Page 48 of Plunge

I drive the Gullwing even though it’s only a few blocks, and I like the way he can tell it’s me coming. I see him step up to the picture window when I pull up to the curb, and he opens the door for me, leaning against the frame like he was born doing that.

“Hey,” I say, hurrying inside, cold from the brief walk from the car. I don’t know if I should greet him physically, so I just hang my coat on a peg.

I follow him into the kitchen, where he’s got heaps of Indian takeout lined up on the table. “Oh, you didn’t! Is that the peas and cheese?”

He nods. “Yep. And the eggplant.” We sit and fill out plates and I can’t stifle the moan that escapes my lips when I bite into the garlicky flat bread.

“This is so good, Fletcher. Thank you.”

“Least I could do,” he says. “I never really thanked you. For saving my ass with work and all.” He drifts off and I finish chewing my mouthful. The spice hits my tongue and my eyes water. I want to tell him it’s no trouble, but I can’t stop coughing.

He hops up to get me a glass of water and brings it to me, rubbing my back until I stop coughing. Once I can breathe, I look up at him. “Thanks,” I say, dabbing my eyes with my napkin. His hand stays on my back, still moving in slow circles, and it feels nice.

I can hear and feel him breathing, see his chest moving out of the corner of my eye. I swallow and he asks, “You ok?”

Nodding, I take another drink of water and shudder. He lets go of my back and returns to his seat, and I miss the heat of his touch.

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