Page 35 of Sing it, Sam

Chapter Twelve

In my lunch hour the next day, I find myself in Sam’s room. Discovering more about him yesterday certainly piqued my interest. The thing is, I don’t want to hear stuff about him in conversation with someone else. I want Sam to talk to me.

Sam is propped up in bed with pillows tucked behind him, the covers pushed down to his waist. From the look of his crumpled white T-shirt and unruly hair I’m guessing he hasn’t strayed far from bed all day. Eyes glazed, he stares at the blue book he’s caressing on his lap.Has he been waiting for me?

“Keen for some more?” I ask, leaning my shoulder in the doorway.

“We talking about the book or you?” he says with a waggle of his brown eyebrows.

I chuckle to myself as I stalk into the room. “Both.” He smiles. As I walk farther inside, a hit of subtle earthy cologne teases at my nostrils.Did he put some on just before I arrived?

“Then the answer is hell yes and yes.”

Gulp.I set down my water bottle on his bedside table, slide over a chair, and get comfortable.

“Did you eat?” I ask, noting the absence of any dishes.

“Cannelloni. Wasn’t bad, actually. You?”

“I scoffed down some tuna and crackers earlier, but I could really go a dirty burger.”

Sam’s head hits the pillow behind him with a thud. “A dirty burger?”

“From Grease Monkeys. Have you been there?”

“Nope. I like the sound of it, though.”

“It’s their signature burger and has everything you could ever want between two bits of bread. A thick chargrilled beef patty, deep-fried onions, lettuce, tomato, beetroot, swiss cheese, goopy mayo, ketchup, jalapeños, and, if that wasn’t enough, a fried egg and crispy bacon on a giant soft damper bun. It’s frickin’ huge.”

“Hmm, sounds incredible. Why do they call it dirty?”

Laughter bubbles up my throat. I hold out my hands in front of me, motioning holding the giant burger and eating it, as I remember the mess of sauce and juice from the patty that trailed down my hands. Last time I had one, I had to go home and change. “Because you’re filthy by the time you finish eating it. Definitely not date food.”

“I’ll remember that,” he says and laughs.

Sam moves on to his side facing me, crooking his arm to rest against his head. I settle into the chair, sitting on an angle so my back is almost to him and hold the book so he can read over my shoulder if he wants.

“’Kay, where were we?” I ask, fingering the bookmark and spreading the pages open.

Over the next half an hour, Sam listens intently, occasionally piping up when something of particular interest happens. When I start the next chapter, I note there are about forty or so pages left.

Parched, I put the book down for a moment and gulp some water from my bottle. “You sure you don’t want to read some? My throat’s dry.”

“Nope. You’re doing a bang-up job,” he replies, a touch of humour in his tone. Kathleen’s words ring in my ear.I think that young man is having a lend of you …

Smiling, I continue to read the remainder of the chapter. When we get there, I place the bookmark into the spine.

“Whoa,” Sam says. “It’s getting intense. Sure you can’t take the rest of the arvo off sick and stay with me?”

I wish I could.“Pretty sure my boss would be on to me.” I stand and place the book on his bedside. “Oh, by the way. I had a look in lost property for your glasses.” I try to keep a straight face.

He clears his throat. “Oh, yeah?”

I can’t resist winking at him. “Yeah. Nothing so far, but don’t worry—I’ll keep an eye out for you.”

“Appreciate it.”

“You doing anything at five o’clock?” I ask as I reach the doorway.

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