance away from his old friend. His was a gaze difficult to hold, full of hidden things Adam dared not try to name, but there was nothing for it. He had learned long ago this one was a dangerous creature to turn one's back on, regardless of Alex's often balancing presence so near. Slipping the paper beneath the edge of his plate, he tried for a smile, and almost succeeded. "We've lived here about a year now." One sharp canine sank into the edge of his tongue. How easily he had let slip that simple pronoun; how dangerous a mistake it might be. He stopped himself before it could slide free again, choosing his next words more carefully. "Alex and I have both been busy lately. I guess she didn't think to mention it."