"I was … speed … walking," she huffs out.
"For one, my legs are a lot longer than yours.And for two, I’m a professional soccer player.I run for a living.If I can’t catch up with you walking, I probably shouldn’t have a job."
"Fair point."She takes the drink and takes a long sip."I’m sorry about"—her gaze drops down to my groin and then quickly back up—"that.I don’t know what got into me."
"It’s fine.I haven’t been felt up in public in a while, so it’s no biggie."
Rachel’s eyes pinch shut."Richie would die if I told her this story."Her eyes open."I should really get going, and no offense, so should you.You’re a mess."
"Okay.You heading this way?"I point down North Main."Me too."
We start walking, not saying anything for a minute.I’m not sure what to say next.This whole experience is out of character for me.Hell, it beats staying inside, aimlessly scrolling on my phone, but I have no idea why I keep pestering this poor girl who is obviously mortified beyond all belief.I can’t help myself.
"I’m up on Oakland," Rachel says."Not too far."
"I live on Oakland.We must be neighbors," I reply, relief rushing through my veins to finally have a connection to this place.I live in an apartment complex that is a converted chocolate factory.There have to be at least 100 units in my building.I don’t think I’ve spoken to a single neighbor since I’ve moved in.
Wish I knew what was prompting this bout of reclusiveness.The last few years, it’s been getting worse and worse.I don’t like being around people anymore.It’s like, unless it’s my family, I have no idea how to be real anymore.Even with my teammates, I’m putting on a show of who I think they want me to be.I’m always thinking about the aesthetics of everything.I worry constantly that I won’t get the right angle or the perfect shot, or that people will be able to tell it’s all fake.
And if I’m not perfect, they’ll laugh at me.
Except Rachel is real and vulnerable in a way she can’t hide.She doesn’t even bother.Since she’s not hiding, I don’t feel the need to either.She’s probably one of those people on ClikClak who airs all her dirty laundry and train wreck of a life, and gets millions of views because of it.
Hell, I bet I’ve seen her videos.
I realize that the entire time I’ve been with Rachel, I haven’t been thinking about what I’m going to post.Other than the shot of my smoothie, which I’m wearing more than I was able to drink.It’s somewhat refreshing not to have to worry about what the internet will think of me right now.It’s almost as if I can take a deep breath for the first time in years.If I were the deep-thinking type, which we’ve established I’m not, I’d analyze this and try to figure out what it means.
We continue walking side by side in silence.I glance down at her.She’s got to be close to a foot shorter than my 6′1″ frame.No wonder we’re moving so slowly.It’s fine.I don’t have to be at the facility until this afternoon.All that awaits at home is scrolling ClikClak and trying to think about what content I should be creating for this week.
After what feels like three hours, but is only about fifteen minutes, we reach my building.I’m about to announce that we’ve reached my place, but I stop myself.While I’m 99 percent sure Rachel is not a stalker, I don’t know that I want her knowing exactly where I live.Being in close proximity to fame can make people unpredictable and a little unhinged.
I don’t know if Rachel needs any more help with that.She seems to have enough on her plate right now.
"How much further are you?I can walk you home," I offer.It seems like the gentlemanly thing to do.My mom would be pleased.Actually, I think she would be pleased about this whole encounter, aside from the junk rubbing.She’s always on me to go out and be more social, like with real people, not just online friends.
Hell, if it means socializing, Ma would probably be okay with the junk rubbing too.
And she already tried to adopt Rachel.I’m not sure Rachel was aware of that last night when Ma invited her out for ice cream.My mom makes it her mission to make sure everyone is taken care of.It’s why she still does everything for me that she does.I’d be shocked if my mom didn’t try to get Rachel’s number, if only so she can continue checking in on her.
"I’m just up here, on the right."She points to a sign that says "Twin Oaks Apartments."It looks like it has been there since the ’70s.I have to will myself not to scrunch my nose at the dated building.
"I can get there myself," she says, looking toward the sky."I think I felt a raindrop.You don’t want to get soaked."
Maybe she doesn’t want me to know the details of where she lives either.Can’t be too smart in this day and age.If everything she says is true—which it seems to be so far—she doesn’t know me from Adam.I could be one of those guys who’s looking for the next conquest.I could be looking to take advantage of her.
I’m not, but she doesn’t know that.
I start to reassure her when, without warning, there’s a thunderclap so loud the windows on the building rattle.The heavens open into a deluge.Rachel screams.I grab her hand and yell, "Run!"like the raindrops are acid, and we’re about to melt.Like I’ve never played 90 minutes of soccer in conditions worse than this.
The front door to my building is only a few feet away, but the rain is so intense that we’re soaked by the time we get there.
"We can’t just go into a random building."Rachel’s hair is plastered to her head, and that oversized t-shirt is starting to cling in all the right places.
"It’s not a random building.I live here," I tell her.
"You live here?"she repeats, seemingly confused by this development.
I nod."Down this way.Let’s get dried off."
