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“Then you stole my phone and that’s the last I saw of you.”
“Stole your phone?” I splutter. “I did not steal anything!”
“Facts!” he says sternly. “I forgot my phone with you and then you took it. Don’t know ‘bout you, but where I’m from, we call that sh-sh-shtealing.”
This is getting absurd. “I took it to the station booth agent. Like you’re supposed to. It’s not my problem if you didn’t go pick it up.”
He waves his finger in front of my face until it’s getting so close to my eyes that I’m starting to fear he’s going to poke one out, so I grab it. Wrong move. I don’t want to be affected by his touch. Doesn’t mean I’m not, though. The warmth of his finger in my palm is all it takes to make my heart skip a beat and then start to do double time to catch up. I quickly let go of him and scoot away so there won’t be any threat of even accidentally touching him again.
“Your phone’s missing?” I ask. Don’t know why I do that, if I was a smarter guy, I’d run for the hills. Or the next car. Either would do.
He frowns.
“What? No. Have it right here.” He starts to pat himself down, but he doesn’t seem to find anything.
“Shit,” he eventually mutters. “Left it in the coat pocket.”
“But you had it at the beginning of the evening?” I ask.
“Sure.” His head drops back, and he closes his eyes. “I liked you, you know? A fuck of a lot. Never liked a guy this much.”
I really don’t need to hear this, especially because I’m starting to notice how sad he looks. That’s not good. The last thing I need is to stay here and try and make him feel better.
“You’ll be fine.” I get up and turn away from him.
In response, I hear him gag. I whirl around and find him with his head buried in his hands.
“Uh… You okay?” I ask.
“Don’t feel so good,” he replies and gags again. Awesome. Luckily the train pulls into my station, so without thinking, I pull him off the train and direct him straight to a garbage can. I gingerly pat him on the back as he barfs into it. It takes a bit of time for him to be done with it, but after a little bit, he semi-straightens himself, all the while swaying like a tree in a storm.
He looks at me blearily, and now that the imminent threat of vomit has passed, I have no idea what to do with him. I can’t just leave him here, not when he’s hammered like this.
“Hey,” I say as I shake his shoulder gently, because he looks like he’s going to fall asleep on his feet right here and now.
“Huh?”
“Can you tell me your address so I can take you home?”
He stares at me like he doesn’t understand a thing I just said.
“Caleb?” I prompt. “Where do you live?”
“I know that,” he mumbles, his eyelids drooping again. He snaps his fingers so suddenly I about jump out of my skin. “New York,” he says, nodding smugly before he taps his index finger against his nose. I’m not sure if he meant to do that or if he was trying to hit his temple. “See?” Caleb continues. “Knew that.”
“Wow,” I mutter. “Do you have your wallet anywhere on you?”
“Why?” He snickers. “You wanna steal something else that’s mine?”
“For crying out loud, I did not steal your phone.”
“That’s not the only thing you stole,” he says in a singsong voice as he drops his head back and looks toward the sky. “Not a good sky,” he sighs. “No stars.”
I let out a deep breath. I don’t think I have many options here. I don’t know where he lives and he doesn’t have his phone or his wallet. I can’t leave him here to die of hypothermia. November nights in NYC are no joke, and he’s already shivering in his flimsy chef’s uniform.
Fuck me. It looks like we’re going to my place.
I turn back to Caleb, who’s still precariously swaying on his feet.
