LUKE
I wait for Sam at a table in the corner, next to the windows overlooking the busy street. It’s ten after twelve when he crosses the road with a ridiculous smile on his face. His hair is fashionably mussed and I swear his eyes are laughing. He’s practically skipping, and it makes my heart skip too.
I want him to be as excited to see me as I am to see him.
I stand up when he comes in and beckon him over. I’m nervous though, and I can feel it in the clamminess of my hands and the way I knock over my water glass as I sit.
Sam is on to it. He already has serviettes in his hand and is wiping up. Then he does something he’s never done before, and it goes right to my groin. He winks. “My waiting experience pays off for once.”
He laughs and I stumble over a “thanks.”
“What has you so cheerful today?” I ask, opening the menu and scanning over it without seeing a single thing.
He doesn’t say anything, just shrugs and smiles wider.
I look up at him and raise a brow.
He swallows, the smile still there, and focuses on the glass I tipped over. He spins it in circles. “I’m on holiday. I feel . . . so free.”
Boy does he deserve it too. I’m so happy for him, I can taste the freedom myself, and that wonderful free-fall feeling comes over me again. “And what are you going to do with your time?”
The waitress comes over and we order. When she’s left, Sam leans over the table conspiratorially. I lean in too.
“I have a list.”
I try not to smile, but I know it’s slipping out of my control. Even though I’m not touching it, I can feel his 20s Must-Do List in my pocket, warming me through my jeans. “Oh yeah?”
“Yeah. I’m going to make my way through it. Also, so long as you’re still on a sabbatical, we should, I don’t know, do more stuff together. Catch up, you know. Hey how do you feel about sharks?”
Truth? I’m not a fan. In fact, they scare the crap out of me. I don’t say that though. I shrug. “Oh yeah, you know. They’re just animals.” Animals that can freaking tear you apart with their massive, killer jaws.
“Want to swim with them with me?”
Leave the “with them” part out, and I am all there. “Hell yeah.”
He smiles, and I know swimming with sharks will be worth it.
Leaning back, he looks out the window and squints. “You wouldn’t happen to know who Kanye West is, would you?”
“Yeah, I do.”
“You do? How do you know this stuff?”
I lean back in my chair, feeling a glint of hope as I say, “I am almost a decade older than you are.” I hope my emphasis on decade hits him the way it’s meant to, and I think it has, because he flushes and glances toward the kitchens.
“What’s taking them so long?” he says, and begins fidgeting with his placemat.
It hasn’t been long at all, and I like knowing he’s just as nervous as I am. I want to reach out and take his hand and say I want to be your summer fling.
For all our summers, always.
But it’s too much at once, and I have to break into things more gently. I have to tell him about me—“Sam,” I say, shifting on my seat and looking down at the placemat in front of me, fingering the dragon indentations. “There’s something I want to talk to you about—”
I hear him sucking in a deep breath and I look up. He’s suddenly tense, gripping the table.
I frown. “What?”
“Nothing.” His gaze skips over mine to look at the wall behind me, and then out of the window. “I mean”—he rings out a nervous laugh—“did I tell you I scored myself a date for Friday night?”
I laugh, because surely I’ve misheard. And focusing on laughing helps me not feel the roughness of the hand that’s clawing at my chest. “Date?” It comes out as strangled as I feel. “Was that the ‘something you had to do’ today?”
I want the food to get here so I can pay for it and leave.
“Yeah,” Sam says, still not looking at me. “There’s this woman at work. It’s taken me a while, but this morning I finally gave her my number. She asked me out right away. We’re going dancing on Friday night.”
“Woman?” I ask, the word sour enough to bring tears to my eyes. I blink them back. What was I thinking with my teasing? How stupid am I? Sam is a straight man. There is no sense crushing on him and letting fantasies get the better of me.
I’m a fool. A little bit of taboo won’t change him.
He swallows and nods. “Uh, her name is Hannah.”
He breathes out slowly just as the waitress comes over with our food. We wait until she’s left before we continue.
“Okay,” Sam says, still gripping the table, his knuckles whitening. “I’m sorry. Your turn. What were you going to say? I’m ready to listen.”
I can’t say it. I should. He—and Jeremy—are the only ones who don’t know the truth about me. I want them to know. I want to be completely out of the closet. But the words are trapped under the same claws that have my heart. Because if I tell him I like other men, and he’s cool about it and waggles his brows and asks me if there’s a special someone like my mum and sister did, I think I’m going to break. Maybe even cry.
And crying is not something I do, really. The last time I cried was when my mum told me she needed surgery, and before that, it was when dad left when I was fourteen.
I sniff, and quickly dab a fresh serviette to my nose. “It’s spicy,” I say, and silently will myself to get over it. I haven’t lost Sam. We are still friends.
I eat.
He eats.
The silence between us is awkward and the clatter of our utensils against the plates sounds too loud.
Then he looks over at me for the longest time, until it becomes a game of who turns away first. And when I break away and he chuckles and knocks my foot with his under the table, I want to reach over, clasp a hand behind his neck and kiss him.
Which I don’t think I will ever get to do now. It’d been nice to daydream, but destructive too. I’ve got to stop.
We finish eating. I didn’t taste anything.
“That was great,” Sam says, patting his stomach. Then he glances at the cashier desk, and stands abruptly. “I’m, uh . . . just going to the bathroom,” he says, and there’s a nervous excited glint in his eye as he turns and walks off.
And it makes me love him more.
I fucking laugh because it’s either that or sob. And then I go pay.