Page 28 of Boys Who Hunt
“No worries, I get it,” he says.
“I didn’t think you’d be the kind of guy into motorcycles, though,” I say.
He leans back. “I just love the freedom my bike gives me. Swerving down the roads, enjoying the breeze.” He sighs. “Anyway, are you hungry?”
He calls the server over, and we both order our sandwiches. My stomach is still rumbling, and when it finally gets here, the smell alone makes my mouth water.
I only came along because I was hungry. I don’t want my friends to know I don’t have the money to buy my own. I struggle to keep up the image, but I don’t want them to find out the truth. Especially not now that my life has gotten even more difficult. All the money I had leftover I gave to my neighbor Mrs. Schwartz so she would agree to watch over Cora and keep her safe.
Safe fromthem.
But now I’m sitting here in a sandwich shop with one of them.
Can I even trust him?
The sandwich he bought for me looks amazing, but I’m hesitant to taste it.
“Go on,” Max eggs me on. He smiles, the dimples in his cheeks too cute to look away. “I know you’re hungry. Just eat. I promise, you’ll feel much better afterward.”
I take a deep breath and pick up the sandwich. My growling stomach begs me to give it something to digest, and it’s very, very hard to ignore with this delicious bread filled with teriyaki chicken right in front of me.
Fine. Eating one sandwich won’t hurt, right?
I take a bite and nearly cry happy tears from how good it tastes.
“And?” Max asks. “Good, right?”
I swallow it swiftly, only to chomp on the next bite like a starving animal, nodding between. “God, it’s so good.”
He smiles proudly. “See? Told you.”
“You come here often?” I ask.
“Once a week. Maybe more.”
“Wow. I’m impressed,” I say, taking a sip of the iced tea he also ordered for me.
“I’m a simple man. When I find food I like, it’s all I can think about for like a whole month before I move on to the next thing.”
“Interesting.”
“I have a very particular palate,” he says, laughing at himself. “That’s what happens when your dad is a chef. You get picky.”
“Your dad’s a chef?”
“Yeah, and famous too. Chef Fletcher. You never heard of him?” He takes another bite of his sandwich. “He’s on all those cooking shows.”
“Oh no, I don’t watch television.” I take another bite too, trying not to look embarrassed. If he only knew.
“What? Like … none?”
I shrug. “No time.” It’s partly true, at least.
“Here.” He pulls up his phone and shows me a YouTube video of his dad, and his smile honestly reminds me of Max so much.
“Aw … that’s cute,” I say. “He seems very nice.”
“Oh yeah, he wouldn’t hurt a fly on the wall,” Max says. “He’s the coolest ever, and most of my half siblings would agree.”