Page 4 of A Minute More
“Hey, your battery…” I clear my throat and say those words even louder because he doesn’t roll the window down. “…your battery isdead.”
His forehead plops down on the steering wheel, and I wonder for a moment if he’s dead as well, but then he shoots back up, making me jump back slightly. He exits the car, those long legs pushing himself up to full height. He’s still shorter than me, and I fucking like it—like that I have inches on him and he has to peer up at me.
“Okay, I guess I need to call a tow truck,” he says softly.
It’s the most he’s ever said to me and it’s making my body thrum with excitement. I like his voice, the way he strings words together. It’s almost melodic.
“Nah, I can just jump you…”
His throat clears as he arches an eyebrow at me. My cheeks flush crimson in response.
“I mean, jump thecarand then you can swing by the auto store and grab a battery…”
Simon ponders that a moment and says, “I don’t know how to change a battery.”
I run a hand through my hair and shrug. “I can do it. If you want?”
Silence hangs between us, and I find myself holding my breath. I’m halfway to drowning when he responds, “Okay.”
Oh shit. I feel something foreign flit through me as I bite back a smile. I feel like I just won the lottery. I feel like I won a trip to Mars.
Jesus fucking Christ, I need a life.
“Right, okay, hold on. We can totally get this sorted.”
I jog over to my Bronco and turn the engine, listening as it roars to life before pulling it right next to his car. He’s standing on the sidewalk, his hands in his pockets, his eyes on the sky above him.
I wonder what he’s thinking as I jump out and move to the back of my car, grabbing the jumper cables and pulling them out. They knock against the side of my car, probably scuffing the paint a bit, but I don’t care. This damn thing is so rusty and old. A long scratch could be drawn into the side, and I wouldn’t even notice.
“Alright, pop that hood.”
His head shifts down and our eyes meet before he quickly glances away as he approaches his car. A moment later, the hood opens, and I lift it up, looking inside and whistling.
“Nice,” I say as I prop it open. “Fancy. How did you afford this baby?” I ask, and Simon just clears his throat, not answering.
Welp, I tried, I think as I pop the hood to my car and connect the cables. Then I instruct Simon on what to do. He listens intently, his lips pulled between his teeth before he disappears back into his car. I do the same, and a few seconds later, his engine roars to life.
Hopping out, I beam at him and wave, feeling good and excited. Kind of want to buy him a beer or something. Want to celebrate this small success.
But Simon doesn’t seem to share my enthusiasm. He just rolls his window down an inch and my smile slips a little.
“Yeah, um, so you wanna follow me to the auto shop? I can help you with the battery and stuff?”
He nods and then the window slides closed. Not even a thank you. Nothing.
“Jesus,” I mutter as I hop into my car and pull out of the parking spot. I see his bright, blinding lights behind me, the douchey kind that rich people use. I should tell him about those and suggest he put in some dimmer ones, but then decide against it.
I don’t want to make him dislike me even more. I’ll just let it be. Simon doesn’t seem like the kind of guy who worries about headlights.
Even though the auto shop is only five minutes away, I still turn up my music and sing along to the song—very poorly and mostly getting the lyrics all wrong but it makes me happy. Life is too short not to do what you want to do. I learned that the hard way. For far too long I tried to be someone people liked instead of being true to myself. It wasn’t until my sophomore year in college that I realized I didn’t like myself and that this man I was becoming wasn’t who I was proud of.
I wanted to be different.
Not that I’ve figured it all out, but now, I do what I want and don’t base my decisions on what someone else may think of me.
I suddenly see the bright red AutoTime sign flashing before me, and I quickly drive into the parking lot, grabbing a space right next to the door. Jumping out of the driver’s side, I rub my hands on my pants, waiting for Simon to pull in next to me and get out.
I mean, he doesn’t get out right away. He just parks and idles for a few minutes. I’m starting to get a little worried that maybe he won’t ever get out and I’ll have to feed him through the window when suddenly, the car shuts off and he emerges.