Page 6 of A Minute More

Jude shoves that piece of pizza into his mouth and chews thoughtfully. “Yeah, guess not. That wouldn’t be cool.”

“Nah,” I reply as I flop down on the couch and blink up at Jude.

“Not today, Satan,” he mutters between chews, but my doe-eyed blinking gets him to cave and he hands me a piece of pizza despite his eye-rolling.

“If I’m hungry later tonight, I blame you.”

“I’m helping you keep your girlish figure.”

I munch on the slice slowly as the two of us watch TV, and my mind filters back to Simon. I probably should have gotten his number so I could make sure he got home okay. Not that he would have given it to me, but I should have at least tried. I’ll ask him tomorrow, in case something happens again.

But fuck, the sting of rejection might be too much to bear.

Maybe I won’t ask. Maybe I’ll hint at it. Yeah, I’ll be all sly-like.

* * *

The following day, our shifts overlap slightly. We don’t close together, but I do manage to catch him on his break when the rush of people isn’t nearly as extreme as it is during lunch.

“How did the battery work out?” I ask, leaning against a few crates of cheese. They wobble precariously, and I reach out to steady them before they topple over.

Simon eyes the crates. “Fine.”

“Did you make it home okay? I was gonna text you but then I realized I didn’t have your number.”

His eyes flick up to meet mine before he looks away. I see his throat work as he swallows and his fingers tap against his leg.

“No, you don’t.”

I shift on my feet, feeling a little silly for saying that, for even hinting, but what else am I supposed to do? I mean, I can’t outright ask like an adult. Pfft. No way. I’m not that mature yet.

“Uh, cool, well I’m glad you made it home safely.”

He doesn’t even respond, just pulls his earbuds from his pocket and shoves them in his ears.

Well, guess our conversation is over. I mean, I can take a hint. I’m getting really good at that when it comes to him. Hinty McHintsters. That’s me.

I move back out to the shop and get to work, chatting with customers and making conversation with Izzy and Ollie, another co-worker and friend who’s been crashing on our couch while he’s between residences.

Simon is quiet the entire time though, not engaging with us at all. Everyone just ignores him. No one even tries to pull him into the conversation. I mean, we did try when he first started working with us, but his silence and refusal to answer kind of killed the mood.

Eventually, we just stopped trying.

Part of me wonders if I didn’t try hard enough.

“Bye, Simon,” I say when he grabs his bag to leave. His movements stutter as my words hit him, and he glances back at me.

“Bye, Wesley,” he says, and that flutter appears in my stomach again. I rub at it and then at my chest. Seems those flutters moved up to my heart too.

“That was weird,” Izzy says as she nudges me in the side. “Since when does he talk to us?”

“Dunno,” I say. “Not sure. Just happened the other day.”

Izzy’s eyebrows rise and she smiles at me. “Youaregood at making friends.”

“I am,” and then I nudge her before getting back to work.

And the entire time I’m on the clock, my mind swivels back to Simon, wondering what he’s doing, where he’s going. He’s such a mystery that I find myself growing a bit obsessed.

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