Page 4 of Spotlight
“I love a birthday party, and I just happen to be free.”
The audacity is almost charming. Almost. With my luck in men, he’s some sort of psycho serial killer.
“I don’t even know you.” I study his profile in the dark. He leans against the stone wall of the balcony. Long jean-clad legs crossed at the ankle. He slouches forward slightly, but I can still tell by the width of his shoulders and the bulge of his biceps that he’s tall and muscular. I wish I could see his face better. His profile boasts a straight nose and wide mouth. His hair curls around the bottom of the baseball hat on his head, but I can’t make out the color. Not black, but not blond either, somewhere in between.
“Sure you do. I’m your next boyfriend.”
I smile and laugh softly to myself. The moonlight flashes against his teeth enough for me to tell he’s smiling, too.
“Thanks for the laugh. I needed that.” Cocky isn’t my type, but at least I’m not standing out here sulking anymore. I start for the door to head back inside.
“Wait,” he calls out. “You can’t just leave me out here. Who will I talk to?”
Pausing, I glance back at him. “The same person you were talking to before I came out and interrupted you. You can finish that nice conversation with yourself.”
“I like talking with you better. What’s your name?”
“I’m not telling you that.” I should leave it at that and keep walking, but something keeps me rooted in place.
“Fine. Tell me something else about you then.”
“Why?”
“Because I don’t want to go back inside yet, and I get the feeling you don’t either.”
There’s something about his honesty that has me considering it. What’s another minute or two?
“I hate the cold,” I say finally.
His deep laughter skates over my skin, leaving goosebumps.
“It isn’tthatcold.” His hands are shoved in his pants pockets and his shoulders are slightly hunched to block the wind.
“It’s cold to me.”
“You must not be from here.”
“No. I’m not.”
He chuckles again, as if realizing I’m not going to tell him where I’m from.
“Me either. I like it though. I didn’t grow up with real winters either, but I love snow and ice, and all that.”
I shiver just thinking about it. “Not me. My winter accessories are only for show.” Cute boots and scarves that I pull out of the back of my closet for a week or two each year. Most winter days in Arizona can be braved with a sweatshirt or a light jacket, but there’s usually a small window where the mornings dip below freezing.
“Tell me something else,” he says.
“Umm…” I’m a little embarrassed that nothing immediately comes to mind. For one, this is a bizarre scenario, so making idle chitchat with a guy that could still turn out to be a serial killer is not at the forefront of my mind. But also, I’m not used to guys wanting to know things about me beyond the usual: What do you do? How old are you? Followed up by, do you want to come back to my place? And in the rare instance they ask me to tell them something interesting about myself, I freeze up. It’s too much pressure. For the past nearly six years, my world has revolved around Greer.
But standing out here in the dark with a complete stranger, I don’t feel any pressure to be charming. It isn’t like I’m ever going to see this guy again. So, I think for a second and then rattle off the first things that come to mind.
“I want to start a garden, but I have no space in my current apartment for any more plants. I like action movies but only if they have a romantic subplot. I read several books a week. I don’t understand the appeal of pumpkin spice beverages. When I was in high school, I went to the state championship for cross country. And I cannot go on one more bad date.”
I don’t hear his laughter this time, but I can sense it as well as see the slight lift and fall of his shoulders as his body shakes with the movement. His reaction breaks the dam that usually has me freezing up.
“A runner?” he asks, sounding impressed.
“Not anymore. I had a couple scholarships to colleges, but I didn’t go.”
