Page 70 of Kiss and Tell
We left the restaurant— Connor insisted on paying despite my protests — and stepped outside into the evening twilight. My dry eyes burned with fatigue. It really had been a long day.
“Will you come back to my place?” Connor asked.
I froze, my heart squeezing tight.
He had just finished saying he was serious about me. That this wasn’t just sex.
“My intentions are pure, I promise,” he continued.
I had to admit I was curious about where Connor lived. Seeing the inside of the bachelor pad could really give you an insight into a guy.
“Okay,” I agreed. “But I’m driving myself. The place may be gentrifying, but I’m still not willing to leave my car parked outside the bar overnight.”
Connor texted me the address, and when I arrived I saw he lived in a low-rise apartment building with a brick facade. He was waiting for me outside in the parking lot, leaning against his car. I pulled into the spot next to him and got out.
“Are you planning on escorting me in?” I asked. “Ever the gentleman.”
He held out his arm for me to take.
“I’ve got to prove my worth, don’t I?” he said.
Connor had already proven his worth to me, many times over. That was why I was currently walking with him to his apartment. I never would have allowed myself to do this otherwise.
I was still teetering back and forth over whether this was a good idea or not. But for the moment, my mind and my heart were in agreement.
I had to at least give this a shot.
When Connor unlocked his front door and waved me in first, I found myself in a living room not unlike my own. A tan leather sofa against one wall, a TV along the other with a dark wood coffee table in the middle. There were a few frames with art hanging on the wall. I recognized the style of one — a local artist who specialized in cityscapes.
Stacks of magazines were on the table as if they had been tossed haphazardly. A closer look showed the one on top was a music magazine with guitars on the cover.
“Thank fuck I cleaned this weekend,” Connor muttered to himself.
“If I’d come over last week, would I have found a handful of take-out containers and dirty laundry everywhere?”
“No comment.”
As I toed off my shoes and lined them up in the hallway closet, Connor headed to the living room and turned on the TV. He played with a few buttons then put down the remote and went into kitchen.
“Can I get you something to drink?” he asked as he stuck his head into the fridge.
“Any kind of soda is fine.”
I went into the kitchen after him and he handed me a cold can. As he closed the fridge I noticed dozens of pictures were stuck to the fridge door with magnets. Most of the magnets were of random bits of scenery and had city names on them.
“Are all these the cities where you played?” I asked.
Connor followed my gaze.
“Yeah, when I was on tour.” His voice was low and rough. He cleared it. “I started collecting magnets as a sort of souvenir thing,” he continued, his voice smoother now, but still tight. “To remember all the places I visited.”
I touched one or two of them, trailing my fingers along the edges.
“That’s a lot of magnets,” I noted.
“I toured a lot of cities,” he replied.
“I can’t imagine how exhausting it must have been.”
