Page 12 of City of Love

Sneaking around? This guy is unbelievable. Still, I do as he asks.

“Thank you,” I say quietly and a little belatedly. “For the water, I mean.” Because a glass of water sounds heavenly, and these period cramps can cut it out any time. I look around as I wait.

This is the smallest apartment I’ve ever seen. I’m assuming the futon doubles as the bed, but it’s undoubtedly a tight fit if that’s the case. The shower was so tiny there wouldn’t have been room to bend over, and the only sign of a kitchen is a sink, two hot plates, and a mini fridge. My mom’s two-story house in the suburbs—with a washer and dryer, by the way, because this place doesn’t appear to have either—really spoiled me, I guess.

Mr. Grump is back a few seconds later with a glass, and he hands it to me, spilling three brownish-orange pills into my palm. I hold them up, examining them closely to make sure they have the right markings for ibuprofen, because I amnotgoing to die via pill from a stranger. No, thank you. Once I determine it really is ibuprofen, though, I pop the pills in. Mr. Grump sits on the futon next to me while I gulp down the water and medicine gratefully.

“All right,” he says, leaning back and folding his arms over his chest. “What’s going on? How did you end up sobbing outside my apartment?”

I sigh and pass him the glass. “I just graduated high school, so I’m here on a school trip. Sort of a final hurrah.”

His eyes snap to mine, and he looks inscrutably at me for a second. “Go on,” he says. It’s not quite a demand, but it’s not a request, either.

I nod. “I was supposed to get on the metro to go meet my host family, but there’s this guy—”

“Ah,” he says, cutting me off and nodding slowly. “There’s a guy.” He takes a deep breath and looks at me. “All right,chérie, I’m going to tell you right now that whoever broke your heart, he’s not worth all the crying you’re doing.”

I shake my head. “No, it’s not like that.” I frown at him. “And don’t interrupt me.”

I might be imagining the corners of his mouth twitching slightly, but he just says, “Apologies. Go on.”

“He’s sort of a bully. There’s nothing romantic between us.” I shiver at the mere thought of anything romantic with Marcus. “But he wants there to be. Kind of?” I add, frowning. “It’s more an obsession than actual feelings, I think. He’s—mean. He just cornered me and said some really horrible stuff. And I missed the train I was supposed to take, so I got a cab instead, and I thought this was the address I remembered, but—”

“Like what?” Mr. Grump says, once again interrupting me. When I glare at him, he says, “Sorry. But what did he say?”

I swallow past the lump in my throat. Where did my pep talk go? “He said no one but him would ever want me,” I admit.

Mr. Grump gives what sounds like a snort of disbelief. “That’s bull. He sounds like he has problems.”

“I know,” I say softly, staring vaguely at the floor. “I know it’s not true.” Mostly, anyway. Marcus’s words plus a history of cheating boyfriends make a compelling argument in his favor. But this grumpy stranger doesn’t need to know that. “I have friends,” I say instead. “And I’m not ugly.”

And before I can stop myself, I’m looking over at Mr. Grump. Brilliant green eyes meet mine, and he shakes his head slowly.

“No,” he says, his gaze serious. “You’re beautiful. Truly,” he adds when I cock a skeptical brow at him. “Just ignore him.”

I shrug, rubbing absently at my shoulder and upper arm and causing the neckline of my shirt to stretch down over my shoulder. “I do my best to ignore it,” I say. I seriously hope I’m not blushing right now, but a very attractive man just told me I was beautiful and sounded like he meant it.

No!I tell myself.Stop it! Do not blush at what the very grumpy stranger said. You don’t even know this man!

But Mr. Grump’s eyes flick to my exposed shoulder, and if I wasn’t blushing before, I am now. He stands abruptly and says, “I’ll check on your phone. Don’t move.”

He couldn’t trust me less if he tried.

“Thank you,” I say as he goes over to the “kitchen”—it is so not a kitchen, but whatever—and returns a second later with my phone and charger. I sigh with relief as he hands it to me. The battery isn’t even close to full, but the phone is on and will probably stay that way for a bit; that’s enough for me. I wait while Mr. Grump calls me a taxi.

When he hangs up his phone, his eyes drift over me again, going once more to where my now-stretched shirt has slipped off my shoulder. I pull the neckline back up hastily, and Mr. Grump looks away.

“You should go,” he murmurs.

I nod, swallowing hard. My clothes are still damp, but they are a little better than before after being rubbed down with his towel.

“Do you have everything?” he says. “The address you need is on your phone?”

I nod, standing next to the door and willing the medicine he gave me to kick in.

“Good,” he says. “In that case, can you empty your purse for me?”

…What?

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