“It doesn’t matter.”
“Really, I—”
“I don’t like those parties either. Too many people, too many ‘heroes’, too many hormonal women.”
She smiles too.
Fuck.
She looks around to study the apartment and my mood changes on the spot. I should have guessed. Now she’s going to ask the usual question: why do I live in a place like this? She’ll dig into my life and try to keep a foot in the door. I knew I shouldn’t have brought her here.
“This place is amazing.”
“Mmm,” I comment, already annoyed.
“It was a garage, wasn’t it?”
“Still is,” I say flatly.
“I like it,” she takes another sip of her drink and I choke on mine. “It’s unique,” she looks at me with nothing but sincerity in her eyes. “You did well to leave the door like it was. Leaving it like it was originally is a bit like keeping hold of your roots.”
Breathe, Ian, breathe, for crying out loud!
“Oh my God!” She jumps to her feet. “What time is it?”
I look at my watch. “Seven thirty.”
“I have to go, I’m late.” She starts moving frantically around the apartment.
I get up too.
“I have to call a cab.”
I grab my phone from the counter and hand it to her.
“Thanks,” she says, but before ringing the taxi company, she looks up at me. “Where are we?” she asks putting a hand over the microphone.
At my house.
A woman is in my house.
And my heart is completely fucked.
