Page 21 of A Minute More

He was asking for it, letting me into his place. I pull open a drawer and see his toothpaste, a hairbrush, and some floss. Then I move to the medicine cabinet above the sink, pulling it open and seeing a slew of pill bottles.

Shit, I think as I force my eyes away. I don’t know what kind of prescription drugs he’s on and it’s none of my business.

I feel like shit for even opening his cabinet to begin with. I thought I’d find some mouthwash, not a bunch of pills. Maybe I should stop snooping. Don’t know why I thought that was a good thing to do in the first place.

I move back to the kitchen, watching as Simon cracks eggs into a pan. I was mostly joking about him feeding me, but it seems he took me seriously.

It makes me like the dude a lot more. Makes me even more curious about him. Is he naturally a caretaker? Does he enjoy cooking? Or maybe he doesn’t know how to sit still.

I don’t fucking know, but I want to.

“Thanks, man,” I say as I slide onto a chair and place my face in my hands, scrubbing roughly. “You really didn’t have to cook for me. I was mostly joking.”

“It’s fine,” Simon says as he glances over at me and nods before placing some turkey bacon in the pan. I can hear the sizzle of it and the smell of fried food makes my stomach roll.

“Do you do that often?” Simon asks me.

“Do what? Sleep at strangers’ houses?”

“No. Drink.”

I eyeball him and then shrug. “I mean, I’m twenty-two. I go out occasionally.”

He doesn’t reply, just sets the finished food on a plate and brings it to me.

“Why does it matter to you?” I ask, and I see his jaw clench.

“I don’t like drinking…it’s just…I just don’t like it.”

He hands me a mug of coffee, and I take an eager sip. Damn, that’s a dark roast. I take another swig, not feeling the need to complain to him. No fucking way, he’s doing me a huge favor. I’m not gonna be the ass who bitches.

“This is really nice.”

His cheeks flush a dark shade of pink, and he shakes his head. “It’s what anyone would have done.”

“I beg to differ. I know for a fact my roommates would have kicked an interloper out.”

He watches me closely for a moment and then turns his gaze back to the coffee machine. He fiddles with it absently.

“You could join me.”

“I already had my coffee. And I’m not much of a breakfast person.”

I take another swig of coffee and a big bite of eggs.

“Just so you know, I don’t usually sleep at people’s houses uninvited,” I explain. “I promise it won’t happen again.”

He turns toward me and leans against the counter, watching as I dig in, stuffing the food into my mouth without even breathing. I have zero manners, and in seconds, the food is gone and I’m slurping at the coffee like some kind of animal.

A small burp escapes me, and I pat my stomach. “God, that was good. Thanks.”

Simon nods and gets to cleaning, his back to me as he washes out the pan he used to cook me breakfast. I watch him carefully, taking in the way his body moves and how reserved he is.

Is he lonely? Does he have anyone he can talk to? Does he have any friends? A significant other?

I really want to know. Something deep down inside of me is drawn to him.

“So, besides working, what do you do for fun?” I ask when the silence looms a little too long.

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