Panic speeds my awkward run through the snow. Cold licks at my crew socks as drifts sink into my gym shoes. I’m not sure I’m going to make it.
Spoiler alert—I don’t make it.
Well, I partially make it.
But I still find myself stomping toward the backseat of Brandon’s car, retrieving my gym bag, and wordlessly passing him on my way back to the treeline.
“Did you just pee your pants?” he calls, still rubbing his jaw.
I ignore him and disappear behind the trees.
Tom’s gaze skirts over my spandex gym shorts and bare legs for the millionth time as we sit across from him in a dusty living room. Of all the days to have worn teeny-tiny shorts to the gym, I had to have picked today. However, they were still fairly clean and definitely didn’t have dribbles of pee in them, so it was the best I could do given the circumstances.
Brandon, to his credit, hasn’t looked at my legs once. In fact, he appears to grow more agitated with every glance the creepy old man sends my way.
“The pizza mural you own the copyright for is iconic,” I say. “Tourists and Chicagoans alike come to see it all the time. I promise to do the mural justice if you allow us to reproduce a photo of it in our exhibition.”
“You?” Tom raises a craggy brow. His gray hair is partly hiddenbeneath a stained ball cap with a sports logo I don’t recognize. “Youpromise? What does a pretty vixen like you know about reproducin’ murals?” He lewdly roves his stare over me, and I will myself not to shudder.
“I happen to be the photographer for the exhibition, so I will be the one reproducing your mural. I can show you some examples if you’d like.”
He nods and pats the dusty, patchwork couch beside him.
Brandon stands, unfurling to his massive height as he accompanies me across the small room. It’s unnecessary, but I’m thankful. Because creepy Tom is…well, creeping me out.
I remain standing as I flick photo after photo across my phone screen.
After a second, Tom grunts his approval.
Brandon produces a pen, and fifteen leers of my legs later, we say goodbye.
While walking to the car, I feel Brandon bump against my back, and I realize just how close he’s tailing me.
“You can back up, you know.”
“Just keep walking,” he mutters. We make it down the snow-covered driveway, and Brandon opens my door.
I hesitate, looking up at him.
“What?” he says.
“I think this is the first time you’ve ever opened a car door for me.”
His full lips tip sideways. “Hard to open a door for you on a motorcycle, love.”
And darn it if my heart doesn’t hum to life.
I sink down into the leather seat.
Brandon rounds the car, sends one more hard look at Tom lurking by the handrail in the dimming light, then gets in the car.
“What a piece of work…” Brandon mutters, flicking on the headlights. They land directly on Tom, who shields his eyes and retreats beneath the solar panels on his roof. “I hate guys like that.”
“You have experience with creepy men undressing you with their eyes?”
He scoffs. “No. Just been around a lot of them, I guess.” There’s a layered story there, but the twitch in Brandon’s jaw tells me now is not the time.
“Thanks anyways,” I say softly, resting my hand on the forearm of his black sweater. “For having my back. I’m kinda glad you came, now.”
