Page 95 of Tarek

With a small salute Tarek leaves the office. As the door closes, it feels like he has taken all the joy with him. My office feels large, hollow, empty.

I am tempted to call him back and tell him to stay. But I can’t, it crosses a boundary that we both agreed to maintain.

For the next hour I sit behind the computer, finishing off some coding, signing a few contracts. My stomach growls, reminding me that I need to eat. I had a tuna sandwich for lunch, and several cups of decaffeinated coffee.

Sighing, I close my laptop and drag my bag over my shoulders. My digital clock shows 10:30 p.m. Shit, I didn’t realize it’s that late. Maybe KFC might be open or at 7’11 I can pick up a tv dinner. I wish that I told Tarek to stay, maybe he could have cooked me up something. The elevator doors open, and I step in. If he had stayed, we could have cooked steak or soup and hang out.

The door opens, and I pick up my phone. Walking past the guard, I give him a small wave.

“Fuck it.” I dial Tarek’s number, just as I exit the glass doors. The humidity is thick in the air.

His phone is ringing, but he doesn’t answer. I can hear a phone close by. I follow the sound of the phone, only to reveal Tarek, rising off the stairs, dusting his pants off while answering the phone.

“Hi,” I say, trying to hold back a smile.

“Hi,” he replies as his eyes finally meet mine.

“You waited.” That’s all I could say.

“Well, Marco has the kitchen under control, and I didn’t want to go to Nowhere. So, I waited.” He hangs up the phone and places it in his pocket.

Without hesitation, he takes my jacket and bag from my hand. “Are you hungry?”

“Starved. Do you know a place?” I ask.

With little effort, he pulls me to his chest and kisses my forehead.

“I do. You can leave your car here.”

We slowly walk to the car. My handbag and jacket are hanging on his shoulders.

His warm hand holds mine. It feels so right, and it frightens me more than any relationship that I ever had.

There is a comfort watching him buckle me in, treating me like I was precious, like I was a treasure.

* * *

TAREK

I have always been a man to do what I wanted. I didn’t want to go to work at the Glass House, I didn’t want to go to Nowhere. I wanted to wait in Penny’s office, while she finished her work.

I wanted to stay and wait for her, so I did and from the look of relief on her face, I’m glad I did. She was calling for me, not the other way around. Unlike our first time, she picked up the phone because she needed me and not for a ding, but just my presence.

We drove in silence like neither one of us want to break whatever it is that was happening. It takes me twenty minutes to get to my favorite after work spot.

“It’s a gas station? Tarek?” Penny comments.

“Behind the gas station is where the magic happens.”

Pablo’s Taco has the best tacos in Lakeshore.

“Oh, the food smells divine,” Penny comments as she exits the car.

“It should be, Pablo was once one of my sous chefs.” I extend my hand to her and with ease she takes it.

“This is amazing.” Penny’s shoulders begin to move as she hears the music pouring out the food truck.

The place is alive, people are in line waiting to order. Some men stand in what looks like their work clothes, there is a friendly banter between them. There is a beautiful mix of English and Spanish being spoken with the occasional burst of laughter.

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