“You’re making me uncomfortable,” I admit. I should just ask him nicely to stop doing it. “You need to cut it the fuck out,” I say instead.
Another twitch of a smile, another flash of his dimple. An unsettling wave of déjà vu surges in my gut, but I can’t place it. “I can try,” he offers.
At least it’s something. “Okay,” I breathe, and I start my retreat, releasing him from my invisible hold against the wall. The one, I suddenly realize, I never had any power to hold him to at all. The one he’d willingly submitted to. To indulge me? For his own entertainment?
I feel increasingly pathetic, and I turn to escape this inexplicable encounter.
“Hey. Tell me your name,” he calls out.
I face him. “Something tells me you already know it,” I counter. His interest is too obvious, so why wouldn’t he have sought out that most basic piece of information, especially when it’s been readily available in class?
Another twitch-smile. It’s like his face can’t hold the expression for long. “Still would like to hear you say it.”
Ah, so he wants to go from creepy stalker to casual introductions. “Beth,” I murmur for no reason I can fathom.
Brody takes a few long strides, eating up the space I’d purposely put between us. “It’s nice to meet you, Beth.” For the first time, his lips stretch into a genuine smile. It’s almost shy, and it actually holds, as if it’s true and earnest. Brody holds out his hand as if for a shake, and wordlessly and robotically, I slip my small hand into his massive one. His fingers close around it, dwarfing my hand so it practically disappears.
I tug my hand back. I’m so confused by this guy. What the hell is he about?
Brody nods, as if to acknowledge that he deserves my distrust. His palm lands on the back of his neck, which he proceeds to rub. “All right. I’m sorry, okay? Look, I’m not like, one of those overly friendly frat pretty boys. I’m not good at just, you know, coming up to people and making conversation. I tend to intimidate people. I’m more of a hang-around-in-the-background-and-observe kinda guy. And you just caught my eye, and then instead of being intimidated, you got all challenge-y on me.” He shrugs. “Which just made me more interested.”
“And you couldn’t just say ‘hi’ and introduce yourself?” I grumble. It would have saved me a serious amount of aggravation. But he’s already explained that introductions aren’t his thing, and how can I judge him? They’re not mine, either. I don’t think I’ve ever walked up to a stranger and started a conversation in my life, and even when someone else makes the introductions for me, I either get all awkward and mumbly, or I freeze.
Brody smiles kind of sadly, and it squeezes my chest. “Wish I could have, kiddo. But…” He just kind of trails off, but then, he’s already explained himself.
Social anxiety can range from annoying to utterly debilitating, and looking like he does can’t help matters.
I smile at my stalker—Brody—for the first time. “Right. You needed an ice-breaker. Good thing I’m the queen of those.” I gesture between the two of us. “Confronting a guy twice your size and accusing him of stalking you is a total classic, you know.”
A deep, rumbling chuckle echoes from his throat, and it makes my smile widen even more. “I’ll have to try that one in the future,” he jokes.
“Yeah, good luck finding a guy twice your size,” I tease. For some reason, knowing he’s not a social guy has made me braver. It’s taken the pressure off somehow, and made me feel comfortable enough to just be myself. How strange.
Another chuckle. I like his chuckles, I realize. They’re a glimmer of sunlight in a guy who’s mostly darkness. “So, Beth, do you have another class now? Or can I buy you a coffee to apologize for my stalker-ish ways? You can give me some more ice-breaker ideas so I don’t freak out the next person I find interesting.”
I consider him. I notice his jaw is clenched and he’s chewing the inside of his cheek, something my brother does when he’s anxious. I realize the nerve he must have worked up just to see if I’d have coffee with him and I’m struck with a deep sense of empathy—a kindred connection, and it’s unexpected. It’s not romantic or sexual. It’s simply…I don’t know what it is, actually. But it’s real.
“You owe me at least, like, six coffees. But whatever, we can start with one.”
* * *
“So I took off two years after high school to work and save up. I didn’t want to take too many student loans if I didn’t have to, you know?” Brody murmurs before looking to his coffee to take a sip.
I take the opportunity to study him, seated in the booth across from me in the busy coffee shop, and offer a cursory nod. But I don’t know, really. I’ve never had to worry about money, and while I’ve always known I was privileged, knowing it and feeling it are two different things.
“So I did my first two years at NYU, but then my mom got sick. So I transferred here so I could be closer to help out with doctor appointments and shit, you know?” He runs his fingers through his hair. “I grew up in Suffolk county. Southampton. But not the rich part. We had a small bungalow, but it was enough for just the two of us.”
“What about your dad?” I ask.
“Never really had one of those.”
“Oh,” I breathe, embarrassed to have pried.
“What about you?” he asks. “Are you close with your parents?”
“Uh, yeah, actually. My mom is my best friend. And not in the way girls say that when they want to make their mom look cool. She’s literally my best friend…For a while she was my only friend,” I add quietly. I don’t know why. Maybe it’s because Brody is being so open with me.
“What about your dad?” he asks.
