I turned to look at the tall, gorgeous man at my side, with his tidy beard, perfect hair, and strong profile. I’d actually love some tea and his company, but obviously he was just being polite. I tried to let him off the hook by saying, “Every coffee shop in this neighborhood is going to be packed, and I can’t deal with any more crowds tonight. Not with this headache that’s brewing.”
“I know a place that’s nice and quiet, but it’s about a ten minute walk. Are you up for it?”
I studied him closely while I tried to decide if this was just a pity thing, or if he legitimately wanted to spend time with me. Then he flashed me a flawless smile, which made my brain short out a little. I found myself mumbling, “Okay, sure. Why not?”
When I shivered, he stepped forward and took off his jacket, which he draped over my shoulders. Since he had about four inches and fifty pounds of pure muscle on me, it was way too big, but it was also warm and comfortable. I wasn’t used to people taking care of me, so I muttered an embarrassed thank you as I stuck my arms through the sleeves, then quickly headed down the sidewalk.
My embarrassment amplified when he told me, “It’s in the other direction,” and I spun around and power-walked past him. He caught up with me, and after a moment, he said, “I’m Lucky. I didn’t catch your name.”
“Logan.” I glanced at him and asked, “Is that an ironic nickname, like when they call a giant football player Tiny?”
“No. I went through a period in my life where I did a lot of stupid shit that really should have killed me. When I walked away from one catastrophe after another virtually unscathed, the nickname was born.”
“Morbid curiosity is forcing me to ask this question. Care to give me an example?”
“I was driving too fast on Highway One outside Big Sur one rainy night, lost control of my motorcycle, and slid off a cliff.”
“Holy shit! How are you still alive?”
“No idea. The bike plunged over a hundred feet and broke apart on some rocks, but I fell off and landed on a little, muddy outcropping maybe ten feet below the roadway.”
“Wow. Remind me never to get on a motorcycle with you.”
“You’d have nothing to worry about. I’m not self-destructive enough to speed on dark, wet pavement anymore.”
“Glad to hear it.” I glanced at his profile and said, “You mentioned one catastrophe after another. Does that mean you have more near-death stories like that one?”
He frowned and muttered, “Several.” At least he didn’t seem like he was proud of himself for being that reckless. I’d met plenty of guys in college who would have bragged about stuff like that.
To lighten the mood, I said, “Well, I’m glad you survived all of that. It would have been a shame if you’d missed the opportunity to watch me puke in an alley.”
He chuckled and nodded. “Yeah, that would have been a real tragedy.” Then he glanced at me and asked, “Do you have any near-death stories from your reckless youth?”
“Look at me. My stories are all like, this one time I got a really bad paper cut at the library. I’ve never done anything reckless or dangerous.” He stopped in front of a dark, dilapidated garage at the end of a side street and started to fit a key into the lock, so I added, “Although there was this one time when I let a hot stranger lure me to an abandoned building with the promise of a cup of tea, and then I was axe-murdered and died.”
He chuckled as he glanced at me over his shoulder. “Who’s to say you’re not the axe-murderer in this scenario? I could be taking a huge chance by bringing you home with me.”
“Home? You live in a condemned garage?”
“It’s better on the inside.”
“If you say so. Also, I’m clearly not an axe-murderer. Just look at these little stick arms. If I tried to swing an axe, they’d probably break clean off.”
Lucky grinned at that and told me, “Your self-image is very skewed.”
“So, I do seem capable of killing you with an axe? Thanks for the compliment.”
“Are all your conversations this surreal? Because I have to admit, I like it.”
“Not all. Just the good ones.” He was still grinning as he finally got the door unlocked and stepped inside. I followed him into the dark interior and said, “Any time you want to turn on a light and convince me you haven’t actually brought me here to murder me, feel free.”
“There’s no light switch by the door.”
“No, of course not. Who’d put one there? It’s not like the first thing you’d want to do every time you came home at night was see.”
“You can wait here if you want, while I go on ahead and turn on the lights.”
“No, thank you.” I reached for him in the darkness and managed to catch the sleeve of his white T-shirt.