Page 16 of Fruitbat

His eyes lift up, find me, and he sucks his lip in.

I spin around to tidy the shelves of vitamins and pain reliever bottles, my face cooked, and my head spinning again. Deepinhales and smooth exhales steady the dizziness, packing little stars away.

I should eat something.

“Are you hungry?” I call over the shelves.

“Starved!” his voice chimes back.

“Do you like cheap pizza?”

“Of course!”

I gather two boxes from the freezer and lug them to the back office, popping the personal size discs onto a rack in the dingy toaster oven, and twist the time and temperature dials, before waddling back out to the retail floor, grabbing a glance at the beautiful zombie—folded around my work—as I pass by. His elbows are propped on his knees, his hands holding his cheeks up. His sweet lashes flit as his eyes float back and forth. I still can’t tell what he’s thinking.

I rearrange an endcap of candy lip glosses—wondering which one might taste like him—chewing gum, and automobile oil—this store has no rhyme or reason—until the scent of baked dough, herbed sauce and toasted cheese fills the air.

Ding!

The oven chimes and I report back to the office, peel two sheets of paper towel off a roll, and use them to plate the steaming saucers.

Si is standing in the doorway as I turn back, startled.

“Your writing is so good!” He beams.

I study his wide eyes and broad smile. He seems sincere.

“I’m no critic, but honestly, I love it!”

Oh, he’s just being kind.“That’s nice of you.” I mutter, avoiding his gaze as i plop down on the chair and blow on my pizza.

“Danny, I’m serious. It’s really good. You’re magnificent.” He perches on the edge of the desk with his knee inches from my elbow. I can feel his sweet heat float over my arm.

No, you’re magnificent.“Thanks.” My face is cooked again.

“Why don’t you self-publish?” He folds his pizza in half and bites the end like a taco, slurping up the sauce and cheese squeezing out into his chin.

“I don’t know. —I’ve thought about it, but I imagine it costs a lot of money to market.”

Si stares into his pizza-taco for a moment. “What about an investor?”

I giggle. He’s adorable. “I wouldn’t know where to find one.”

He lights up, his eyes lifting to mine. “You just did.”

I’m not sure how to respond.

“I’ll invest in your book. —You don’t need a publisher. That’s all they do anyway, right? —Float some cash to cover the bills?” he shrugs like that’s no big deal.

“You don’t even know me. —and I think they do more than that.”

“Meh. —I dunno why, but I almost feel like I do know you. —Ya know?” His eyebrow quirks and his shoulders curl.

Where did this magic man come from?

“I feel you, but I can’t take your money.”

“It’s not even mine, really. It’s my Dad’s. He has plenty to go around.” Si’s grin would be sinister if he weren’t so pretty.

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