I love watching him—he’s just so elegant. In a masculine way. Which I never knew could be a thing.
Way too tall, but he carries it like a bamboo shoot in the wind, lithe, flexible, like in the Kung Fu movies my mom made me watch growing up. Perfect balance. Flexible. Ironic since sometimes by the way he talks, I can’t help wondering if he has an actual stick up his butt.
“You don’t actually believe in coincidence, do you?” I ask, forcing myself to look away from him.
“No, I don’t. There’s no beauty in that. I believe the world works in mysterious ways that sometimes we’re just not privy to yet.”
A shiver creeps up my spinal column at the thought that he might think we’re sitting here tonight because of some higherpower. “So, the reason I ended up at your bar again tonight of all places?”
He leans forward. “Just your sheer good luck, I suppose.”
“Or yours,” I shoot back.
His lips twitch. “Definitely a little of mine as well. Or maybe a little more than a little.”
Always, always keeping me off center.
I stand to relieve the tension, relishing the feel of the soft, thick lush carpet massaging my tired feet.
“Can I listen to some music?” I ask.
He nods. “Link it to the Bluetooth speakers.”
I scroll on my phone. “What’s it called?”
“Living Room Bluetooth.”
“Creative fella, aren’t ya?” I tease him.
“What would you have me name it?”
“I dunno. How about Party Fun Woo-hoo Richie Rich Mancave?”
“Ah, can’t. I’ve already used that for the Bluetooth in the bedroom.”
I laugh.
He does seem so much more comfortable here.
I like it. I like it maybe a little too much. He doesn’t seem like someone I should be having any sort of feelings for.
The Weeknd streams through the speakers, and he sits back, both arms stretched along the back of the couch, never taking his eyes off me as I move around the room. After having to listen to music solely through the abandoned earbuds I found at the hostel, the premium surround sound feels like it’s vibrating through me rather than just around me.
It feels freeing.
For a moment, I forget that I probably dance like one of those giant floppy inflatable figures outside of car washes and just lift my arms over my head, letting the music guide me.
Forgetting.
Forgetting everything.
Forgetting what happened today.
Forgetting about what I’m supposed to do about my future.
Forgetting that I’m in a total stranger’s apartment.
“Come join me,” I say, holding my hand out to him.
