Page 29 of Flirtasaurus
“You need help with those boxes, kid?” Otto rises to stand with me.
“Nah. Please. Stay and eat. Very sweet of you to help me carry the boxes down here, though, Otto. You sure your back is okay?”
“Oh, sure. Just a little tweak is all.” He says this as he slips a hand to his lower back and gives it a painful-looking mini-massage before settling back into his chair.
Leave it to me to let an old man carry one of my boxes and end up tweaking his back. He was so adamant about helping, though. I didn’t want to emasculate him or embarrass him or whatever. See? I think about other people!
“Okay, well, thanks again. Um. Nice to see you guys.” I sling my backpack over both shoulders and hoist the boxes up in front of me. With all three stacked up to my nose, I can just barely peek over them to see the top of Otto’s and Mabel’s heads. “I’m sure I’ll see you both around.”
I scoot out of there as fast as I can while balancing the boxes and trying to watch where the hell I’m going. I make it through a few turns and down some short staircases. Then, just as I’m heading down the long marble hallway leading to the main exit, I feel a presence walking in tandem with me.
Now, I know I haven’t lived in the city long, but it only takes a few days of city living to know that this is completely unacceptable behavior. If you are walking down the street or through the train station or, in this case, down a museum corridor, you do not walk in tandem with someone. It’s weird. It’s uncomfortable. It’s downright aggressive.
I try slowing my pace. The dude next to me slows as well. I try speeding things up. He picks up speed too. After doing this ridiculous dance for a few more rounds, I stop completely, and—you guessed it—he does as well. That’s it. I can’t take it anymore.
“What is your problem, dude?!”
I turn to confront this punk.
I take one look at his stupid beautiful face, and… I drop those heavy-ass boxes right on my own damn foot.
“Ow! Christ! God!”
“Geez! Are you okay!?” that delicious voice I’ve come to know way too well says in alarm.
“Do I look okay?!” I hold my knee up to my chest and bounce up and down, wiggling my aching toes.
“Why did you do that!?”
“Oh, I dunno! I thought breaking my toe sounded like fun! Why wereyoustalking me, weirdo?
“Walking beside you makes me a stalking weirdo?”
“Sure does!”
“Well, I’m sorry. I was just trying to get your attention.”
“Mission accomplished.” I place my foot back on the ground and try putting my weight on it. “Ow, that hurts.”
“Where are you headed? I’ll help you get there,” he says as he lifts the boxes to his chest as if they weigh nothing.
“Home. And no, thank you. I’m fine.” I go to take the boxes from him, but he turns his body so I can’t reach them.
“What are you going to do, limp home with a possibly broken toe while carrying heavy boxes?”
“Yup.” I lunge around to his other side, but he pivots again.
“Calliope. Please. At least let me put you in a cab.”
I give up. And I hate to admit it, but I kind of like the way my name sounds coming from his lips. It certainly sounds better than when he repeatedly called me “What-uh-pee” while I was stuck in the elevator.
“Fine.” I say. “But I don’t need a cab. I’m only a few blocks north of here.”
“Fantastic. You sure you can walk, though?”
I take a few practice steps.
“Yeah. It hurts a bit, but I can walk.”
