Crash Into Me(15)

My stomach dropped and a rush of excitement hit me between my legs. He wanted me.

"You want me for...?"

"You were an art major in college. You'd know a lot about what pieces I should buy, wouldn't you?"

My excitement fizzled back to confusion. "Yes, I majored in art history. I minored in painting. What do you want me for that has to do with that?"

"Why don't you come for a walk with me?" he asked, more as a command than a question as he stood from the booth.

My curiosity was piqued, even if my ego was dinged. I would have likely said yes to anything he asked, so I walked over to where Jordan was standing and quickly whispered, "I'll be back. He wants to go for a walk."

Pulling me aside, she leaned in and asked, "Is everything okay? What does he want?"

"I don't know. I'm thinking maybe he wants someone to help him pick out paintings, maybe for his office or something. Maybe for that house he's buying. I don't know. I have my phone on me, so if anything goes wrong, I'll call."

Jordan hugged me and in my ear whispered, "Be careful. Remember, wealthy people hire people to do their work. I doubt he's here for a decorator."

"I will. And don't worry. I'll tell you all the details when I get home," I teased.

Squeezing my arm as I moved away from her, she said, "You better!"

Jordan and I were breaking the best friend code's first rule: Never let your friend leave with a strange man. He wasn't a strange man, per se, but she couldn't have stopped me even if she thought he was. With each step I took toward Tristan, an excitement began building in me. I hoped he wanted me like I wanted him, but if all he wanted was someone to help him pick out art, maybe he'd pay me enough so I could begin to build up my savings. Whatever it was, at least I'd be spending time doing something with art.



The night air was unseasonably chilly for May, so my little sundress and sweater weren't going to do much to keep me warm. I hadn't planned on walking very far that night, so my shoes weren't really right for what he wanted to do either.

Tristan remained his quiet self as we made our way one block and then two away from the bar. Unable to contain my curiosity, I asked, "What did you want to talk about?"

Glancing at me, he said, "You."

"That's the second time tonight you've answered that way. What about me?"

"What made you decide to live in this section of Brooklyn after college?"

I stopped dead and stared at the back of him as he continued walking. After a few steps more, he noticed I wasn't next to him any longer and stopped to turn around. "Nina?"

"How do you know so much about me, Tristan?"

"I asked."

"Asked who?"

He closed the space between us and stood no more than six inches from me. That gentle smile spread across his lips again. "People who'd know. I like to know about the people I surround myself with."

"What are you talking about? Do I have to ask you to do the straight answer thing again?"

He cocked one eyebrow and then finally said, "You make me smile, Nina. I can't say that about most people."

"That's nice. It's not a straight answer, though."

His hand clasped mine, sending a jolt of electricity straight up my arm. "Let's keep walking so you don't get cold. Your place is near here, isn't it?"

I felt like I was dealing with a madman. It was like we were having two different conversations, neither of which was very satisfying. And now he was holding my hand and appeared to be directing me back to my apartment—a place he'd only been once. I didn't know whether to be flattered he had made the effort to find out about me and remembered where I lived or concerned that he was some kind of scary stalker.