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Before I can answer, he holds his hand out to help me up.
Without a second thought, I take it.
His palm is soft, his hand warm as it closes around mine. Once I’m upright, I pull my fingers from his grip, wiping my hand against my skirt. He watches me with a small smile, and I realize I never answered his question.
“I did. Thank you,” I tell him, and he gives me a small nod before starting to head out.
Do I follow him?
Fuck it. I shrug and walk toward the exit, figuring we’ll either say goodnight or continue to have a good night with one another. Whichever way it goes, I won’t overthink it.
He holds the door open for me and we stroll wordlessly out of the theater and then out of the building. The night is warm and when I turn to him, he’s staring at my chest.
Um…
“I like your shirt,” he tells me, and I want to suggest that he only noticed it because he was looking at my breasts. But that line feels better uncrossed. For now.
“Thank you,” I say as I glance down at the white T-shirtthat I’d tucked into my skirt. Across the chest in the small print, it readsDump Him.
My clothes are thrifted, and I’ve had these shoes since my junior year of high school.
But I guess that’s the thing about this city: no one gives a shit.
Which is how I ended up here with this strange once-Italian man.
“What made you decide to do this to yourself?” he asks, reaching out to touch a short lock of bright red hair. It slips between his fingers as I pull back from him, uncomfortable with the feeling of having his complete focus.
I’ve never been self-conscious about my decision to chop my hair short and color it a shade that rivaled The Little Mermaid’s. At least, not until someone asked me why I did it.
It’s a loaded answer that I can’t quite give to a stranger.
“I wanted change,” I offer, a small portion of a very large truth.
“It makes me want to look at you.”
He says the words like they’re a simple truth of his own and I envy his ability to be so open. No games. No need to hide. His hand is still up, the whisper of his touch on my hair making me wonder if he’s going to reach out for me again. Instead, he rests his hand on his chest before letting it drop to his side.
“Do you like when I look at you?” he asks, beckoning me out into the light with him. “I won’t think differently of you if you do. Beautiful women should be appreciated.”
“And you’re walking around the city, taking on the back-breaking labor of it?” I tease, fighting my grin.
“Someone must,” he answers with a shrug as we turn to step in time.
I don’t know where we’re walking but I do know it’s the direction of the apartment I share with Miley. Would I invite him back there?
You don’t even know his name,a small part of me thinks. But what’s a name when this man looks like he stepped out of my dreams?
No, more like my fantasies. The kind where I end up naked. Satisfied, for once.
“What’s your name?” I finally ask him, deciding I should at least know that before I think about getting naked with him. But he shakes his head, his eyes never leaving mine.
“I believe I askedyoua question first,” he reminds me, tilting his head toward me. I grin, even though I warm at the honest answer I thought I’d successfully evaded having to share.
“What woman doesn’t like being looked at by an attractive man?” I ask the sky, my face turned toward the stars as I answer.
He shakes his head with his own secret smile just as I hear the chime of a ringtone.
When I glance down at my cell, I see Miley’s name on my screen. I let it go to voicemail and just as I’m about to speak again, her name pops up again.
