Page 21 of Summertime Friends

I don’t mean to, but I can’t help myself.

Why did I think it was an intelligent decision to chase after him?

“Are you okay?” He checks me out from head to toe.

“I am perfectly well.” My tone is sharp and sour as I stand up.

“Sure about that?”

I roll my eyes at him.

“Positive.” I try to take a step forward out of his touch, but it’s impossible because of how many people are bustling past us. “Do they also describe you as a stalker?”

“Pretty sure you are the one who followed me.”

“After I caught you staring at me for the second day in a row?” He tilts his head, raising his shoulders nonchalantly. “Is something wrong with the way I look?”

“That’s a roundabout way of asking if I find you attractive.”

“I don’t care what you think about me.”

“The answer would be yes.”

I jolt backward. “Yes, something is wrong, or yes, you think I’m attractive?”

“Get dinner with me, and you can find out.”

“I have plans,” I lie.

“With me?” He grins. Damnit. I’ve been thinking about his. . . eyes, that I completely forgot about his smile.

“No.” I shake my head.

“Why not?” He appears disappointed.

“I don’t know you.”

That’s not exactly a good excuse, Emerson.Many people go out without knowing each other. That’s the whole point of first dates. . . but this isn’t a date, right?

“And I don’t know you, States. But we could.” I can't escape the fact that this is the second time he's called me that, but I can bury it.

I shift on my feet. Left to right.

“If you change your mind and decide you want to know me. Garbinus.” He checks his watch. “Eight. I’ll be there.”

“I won’t,” I say and leave for my hotel, letting him watch me again.

11

EMERSON

Six Summers Ago

Following the directions on my phone, I’m walking to a bar that the waitress recommended. She said it was her favorite place in Lisbon to go at night. The walk is short, only about eleven minutes.

There’s a short line outside the place. It’s barely even ten, and the bar is packed. I’m barely able to walk through the door and to the bar without being pushed or having a drink spilled on me.

“What can I get for you, amorzinho?” the bartender asks me as I approach the bar after pushing through several people.

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