“It’s not your house, remember?”
“Did you?”
“Would it scare you if I said yes?”
“You put one to my head yesterday.”
“Before I realized you were…you.”
“You scared me,” I admit.
He pauses. Wrinkles form around his eyes for a moment as if this is a revelation to him. “Do I scare you now?”
I don’t have to think about it. I shake my head. “No.”
“Good. Besides, guns are more part of your life than you think.”
“What do you mean?”
His phone buzzes again. It’s irritating to have him read his messages while he’s talking to me. He types a quick reply before giving me his attention, but I can see he’s distracted.
“Second amendment, sweetheart. The world you live in is a violent one. You’re just blissfully unaware.”
“Maybe that’s true for you, but not for me. I don’t deal with guns or the mob.”
“You’d be surprised.” He steps back. “I have to go.”
“Oh.” I’m oddly disappointed when he gestures to the bedroom door.
“I’ll take a raincheck on the coffee though.”
My shoulder brushes against his hard chest when I walk past him and out the door. I don’t look back as I descend the stairs, my heart still beating fast. In the kitchen, I look at the box containing the brand-new phone, wondering yet again how, twice in less than twenty-four hours, I find myself in a wholly surreal situation with Sergio Benedetti in the driver’s seat.
He opens the front door and a cold gust of wind blows in.
“You have good locks on these doors, Natalie?” he asks, twisting the doorknobs, testing the lock.
“That’s a strange question.”
He turns back to me. “You’re an attractive, young girl living alone in the city.”
“Woman. Not girl. And I can take care of myself.” His face tells me he believes otherwise, and I get that. Because last night didn’t exactly make my case.
“The locks?” he asks again, ignoring my comment.
“They’re fine.”
He walks out of the house but turns back like he’s about to say something. His phone rings this time and he steps out, but before answering, he mouths for me to lock the door.
My mind is stillin a daze when I get to the coffee shop to meet Drew the next afternoon. I walk inside to find him waiting for me at our usual table. He makes a show of checking his watch and I do the same on my new phone.
“I’m barely seven minutes late,” I say, setting my purse down and pulling out a chair.
“Oh, nice,” he says, taking the phone from me and looking at it. “What happened to your old one?” He sets it down. The phone, a rose gold, came ready to go and had one phone number programmed in it. Sergio Benedetti’s.
No strings my ass.
“Long story,” I say, not wanting to lie. Drew’s my best friend. I’ve known him since I was a kid and we even dated through senior year of high school. But he was always more into boys than girls. Him coming out to me was the same day we broke up and I just remember feeling so happy for him that he knew, really knew, and was deciding to no longer hide it.
