“I already told you.” I shake my head on a subtle laugh. “I wasn’t ignoringyou.”
“Mm-hmm. Avoiding then? Is that word moreappropriate?”
We come to a halt at the crosswalk. “Okay. Fine. Avoiding. Iwasavoidingyou.”
Without warning, he grabs my chin and tilts my head. His eyes lock with mine, and my pulse steadily tick, tick, ticks up. My skin heats under his touch. “I like it. I find it endearing,” hewhispers.
Fuck him right now. Really… “Thanks.” I clear my throat just as the pedestrian crossing in the intersection flashes green, and we begin across 9thAvenue in silence. I can’t help but think how unlike me it is to leave with a man I barely know—although, with Elijah, it seems to be a repeatoffense.
Spice Girls “Wannabe” blares from my purse, breaking the silence.Steph!I was so entranced, mesmerized—whatever the hell this nonsense is—that I didn’t tell Steph I was leaving. “Crap,” I huff, digging my phone from my purse and pressing it to my ear. “Hey.Sorry.”
“Are you in the bathroom or something?” The buzz of the bar in the background nearly drowns herout.
“Not exactly. I, uh…I ran intosomeone.”
“Who?”
“This guy.” I glance at Elijah, catching his eyes on me with a smirk tugging at hislips.
“El Chapo!” Steph shouts so loudly I’m terrified heheard.
“Um, no.” I cough. “His name’s Elijah. You don’t know him, but anyway…I left with himand—”
“Youleftwith him? Oh my God. Who areyou?”
“All right, well. I’ll see you tomorrow.Okay?”
She yells something about Tom when I disconnect the call and switch the ringer tosilent.
We stop in front of the entrance to the 50thStreet Station. Elijah starts down the stairs, and I freeze. He has one foot on the first step, the other still on the sidewalk. “You don’t have a thing against the subway, do you?” He eyes mecautiously.
“No. I just…where are wegoing?”
“To watchart.”
And I follow him, without anotherquestion.
____
We emergeon Broadway and fall in line with the sea of people heading toward the glow of TimesSquare.
I’ve lived in New York for nearly ten years, and still, the diversity of Times Square fascinates me. The electronic billboards that provide eternal daylight. The myriad of greasy smells from food carts. The chorus of high heels over the pavement, men on business calls, children laughing. Horns honking and engines backfiring. No matter who you are or what’s going on in your life, Times Square has a way of energizingyou.
The crowd ahead of us moves around a homeless man in unison, all pretending they don’t notice him. He’s leaning against a trashcan, a sign in one hand that reads:Why lie? I’m going to buy pot.His other hand rests on the head of a brown dog with a bandana tied around itsneck.
“At least he’s honest,” I say. “You’ve got to appreciatethat.”
Elijah pulls his wallet from his back pocket and flips through several bills before stooping to hand the man money. He says a few words to him, then is right back at my side. “Honesty should always be rewarded.” Elijah then takes my hand and leads me around the tourists holding selfie sticks and people with noses buried in subwaymaps.
An electronic-blue haze falls over the street when we reach Duffey Square. We head to the north end of the triangle of buildings, dodging the street performers dancing in front of the ruby-red bleachers. Elijah and I take a seat on the frontrow.
Times Square thrives around us, moving like a living, breathing thing while I sit completely still, watching as though it’s a performance. Honestly, I don’t understand how anyone could not love this city. As I take in my surroundings, I recall coming to this exact spot with Harold a few months after we moved here. He spent the entire time checking his watch, bored and complaining about the noise. I never understoodthat.
“This is my favorite part of Manhattan.” Elijah’s eyes drift over the crowdedcenter.
Smiling, I nudge his shoulder with mine. “Seemscliché.”
“I know, but there aren’t many places where you can be in the middle of so many cultures, so many walks oflife…”
