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We had mostly small talk about nothing at all during dinner. Getting-to-know-you things. Making a joke or two. Me almost clumsily knocking over my glass. Him talking about something to do with software that went straight over my head. We didn’t really dive into anything meaty.
So I figured now might be my chance. “Do you live around here?” I ask for a start.
“Yep. Seventeenth floor, pretty nice view. But I can’t step out onto my own balcony.” He shudders. “I got a thing about heights.”
“A thing about heights??” I laugh. “Why aren’t you on a lower floor then?”
“I don’t know.” He shrugs, then gazes at me, sidelong and snarky. “Guess I like to live dangerously.”
I smirk. This guy is full of surprises. “I could never afford to live in this part of town. Oh, I bet you have an elevator, at least. I’m on the fifth floor of my building and it doesn’t have one.”
“A building has to have more than five stories to require an elevator by law. I know,” he adds before I say anything, “it’s kind of messed up and super ableist.” He gives it a second thought. “Or maybe it’s five or more stories, and some five-story buildings are exempt? I don’t remember. Did I tell you I had planned to go into law at one point?”
“Oh? What kinda lawyer did you want to be?”
“One that knows right from wrong.”
I study him as he gazes up in thought, as if recalling his days of wanting to study law. There is a lot more to Alan than meets the eye, I’m slowly—and happily—learning. “What stopped you?”
“From pursuing law?” He shrugs. “I guess the reality of law was … too much to bear. I know that most beautiful things have an ugly side to them. I think it might take a stronger person than me to find enough beauty in law that outweighs the ugly. Maybe life is supposed to be poetic in that way. Let’s take a left here,” he decides, pointing.
We wait for the light to change before making our way over the crosswalk with a small crowd around us. The stimulating aroma of fresh-baked bread pulls my attention toward a fancy high-dollar French bakery on the corner as we walk along.
“You seemed troubled when I found you.”
I glance at him. “Troubled? Me?”
“Yeah. In the lobby. Did you have a bad first day at your internship?”
“Oh. Well, it’s just that I …” Maybe I can look at this as a kind of practice round before delivering the news to my roommate Brett. “I didn’t exactly realize that I … wasn’t being paid.”
“They cut the funding,” he says.
“Yep. Oh, how did you know?”
“Wait a second.” He stops. I stop, too. “Are you telling me you don’t have a day job outside of that internship?” I shake my head no. “Connor … Connor, Connor …” He crosses his arms, which pull my eyes to the veins and modest musculature in his biceps and forearms. He’s a slender guy, but he definitely works out. Why am I noticing that right now? “What are we going to do with you?”
“I’m gonna have to get a second job,” I answer. “My roommate is counting on me. Not to mention my parents. I’m trying not to freak out, but …” I let out a sigh and lean against the cold brick wall at my back, deflated. “I feel like my life here in the big city is ending before it’s even started.”
“No, we won’t let that happen. How much is your half of the rent? Is it eleven hundred? Twelve hundred?” Alan pulls out his wallet.
I gape at him. “Alan, no! That’s not happening. You can’t just—”
“Seriously, it’s not a big deal. You can pay me back, Connor. How much is—?”
“I have enough loans,” I insist, reaching out to gently push his wallet to his chest. Oh, even his chest is toned and firm; that’s quite an accidental and untimely discovery. “You can’t keep throwing money at me.”
A pinch of hurt crosses Alan’s eyes. “I’m not.”
“Please, just put it away. Please.”
He closes his wallet, but doesn’t put it away. His expression has turned critical, eyebrows pulled together as he studies me. “So what’ll you do?”
“Find another job,” I answer him. “Like any other rent-panicked city boy would do. I should’ve known,” I add with a sigh. “I guess I wasn’t paying attention. Or I missed an email. Or something.”
“You really won’t take my money?”
“Alan, I said no.” I sigh. “I mean … thank you,” I amend my tone, a touch kinder, “but no.” After a moment, I give him a look. “What’re you doing carrying that much cash on you anyway? Aren’t you the least bit concerned with gettin’ robbed?”
“Didn’t I say I like to live dangerously …?” he asks, smoothly putting his wallet away at last.
