Page 7 of Fundamentals of Chemistry

“Thanks for helping,” I said to fill the silence. “I got them over here alright—thank goodness for wheels—but the stairs were too much. I can’t believe there’s no elevator here. My last apartment didn’t have an elevator either, which was kind of crazy, but the building was super old too. So my roommate and I were always super careful about what we brought home, since we would have to carry it up four flights of stairs. And don’t even get me started on laundry. There weren’t always strapping neighbors around to lend a hand.”

He didn’t respond to my rambling. I tried to keep my tone light and friendly, but it was hard when my conversation partner was as responsive as a lump of inert metal.

He picked up the suitcases and started back up the steps without pausing.

“You make that look so easy,” I said, trying not to notice the way the muscles in his back and shoulders bunched under the load. Or the way his calves and hamstrings bulged as he ascended each step. Heaven, help me.

“It’s fine,” he replied.

There was nothing for me to do but follow, feeling distinctly useless.

“So, how long have you been a runner?” I asked, trying again to engage with him.

“A while.”

Ooh, an answer! He wasn’t nearly as enthusiastic as TJ had been about my nails, but I could work with this. A common interest was a common interest.

“I did the NYC half last March,” I said.

“Okay.”

“New York is a lot hillier than people realize.”

“Yeah.”

“Maybe we could run together sometime.”

“Maybe.”

These one and two word non-responses were even more grating than the silence. This guy was harder to crack than the chestnuts littered all over campus. I considered giving him up as a lost cause. But the more he brushed me off, the more I craved his approval.

“Did you play sports in high school?”

“No.”

“What did you do in high school?”

“Mostly studied.”

Ugh.

Back on the third floor, he set down my bags without a word and made a beeline to his door, fishing his key out of his pocket on the way.

“Thank you!” I called to him, beginning to wheel the suitcases toward my own door. “I guess I’ll see you around?”

He paused with his key in the lock and rounded to face me. The full force of his attention blasted me like a laser beam, and his voice rang down the hall. “What are you even doing here?”

My jaw dropped open with surprise and more than a little indignation. “Excuse me?”

He hadn’t exactly been friendly in the last ten minutes, but this question felt downright rude. And somehow personal. He was facing me, dark eyes locked on mine, chest rising and falling as if this standoff required more exertion than either the run or the stairs. I fought not to recoil under the intensity while I scrambled to figure out what the hell was going on.

“What are you doing here?” he repeated.

“Teaching,” I replied, confused. “What are any of us doing here?”

“You’ve gotta be shitting me,” he muttered. Then, without another word, he turned his back on me for the second time and let his door bang closed between us.

I blinked. Twice. And closed my jaw which had been hanging wide open.