CHAPTER EIGHT
“I know I keep harping on this, but I can’t get over the fact that you don’t have a TV. That doesn’t even compute to me.” Trevor took a drink of his iced tea and then leaned back in his seat. It wasn’t that he sat around watching hours of reality shows and sitcoms every night, but who didn’t have a TV? There were sports out there. Didn’t Simon know that?
“Because while you were watching sports on TV, I was studying. You look like you would have been the jock in high school, and I was the nerd. We wouldn’t have been friends.” Simon paused. Trevor was about to tell him that he might have been a jock but he was even more of a troublemaker when Simon continued. “Actually, we wouldn’t have been friends because while I was in high school and college, you were in elementary school.” He shook his head. His neatly trimmed dark hair didn’t move. Everything was neat about Simon. His clothes always looked neat. The man didn’t even have a day’s growth of stubble on his face. Nothing but his square jaw, that he tightened often. His round, inquisitive eyes that almost looked gray, and a sexy mouth. Simon definitely turned him on. It had been a long time for Trevor.
“Well then, I guess it’s a good thing we didn’t meet until now,” Trevor said, and he meant it. He enjoyed Simon’s company more than he thought he would. Then, Trevor grinned, a thought jumping into his head. “Old man,” he teased, only to have Simon’s eyes narrow on him.
“Christ, don’t remind me.” He sounded more serious than Trevor thought he would.
“I’m giving you shit. Thirty-seven isn’t old. You’re only as old as you feel.”
Which was kind of shitty for Trevor because most days, he felt like he’d lived enough life to be eighty.
“That’s not helping, because I sure as hell feel a lot older than thirty-seven.”
Trevor smiled, and took another drink of his tea.
“Is that funny? The fact that I’m old?” There was more of a playful tone to Simon’s voice now.
“No, I just thought it was a coincidence because I was thinking the same thing. I feel three times as old as I am.”
There was a silence then between them. Trevor couldn’t help but wonder if Simon was thinking how they had a few things in common. They seemed to feel the same about a lot. Somehow he knew Simon was thinking along the same lines. And maybe that made it a good thing that Trevor was pretty sure Simon was straight. Sex would complicate things, and right now, maybe he needed a friend more than sex.
“Your taste in pizza is questionable.” Simon set his slice of pepperoni down. Trevor agreed with him.
“I haven’t been here since before I was clean. It didn’t used to taste this bad, I don’t think.” Because it was pretty fucking awful. A memory popped into Trevor’s head. “Or maybe I just have shit taste. When I was a kid, I used to think I was a good cook. Every Mother’s Day and on Mom’s birthday I used to ’treat‘ her to breakfast in bed.” He shook his head and chuckled. “It was shitty. How badly can you fuck up breakfast? But I did it. Burnt toast and under-cooked eggs. She always ate it, though, and I kept making it.” He’d forgotten about that. “I haven’t thought of that in years.”
Being drunk or high did that to a guy, he guessed.
“She loves you, so to her it was a treat.” Simon leaned his elbows on the table. “I’m a horrible cook too, but I never took the time to try to make food for anyone I cared about. Too busy studying.” He raised his eyebrows. “Books were always my thing.”
They had never been Trevor’s. “Maybe if they’d been mine, I wouldn’t have gotten myself in all the shit I did.” He would do anything to go back, to find a way to change it all. But he couldn’t. Life didn’t work that way.
***
Their conversation took a slightly somber tone, though Simon wasn’t really sure why. Still, he didn’t want to stop talking. He enjoyed getting to know Trevor. Hell, he couldn’t remember the last time he’d really gotten to know anyone. “You said ‘before.’ Before what?” he asked. Maybe he shouldn’t have, because the blue in Trevor’s eyes stormed over.
“Before everything. Mostly, before I left for rehab, though... The race is over.” Trevor nodded toward the television. They hadn’t really watched any of it. They’d sat here and talked for hours. That had to be some kind of record for Simon. He wasn’t much of a talker.
“I guess it is.” Trevor didn’t reply, and Simon didn’t say anything, either. He weighed his thoughts before speaking. Most of the time, he was pretty good at that. This could be a huge mistake. It probably was. He wasn’t great at being friends. Still, he asked. “What are you doing tomorrow morning?” Before Trevor could answer, Simon’s phone buzzed.
