Page 97 of Callan

I can’t divulge his identity.

I don’t need his devilish eyes on me to know that I need to heed his warning.As much as I don’t need him to put it into words that I’m not supposed to talk about him.

Even if I knew nothing about him––and I don’t know much about him––I’d still be cautious.

There are so many reasons why I don’t want to talk about him. And just as many reasons why I do want to talk about him.

For one, I need to confess.

I have to tell someone how good it felt to be with him.

How much pleasure he has given me and how much comfort I have felt by entrusting myself to him.

The microwave dings before I pull my food out, transfer it to a plate, grab a fork and a soda from the refrigerator, and return to the table.

“I thought you walked out of the building,” she jokes.

“Shut up.”

I laugh, having a hard time holding her gaze.

Once my mouth is full, I chew on the food and talk.

“He’s, um… I don’t know much about him. He was, uh… I think he is my neighbor.”

“Uh… You think? You don’t know? Does he live in your building?”

I gesture with my fork, having a hard time swallowing.

“No. He lives in a building down the street. Mmm… This food is good,” I say to distract her.

“How did you two meet?”

I take another bite.

“Um… We’re buying our morning coffee at the same deli.”

“Are you buying coffee at the deli?”

Uh… She’s right. I used to do that when I had a job.

“I started to do that again. He gets his there too.”

“Seriously?”

I nod.

“Is he cute?”

“Very cute.”

“Do you have a picture of him?”

I gesture at her again, almost choking on my food.

“Nope. No picture.”

“No online pictures? Nothing?”

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