Page 54 of A Minute More

“No, I don’t eat red meat.”

Well, that’s something new. To be honest, I don’t think I’ve ever seen Simon eat around me. Maybe some granola and yogurt occasionally but other than that, he doesn’t really pack a lunch.

“Oh, well, can I order one? There isn’t much I don’t stick in my mouth.”

He lets out a small whimper and then turns his gaze back to the counter as a smile twitches on my lips.

I hadn’t meant it like that, but it came out nonetheless. Seems I have sex on the brain even when I don’t mean to.

We order, him with his fries and shake and me with a double stacked burger, fries, and a shake.

We sit in a booth, facing each other, his legs folded on the bench so our knees don’t touch, his fingers playing absently with the salt and pepper shakers. The silence looms between us.

“I’m not a very good friend,” he says suddenly, and I clench my fists so I don’t reach out to place his hand in mine. “I don’t know how to beyourfriend.”

“I’m simple enough,” I say and then cock my head, watching him. “Doesn’t take much to please me.”

He smiles at that and then his eyes flutter away, back to the table. A piece of his hair slides across his forehead and I want to push it back, want to run my fingers along the skin of his cheeks.

But I don’t.

He needs time because of some secret reason. One I’m dying to know. God, I want to fuckingknow.

“Can you tell me something about you, something I don’t know?”

That list is endless, the secrets he buries away so deep inside of him.

He shrugs. “I’m nothing special.”

“Oh, I beg to differ. Tell me something, Simon. Tell me something about you…what makes youyou.”

He contemplates it a bit and then sighs. “My parents died when I was young. A drunk driving accident. My dad…he was the one drunk.”

“Oh shit.”

He peeks up at me. “After that, I lived with my grandma until she passed.”

I hadn’t been expecting anything so deep, so traumatic. I’d expected something light. Like maybe his favorite vegetable or something. But no, he just went and laid it all out there.

“Fuck, Simon.”

He shrugs. “It doesn’t sting as much anymore. Just a dull throb when I think about it too hard.”

I nod, not really understanding. My dad left when I was very young, an apparition that I saw only in my dreams. But I know he’s still out there somewhere. He’s not dead. I’m not sure what’s worse. Dead and gone or alive and purposefully abandoned.

“It’s how I have my apartment. I could never afford it on my own. I have a small trust left over from my parents and my grandma.”

I nod and then run a hand down my face. Shit, what I really want to know is more about that picture of him online—the one with the trophy—but don’t want to push it, so I just stay silent. Maybe he’ll tell me more, maybe he’ll open up and show me these hidden parts of himself.

He licks his lips and then peers up at me again, almost timid.

“You can ask me questions if you want. I don’t know what else to say. I’m terrible at this.”

I lose the will to stop myself. Reaching out, I thread my fingers with his and squeeze. He gasps, the sensation of our bodies joining almost electric. He doesn’t pull away, so neither do I. Just hold his hand tightly as he trembles.

“Fuck, you do things to me,” he whispers, his voice raspy and almost broken. “Why do you do this?”

I don’t know, I can’t explain it, but still, we hold on to one another until our food is delivered and that’s when he pulls away, quickly throwing a french fry in his mouth and chewing.

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