Fruitbat

8. 8

8

Danny

12:29 am

Where’d he get the new shirt?

Without that ashen makeup, his fresh sunkissed face, rosy cheeks and hazel eyes glow.

“That’s better.” Si swigs from the energy drink. The edge of his brow lifts and his wet lips stretch.

Careful, I could get drunk off that smile.

Billowing purple fabric, contrasts toasted skin and honey-glazed ringlets. The top three buttons are undone, taunting me with samples of his bare chest. I miss his belly, but this works too .

I slip my tongue over my lips, cross my eyes into the cup, and dump the last of the coffee down my throat but it doesn’t quench my thirst.

“So what do you do? —While you’re waiting for your shift to end?” His pecs cleave as his arms fold under his chest, propped on the counter.

He’s like a curious stray puppy that’s out adventuring for the first time. I’m sure someone is wondering where he is right now.

“This is it.” I wing my arms out and slowly spin. I hate to admit, this is what my life has become.

His cheeks lift, under squint eyes, and that wide intoxicating smile beams. He’s brighter than the sun and his gravity has a hold of me.

“I don’t think I’ve ever been here. —We must know each other from somewhere else?” He chews his lip and rocks on his elbows, studying me intently with apatite eyes. I bet they match the crystal I have at home, right down to its purpose of attracting joyful energy. The little gem isn’t so successful at its intention, but he is completely brilliant.

My darkness would only dim his light.

“Are you sure?” He’s definitely familiar but I can’t place him in any memory. I’m usually sharp, when it comes to recalling faces and their associations, so it’s baffling.

I’m probably still shattered from the fall?

“Maybe you’ve come in and just don’t remember?” I ask.

He stares at my face, puckering his lips .

My cheeks singe and my dart away, spotting an askew shelf of crackers that I hadn’t noticed earlier. I desert my post and make the convenient adjustments, scoping out the rest of the aisle for more tasks to busy myself.

I turn back, but he’s still draped over the counter, arching his back, and peering at me from behind his shoulder. Presenting his perfect ass, on display, and I’m hungry. If he doesn’t get out of here soon, I’ll devour him.

“Wait, do you know Trent Wagner? Were you at his and Chad’s wedding?” Si rises onto his hands and his back caves deeper.

Fuck me…

I bite my lip, shaking my head, “No.”

Si flips over and lays back, stretching his shirt wide open, above and below the fastened buttons across his navel.

Is he posing on purpose? Tease.

“I have no idea who that is.” I drop my chin and stare at a box of cheesy bits.

“Hmm . . .” he does a slow lap around the gift card display, dragging his finger across the glossy cards. They clap back and swoon under his touch.

I need that finger to drag across my skin.

I tug down the hem of my insufficient shirt, but it won’t hide the lump forming in my jeans, so I twist away and fill another paper cup with a slow trickle of steaming brew, until my excitement subsides.

“Would you like a coffee?” Why am I offering? He really should get going .

“It's so quiet. You don’t play music while you’re working?” Si stands with feet firmly planted at shoulder width, his ass cheeks clenched and his long torso convex, extending his flat belly forward on his hip bones, as he studies a random gift card with furrowed brow and pursed lips.

The room spins for a second, so I lean on a shelf until my blood finds its way back up to my sensible head, and I’m steady enough again to answer.

“I do. Delila—on second shift—likes to work in silence.” I shuffle into the back office and flip the stereo on, peeking back out to the shop floor. “Any requests?” Why do I keep inviting him to stay?

He shrugs and smiles. “What do you usually listen to?”

“Good question.” I twist the dial and find a familiar beat, turning the volume up . . .

A raucous voice bellows lyrics about fucking like animals.

Oop! Not that! I quickly turn the dial further, until a yacht rock ballad from decades past, serenades us from the ceiling.

“Oh. —I love this song.” Si calls back.

Of course he does. I giggle to myself before turning back to Si.

Xylophone keys chime over a smooth rhythmic beat, counting notes, and a saxophone wails the sweet melody. A whiny singer begs to sail away to where they’ve always heard it could be free.

I watch him sway as I sit on the stool and sip coffee, suppressing the urge to join .

“This reminds me of Nanny Grace.” His face is dreamy. “She used to listen to this music, while cleaning up our toys, or prepping dinner.” He twirls down the center aisle, rolling his head and closing his eyes, mouthing the lyrics.

I turn to gaze out the window but stare at the Si show, broadcasting in the dark glass. I’m mesmerized by his body movement and free spirit. He bops and shimmies around the back of the store, mouthing the lyrics of the sweet song.

“Do you still see her?” I ask.

He turns back and scoots three steps forward, pausing to straighten a row of potato chips.

“No. —She died when I was thirteen.” He swipes the back of his hand across his cheek and smiles up at me. Fluorescent light bounces off his glossy yellow curls.

“Sorry.”

“It was a long time ago,” he shrugs. “She was like a mother though.” He trots back to the counter.

“I lost my mother ten years ago.’’

“Sorry,” he frowns, leaning in on folded arms, squeezing his pecs together.

“Thanks,” I swig.

—and gulp.

“What about your father?” His apatite gaze fixes on me.

“I never knew him.”

“Me either, really.” Si folds his wrist and dangles the energy drink in his fingers, swirling the fizzing fluid in the can. “My parents both traveled a lot.” His eyes climb down to my grungy t-shirt .

I wish I had worn something nicer, but I hadn't expected this night to be different from any other.

“I’m sorry you’ve lost your parents.”

“Oh no. My parents are alive, just too busy,” he chuckles. “They’re sitting on a yacht, somewhere off the coast of Santorini. —I think?”

Fancy.

“A yacht?” I scoff.

His sweet face flushes red.

—And now I feel like an asshole.

“Yeah,” he spins and floats away to the dairy cooler.

“You really don’t need to hang around this place. It’s going to get boring real soon.”

“I don’t have anywhere to be.” Si folds over with his nose inches from the glass door, displaying rows of milk and cream.

Are you sure about that?