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Lars’s eyes were the size of saucers, incredulous and partly awed.
“What?” I shrugged. “Also, I thought Swedes were supposed to be uber polite and valued patience. I hope you all don’t have that on like a brochure anywhere because, bro, that’s a bunch of lies.”
So yeah, maybe I did read upa littleon the place before I boarded the plane. I told you it was a waste of time. Can’t trust anything on the internet.
A little giggle, or maybe a hiccup, burst from between Lars’s slightly parted lips. “You just… you…”
I arched an eyebrow, patiently waiting for him to say whatever he thought was so damn amazing.
“You intimidated him.”
I shrugged one shoulder. “I’m a big, unruly American,” I said, then winked. “It’s easy to intimidate someone who doesn’t know what I’m capable of.”
“No one intimidates him.”
I paused. “He been giving you a hard time for a while?”
His lips rolled in as he answered with a curt nod. But then his face darkened. “But I can take care of myself. And you don’t intimidate me.”
I smiled. “Well, why would I want to intimidate you? You got me coffee and a sandwich.”
He stood there saying nothing, this unsure look on his face. He looked softer like that. Vulnerable somehow… even more angelic.
I yawned loudly. “How about you show me to my bed for the night? It’s been a hell of a long day.”
We went in silence into the building, rode up an elevator, and got off on the third floor. Everything was white, bare, and pristine. It was almost blinding. He pulled out his keys and unlocked the door, but before going inside, he peeked over his shoulder at me.
“Just for tonight.” I reminded him.
He pushed inside, holding the door for me as I carried my stuff past him. The room opened into what I would call a living room. The walls were white with nothing on them. The floor was light wood, and the couch was a deep forest green that kinda reminded me of the colors for Westbrook.
There was a rug under it covered in multicolored squares and a basic coffee table on top. Heavy brick-red drapes framed the small window behind the couch. Beyond the couch was a small basic table with four chairs and a tiny kitchen with one row of white cabinetry, black backsplash tile, and a fridge.
I dropped my bags by the couch. “Nice,” I remarked. “Bigger than the dorms at Westbrook.”
“Really?” he asked, that curiosity of his coming out again.
I smiled a little. “Yeah. Our dorm rooms don’t have a kitchen or couches. It’s just one room with two beds and a place for some desks.”
His eyes widened. “For real?”
I chuckled. “Yep. We managed to get my brother a solo room.” I grinned at him. “He likes his personal space too.”
“This is the common area,” he said, gesturing around the room as he walked to the archway in the kitchen that led to somewhere. “Back here are both bedrooms and the shared bathroom.”
My brows rose. “There’s two bedrooms?”
He nodded once. “One for me. One for you.”
Before I could remark on that, he opened the fridge. “Don’t eat my food. I’ll label it all with my name. I’m not your maid or your servant. If you want to eat, you can buy your own stuff.”
I drew in a breath, but he held up his hand. “There’s a store on campus. I’ll show you where it is.”
I nodded.
“My bedroom is off-limits. It’s my space. If you go in there, you’ll be sorry.”
I pressed my lips together, trying not to smile.
