“And you don’t worry about getting robbed or assaulted?”
“I have a can of pepper spray on me at all times.”
“Really?”
“No, not really,” I say with a little grin up at him. Narrowing my eyes, I say, “But I probably shouldn’t tell you that, should I?”
“Don’t try to change the subject. You’ve been engaged in some seriously risky behavior and I think we should address it.”
“Seriously risky behavior,” I say, imitating his accent. I turn and grin at him.
“I’m not joking.”
“I don’t think you have a very good grasp on seriously risky behavior,” I say, then start listing things, counting them off on my fingers. “Mobster, drug dealer, crack whore—those are seriously risky behaviors. I’m a barista at a campus coffee house. I deal in caffeine and sugar, not cocaine and heroine.”
“But anything could happen to you. Some psycho could be watching you, learning your patterns, waiting for his chance to follow you to the bank. Or home, for that matter. Is someone at least waiting for you when you get there?”
“I don’t think I should answer that.” I start toward my apartment with him next to me.
“Why not?”
“Because you could be the psycho…” I say, bumping his arm with mine. “Relax, Henry. I’m a big girl. I know how to take care of myself.”
“But you shouldn’t have to,” he says, his voice gentle.
“Well, not every woman has a team of bodyguards or the bank roll to fund it.”
“I know that. I just…” his voice trails off and he runs one hand through his thick, slightly messy hair.
“Just what?”
“Just don’t like the thought of anyone…hurting you.”
Stopping in my tracks, I say, “But we just met. Why would you even care?”
“I have no idea, and yet, I do.”
Chapter 6
Henry
We reach Addison’s apartment far too soon for my liking, even though it’s almost one in the morning by the time she stops in front of the four-story brick building. Over the course of the long walk, I’ve found out she’s an only child. She was raised by a single mom and if I’m not misunderstanding her, her mother spent more time at the bar than at home looking after her child. She doesn’t mention a father at all, but if I had to guess, I’d say he either is an unknown to her or was so disappointing she can’t bring herself to talk about him. Either way, she’s had a shit start in life.
She tells me about getting a scholarship to Harvard, and about her dream of being a civil rights lawyer and how she has to work full-time during the school year and two jobs all summer to keep up with the bills, but she’ll still have what sounds like a crushing student loan at the end of all of it. I listen as she talks passionately about wanting to help others and protect people and I realize that even though our pasts couldn’t be more different, our goals are much the same. I hang on every word, wanting to know every little detail of her life, which is entirely unlike me.
“Well, this is me,” she says, turning to face me. “You’re probably glad this is over. I’ve been talking your ear off.”
“Not at all. I find myself increasingly enchanted at every word.”
“Oh, you really are a prince, aren’t you?”
Chuckling, I say, “I might be.”
“Thanks for walking me home.”
“My pleasure.” I reach up with one hand, wanting so badly to kiss her, but knowing it’s too soon. Instead, I tuck a lock of her hair behind her ear, just so I can touch her again. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”
“Okay,” she says, then she turns away and walks up the steps. She turns back and says, “Don’t worry about it if you can’t make it. Tonight was more than what I’d ever have hoped for.”