“I’m a conundrum, am I?” I asked. Well, I suppose that’s better than being a freak.
“At the moment,” he said. He gave me a grin, like he was totally okay waiting for my puzzle to complete itself, however long that took. Neither he nor Jason had said anything when Ethan and I came out of the bathroom, Ethan holding my hand like he could keep all the shadows at bay. I’d felt embarrassed at first, until Jason began talking about his latest failed date that involved learning he was seeing the ex of a guy he’d almost hooked up with last year. That was the blessing of artists—everyone had their demons, and they knew not to press when yours were becoming too loud.
Being in here made me feel better. Safer. T’Chai Nanni smelled familiar. In here, surrounded by so many strangers, it was easy to drown out the words that whispered in the silence.
“Well, what do you want to know?”
“Where you’re from, for one. And why you came to Islington. I’m doubting you’re one of those celebrity kids Ethan mentioned.”
“Wouldn’t you feel like an idiot if I was? I could have my secret service off you in the bathroom.”
“Are you?”
“Nope,” I said. There wasn’t much space on the bench, even without Ethan there. My arm and hip brushed against Chris. My gut clenched at the thought of leaning in closer, at how it would feel if he put his arm around me. Brad’s face shot through my mind, that grin he used on me time and time again. It’s okay, he’d say, we can go slow.
I leaned away and took another sip.
“Well,” he said after a moment. He must have noticed my move; he sounded a little sad. “Where are you from, then?”
“Outside of Minneapolis,” I said.
“Ah, is your family still back there?”
“Adopted family,” I replied, maybe a little too quickly. “But yeah.”
“Gotcha.” He didn’t, of course. But I appreciated the attempt at empathy. “And why did you come here?”
“I enjoy being a workaholic.”
“Seriously,” he pushed.
I sighed and looked at him. That was a door I wasn’t going to open. Not here, not now, and not with Mandy’s shade hovering over my shoulder and Brad’s sneer behind my eyelids.
“Because I wanted to be here,” I said. And then, because he looked like he was going to push the subject, I added something I hadn’t even really told Ethan. Ethan knew when not to ask for more. “Because I couldn’t stay there anymore.”
“I know what you mean,” he replied.
“Not to be rude, but I kind of doubt that.” It came out a lot bitchier than I’d intended, but this wasn’t an area I wanted to tread through right now. Not with Brad’s touch still lingering on my shoulder.
“Everyone has a past, Kaira,” he said. His eyes didn’t waver from mine when he said it. His face was so close, I could smell the cardamom on his breath, feel a tinge of static. “You’re not the only one with ghosts.”
“Sorry,” I said. I looked down to my cup. “It’s just . . . it’s been rough. This sort of thing hits a little too close to home.”
“I know,” he replied. “It does for me too.” He paused, sipped his tea. When he spoke again, he seemed unsure. He didn’t look at me at all. “Thanks for taking me in,” he said.
“What do you mean?”
“Exactly what I said. I’ve only known you a few days, but I appreciate how kind you guys have been. Especially in light of . . . I mean, it’s been really nice. I like you. Both of you.”
I’d never met a straight boy who was willing to talk about emotions. It was a complete one-eighty from Brad. Everything about him is a complete one-eighty from Brad. And then I looked at him—really looked. The strong profile, the scruff, the hazel eyes so intently fixed on the table of chatting college kids. That, and the little things I hadn’t noticed before: the slight slump to his shoulders, the way he bit the inside of his lower lip, the lithe fingers wrapped around his teacup. He wasn’t stoic and distant and attractive in that self-assured way.
He’s not like Brad, I realized. And he never will be.
I don’t know why I wanted to open up then. Maybe I was too raw from the breakdown. Maybe I just wanted the idea of comfort. Or maybe Ethan was right—maybe Chris was my type. Maybe I just hadn’t let myself see it.
“You’re not too bad yourself, kid,” I replied.
He laughed. His eyes darted to me, and yes, my chest felt warm as my stomach flipped and I had to look down to my cup to keep from blushing.
“You say the weirdest shit,” he said.
“I know,” I replied. “You’d better get used to it.”
“Already am,” he replied. I looked over, caught just the edge of his grin, and I knew that look—that tentative slight lean.