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“That’s not safe for indoors,” I say, genuinely concerned. “We used something like that when I was in Girl Scouts.”
Crosby chuckles, then pulls out the plastic barstool at the small strip of counter that separates the kitchen from the rest of the studio. His gaze is heated as he waits for me to settle in.
He waits until we’re both devouring our food before replying. “Why am I not surprised you were a Girl Scout?”
“Because I’m awesome, that’s why.”
“Fair enough.”
I’m dying to get some answers, so here it goes. “Can I ask you a question?”
“You can.”
“How does someone with ten grand to burn have such a sh—have such a tiny apartment, cook with a camping stove, and have no proper kitchen utensils?”
He gives me a sly smile. “You were going to say shitty. Shitty apartment.”
I don’t intend to sound like a snob; I’m genuinely curious. “I’m sorry. But I mean…it’s tidy and everything. But you have to admit the neighborhood is shitty.”
“Yeah, I guess,” he says, not seeming offended as he speaks with his mouth full. As impolite as that is, something is endearing about it with Crosby.
It’s a sure sign I could fall for this guy if I’m already excusing lousy table manners.
Is this the first sign of Stockholm syndrome?
“So, why do you live like this?”
He chuckles and takes a massive bite of toast. “That’s gonna cost you another favor.”
“I’m already at your beck and call for the weekend; you want to strike yet another bargain. Let’s not start a Russian nesting doll of tit-for-tat unless you want me to call my dad to draw up a contract to keep it all straight.”
I dive back into my eggs. They are really delicious, and the toast has actual butter and not margarine. I like him. At least, I like the way he cooks. Not a single frat boy on campus that I’ve met knows how to cook.
“Fair enough,” he says. “I live here to save money. I’m on a non-traditional student scholarship, thanks to being in my 30s. It pays for some tuition, but that doesn’t include room and board. So I figure I need to save money for med school.”
Nodding along, I wait for more information that doesn’t come.
“And?”
“And you’re wondering where the ten grand came from if I’m a scholarship student.” He stands and begins cleaning up.
I look him up and down, noticing the way his arm flexes while he’s clearing our dishes.
“Well, yeah.”
“I’m not going to lie to you, but trust me. You don’t want to know. Let’s just say I have a good reason to keep nunchucks and some other old taekwondo shit under my bed, just in case.”
I snort, recalling how my brothers used to fight each other with play foam nunchucks when they were kids. All little boys seem to go through a nunchuck phase. “Nunchucks aren’t going to protect you in a real fight if the other guy has weapons. What is the point?”
He shrugs and glances back at me over his shoulder, grinning. “True, but I also don’t remember anything from my black belt days when I was 14, so there’s also that. Security blanket, I guess.”
I smile at the way his tush moves around at the sink.
“Traditionally, these arrangements would call for me to do the cooking and the cleaning.”
“I don’t need you for that. Save your energy for the fun shit.”
“I thought we already did the fun shit.”
