“Your son?” I suppose it isn’t totally unrealistic that he has a kid, but there isn’t a photo or anything anywhere in this home. My parents had my photos and soccer trophies and so on in their home. Nobody would have assumed they were childless if they visited.
Tolyan nods, his expression flat.
“So…where is he?” Shouldn’t the child be with him? Or is he having a sleepover? Or maybe staying with his mom?
“Berkeley. He’s a freshman.”
“Your son’s in college?” I stare at Tolyan, studying his face closely. There are a few faint lines in the corners of his eyes and some across his forehead, but nothing that makes him look old enough to have a kid in college.
“How old are you?” I blurt out, then slap my hands over my mouth at the rude question. Why and when did my filter quit on me?
Tolyan’s eyebrows pinch together slightly. Oh shit, he’s annoyed. And for a good reason, too.
“Sorry.” The words are muffled against my hands. I drop them. “Sorry,” I say again. “You don’t have to answer. Actually, you shouldn’t answer. That was a rude que—”
“Forty,” he says.
I lower my hands a little. “Forty? Really?” The second the words leave, I know my filter’s still malfunctioning. I should just keep my mouth shut.
The frown on his face grows more serious. “Do I look that old?”
“No! No, no, no. I just didn’t realize you were that old.”
He raises an eyebrow.
Oh crap. “I mean, you look really young!”
The eyebrow stays elevated.
My whole body’s flaming, and my brain is working hard to find something to say to make the situation better. I blurt out the first thing that sounds okay in my head. “Young, like you’re in your late twenties.”
The eyebrow rises higher.
Okay, now that I said it out loud, it does sound a bit much. There’s no way he can pass for twenty-something, even if it’s a late twenty-something. “Or, you know, in your early thirties or, uh, something like that.”
A corner of his mouth twitches.
Is that an “I’m so mad my muscles are twitching” thing? If so, I’m totally screwed. More things I could say to fix the situation pop into my head, but I clench my teeth together. You’ve hit the bottom already. No need to bring out the jackhammer!
Finally, Tolyan lets out a soft laugh. “You’re a funny little fawn.”
Funny is good, I’m pretty sure. His gray-blue eyes glimmer with humor.
The knots inside me relax. I exhale softly. “Well, uh, I’m glad. Do you want to know how old I am?”
“No. It would be rude for me to say yes, and frankly, I’m not interested.”
He’s being a gentleman, but a small part of me is unhappy that he isn’t showing any curiosity, not even a little. It’s like he has no desire to get to know me.
Come on, Angelika. This isn’t really a “get to know you” situation.
Maybe he’s one of those people who likes to discover stuff about others organically, without the other person vomiting everything about themselves out in one shot.
Tolyan opens the door next to Lyosha’s room. “This is the home gym.”
We step inside. It’s equipped with a treadmill, weights and a large, empty area for stretching and other activities. The floor-to-ceiling window faces a deck outside, which has a pool.
“Use it anytime you want,” Tolyan says. “Actually, it might be safer for you to run here than outside, at least until I can sort Roy out.” His tone makes it sound like Roy isn’t a person, but a problem that requires expedient handling. Which is true, since he is the biggest issue in my life.