8. Nixon

Chapter eight

Nixon

M y time in the library was turbulent at best. The peacefulness of not having to listen to Curtis was lost on me as my thoughts circled, and all I could do was relive my encounter with Arit on a loop.

The thing is, it’s not like I’ve never met an attractive man before. I realize Arit was above and beyond the norm, but what was it about those few minutes that has me so twisted up?

Walking home, I can’t help but rub my hand again. I’ve got my satchel slung across my body, and over the last three hours, I’ve caught myself doing this exact thing more than once. That feeling… That familiarity… I’m not sure what it means.

I don’t know what to make of that odd sensation that ran through me when we shook hands either.

Rounding the corner back toward my apartment, I’m shocked to see Arit sitting on the ground with his back against the wall. He looks relaxed and peaceful, no phone in sight as he watches the world go by.

“Arit?” I ask as I approach. I’m not going to lie, I wasn’t expecting to see him again anytime soon.

Looking up, Arit smiles and quickly hops to his feet. “Nixon, hello. I hope you don’t mind me waiting for you here.”

“Hi. Um, no. That’s fine.”

“I didn’t want to intrude. Again.” Arit’s small chuckle puts me at ease. “But I felt bad for the way I had to run off earlier and wanted to apologize. I suppose you could say I live an unconventional life and am often called away unexpectedly.”

I’m not sure what to make of Arit’s explanation, but I do like that he came back and wanted to talk to me again. I have no idea how he arrived since I don’t see a bicycle, but he obviously left and returned somehow, so maybe he walks everywhere or uses taxis. It’s also distinctly obvious he doesn’t have a phone. There is not one person I know who would have been sitting, watching life go by—instead of staring at their phone—if they were waiting for someone.

But I am happy to see him. “It’s fine. We do what we gotta do, right?”

He smiles, but there’s something in the way it doesn’t quite reach his eyes that makes me wonder what I said wrong. “We do. Anyway, if you’re busy I’ll let you be.”

“I’m not,” I rush to say, not wanting him to disappear again. “I was only at the library because one of my housemates gets a little too into his video games on the weekends.” He nods but doesn’t offer anything in return. Quickly searching for something that doesn’t involve me inviting a virtual stranger up to my apartment, I say, “But I am kind of hungry. There’s this little sandwich shop a couple of blocks over. Would you care to join me for a late lunch?”

“Oh, um.” Suddenly Arit can’t meet my gaze. “I’m not much of a sandwich guy. And I already ate.” He pats his flat stomach like he’s just finished Thanksgiving dinner. “But thank you. Do you enjoy sandwiches?” Now he’s back to staring at me like my answer holds the key to world peace.

“Uh, yeah. They’re good.”

“What’s your favorite?”

“Oh, um.” Weird question. “I guess it depends on my mood, maybe. At home, it’s probably just ham because I’m cheap, but if I’m going out, maybe club or pastrami? BLTs are good too. Since you don’t care for sandwiches, what do you usually eat for lunch?”

“Oh, nothing.” He waves my question off with a chuckle. “This and that. You know.”

Arit’s reactions—the staring and then looking away—give me the impression he’s a little awkward socially. Which is odd considering how good-looking he is. Not that his looks have anything to do with his social skills, but more that I would have figured people would always want to talk to him and be near him simply because people are like that. They like to surround themselves with pretty things and that, sadly, includes other pretty people.

But maybe Arit’s job, the way he has to pick up and go on a dime apparently, keeps him kind of isolated. Maybe he doesn’t have a close family. Maybe he’s younger than I first thought, though I’m only twenty-five, and it’s not like I’m struggling to fit in.

Whatever it is that makes him seem slightly off, it’s kind of cute in a quirky sort of way.

“Sure. Well, if you’re not up for eating, maybe you’d at least walk over with me? I can grab something to go, and we can sit in the park for a bit?”

Arit is already nodding before I’ve even finished talking. “Yes,” he says brightly. “I’ll accompany you to your sandwich shop, and that way I can make sure you don’t trip or get hurt along the way. An excellent idea, Nixon.”

That comment makes me pause as I stare at Arit for a moment too long. Why would he say that? I mean, I know I’m clumsy and prone to tripping, or any kind of accident for that matter, but no one outside my immediate friend and family circle would know that. Why would he assume I’d trip or get hurt? “Sure. Thanks,” I say, not sure what this situation calls for. I’m not about to correct him or tell him off, so I just brush the comment off as some weird thing Arit has about being protective and fall into step as I lead him back around the corner and down the street.

Strangely, as fit as Arit appears, he seems unaccustomed to walking and dodging cars. He’s not sweating or cursing or walking too slow, but he seems frustrated. More than once, I’ve heard his nearly imperceptible mumblings and grumblings of irritation when a car didn’t slow down or someone honked when we crossed a street. To me, it’s all background noise, but Arit doesn’t seem to appreciate the city ambience at all.

“We’re almost there,” I say, pointing ahead when I see the black-and-white sign for Rusty Subs. The submarine sandwich—complete with periscope—below the lettering on the sign makes me grin to myself.

“Excellent. I must say, I’m not a fan of all this walking. And the drivers? It’s no wonder—”

He’s cut off from his mini tirade when I nearly get swiped by a bicycle courier. “Jesus.”

“Nixon!” Arit reaches for me as I stumble to regain my balance, and before I know it, I’m crushed against his chest, arms flailing since I’m not sure what’s going on or where I’m supposed to grab. “Are you all right? Are you hurt?”

“I’m fine,” I mumble, breathing in the unfamiliar scent of Arit’s clothing. Despite—sort of—being held against my will, I can’t help but notice a distinct lack of perfumed laundry soap or shampoo. But before I get too caught up in trying to figure out what Arit does smell like, I pat his side and attempt to put some space between us. “I’m okay. That kind of thing happens to me all the time.”

Arit gently pushes me away, but only to hold me at arm’s length so he can look me over. “I know, but I’ve never been here when it’s happening. I can’t believe that hooligan.” Cupping my face, he peers into my eyes. “I would never want to cause harm to a human, but I would be willing to go track that guy down and show him a thing or two about looking where he’s going next time. Are you sure you’re fine to walk? How’s your head?”

Standing on the street corner, all I can do is blink in confusion as a few of the things Arit just said get stuck in my brain. “Yes, I’m fine. What do you mean you would never want to harm a human?”

Arit freezes his examination of my eyeballs as his own eyes widen in alarm. “You know, I would never want to hurt anyone.” He glares down the street after my long-gone attacker. “Except maybe that guy.” He returns his attention to me. “But I won’t because you’re fine. Right? Just an accident.” His false cheer is confusing my already addled brain. “Shall we continue? I’m eager to get you back indoors.”

I don’t know what makes me say it, but my only response besides a head nod is “Sure, but being indoors hasn’t helped keep me any safer than being out of them has.”

Out of the corner of my eye as we continue across the street, I see Arit raise a hand to his forehead and sigh, and I can’t help but wonder if maybe my clumsiness and predisposition for accidents has been contributing to my lack of dating and social life. As handsome as Arit is, no one like him is going to want to be with someone like me.

This sandwich date? It was doomed before it even began.