Page 19 of Moved
His selection of movies wasn’t much better than mine but he had a dish on the roof, which meant pay per view.
“What are you in the mood for? Action? Drama? Comedy?” I surfed the list of movies. When he didn’t immediately answer, I glanced at him. He was in his usual chair, but without his usual frown. He looked speculative. A dangerous mood. I eyed him warily.
“Why did you flash me?”
Was that all he had on his mind? I went back to viewing the selections as I answered.
“It was the quickest way to get you out of the bathroom before you destroyed it. And I’m serious about the knocking now that I have a hole in the door.”
His silence drew my gaze again. His expression hadn’t changed.
“And the comment when your dad was on the phone?”
“Did you like it when I barged into your apartment? You barge a lot.”
He gave a slow nod. “Fair enough.”
I settled on a comedy.
“You really should call your dad. Your silence is eating him up.”
“Friends don’t nag,” I said. “Pass the popcorn.”
We watched the movie in silence after that. When it finished, I stood and stretched. I caught him giving me a look before he stood, too. He’d moved too fast for me to decipher it, though.
“I’m going to go study for a bit. If Dad wants to talk to me, tell him I need a phone to do that.”
****
I studied for five hours, taking breaks to snack and start dinner. By the time I shut down, my stomach had started a rhythmic growl from the aroma of baked chicken. Twenty more minutes brought a bowl of mashed potatoes, gravy, and steamed baby carrots to the table. It also brought a knock on my door, which made me smile.
Racer stood in the hall, still a bit wary of me.
“Come in.” I waved him in. “You’re just in time. Grab a chair.”
“I just came up to bring you back your phone.” He held out the phone.
I gave it a brief glance. “Daddy approved?” He nodded. “Set it on the counter. Seriously, sit down. I made enough for two or five depending on how hungry we are.”
He pulled out a chair and sat. I served him, enjoying his lingering doubt. He still didn’t trust that any of this was real. It was. I wanted a friend and a home, not a warden and a prison. He had the power to determine which. I’d given him a taste of what type of inmate I would be. Now, he needed a taste of friendship.
I sat in my own chair and grinned at him. “Dig in.”
The light breading on the chicken crunched as I took my first bite. A groan escaped me. Dad loved red meat so I never cooked chicken much at home. It had been too long since I last had baked chicken, or I was just that hungry.
A faint smile teased the corner of Racer’s mouth as he watched me dig in. Growing up with Dad and Larry, the occasional dinner guest, I’d always eaten with gusto. Even in school. The friends I grew up with knew me. It was just how I was. It wasn’t until college that I realized my lacking table etiquette. Had I stayed there longer, I might have learned some...or corrupted my few new friends.
Gnawing the meat from the bone with one hand, I picked up my glass of milk with my other.
“Ah, that’s good,” I said after taking a big swallowing.
Racer still hadn’t taken his first bite.
“There are eight pieces. Keep staring, and I’m only going to leave you one.”
His grin was blinding. He picked up his chicken and took a huge bite. He watched me as he chewed and swallowed.
“Want to watch another movie?” he said.
