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appearance. Add to all this a body that reminded me of a cyclist or a runner lean and well
maintained he was a well groomed wolf in wolf s clothing and the females in Manhattan were
helpless sheep.
After two seconds of stunned staring, I ripped my eyes from his amused half-lidded gaze and
blinked around the mirrored space, trying to get my bearings.
Sorry, he said, not sounding sorry; in fact, I was pretty sure he was trying not to laugh. Sorry I
scared you.
I shook my head, my phone still clutched to my chest, and affixed my attention to the floor of the
elevator.
It s fine. I was just startled. I said, swallowing.
We were quiet for a beat but I could feel his eyes on me. I glanced at the display above the floor
buttons, trying to gauge how much longer I was going to have to share the elevator with Mr.
Ambiguously Single.
To my dismay, he spoke again. You re Annie, right?
I nodded, my eyes flickering to the side to glance at him then back to the display.
I m your neighbor, Kurt. In my peripheral vision I saw that he d turned completely toward me
and offered his hand.
I glanced at him again, at his friendly, easy smile and friendly, easy eyes. Then I glanced at the
takeout bag in my right hand and the phone held to my chest. I seriously debated whether or not to
shrug and say nothing.
See, the problem with being a really well paid shy person is that you have no incentive to ascribe
to social niceties and norms. My company loves me (most of the time), the clients love me, they love
the magic I work. I seldom go into the office only Wednesdays and Fridays. I have an office, I just
prefer to work from home.
I m not agoraphobic. I go out in public, I walk five miles in the park every day, I love the Natural
History Museum and visit once a week; as well, I frequent places where celebrities are typically
spotted so I can get shots for the blog. Being a lurker doesn t require social interaction. Therefore, if I
speak in person to more than ten people during any given week then it s been an above average
week.
Nevertheless, some part of me rebelled against being rude. I might contemplate becoming a
wackadoodle recluse in my brain, but I could never fully commit to the role. Therefore, I shifted my
belongings, placed my phone with the crotch shot into my bag, and accepted his hand for a quick
shake.
But it wasn t a quick shake. His fingers tightened around mine until I lifted my eyes to his and
relaxed my hand. His gaze expectant, interested; his smile soft and really very attractive. I was
perplexed as to why he was wielding both in my direction.
It s nice to finally meet you, Annie. He sounded like he meant it.
I returned his smile as best as I could, felt my eyebrows lift on my forehead. You too, Kurt.
We should get together some time. Get to know each other. He said these words in a rush,
almost like he was afraid I might disappear before he finished speaking.
Yeah. I nodded, trying to mimic his intonation of sincerity. Sure. We should do that.
Thankfully the doors opened. I took advantage of the distraction to pull my hand from his and dart
out of the elevator. Of course he was close behind since we both lived on the same floor.
You know, we ve lived next door for going on two years and this is the first time we ve spoken
to each other? He asked this conversationally, with a lilt of humor in his voice.
Hmm, was all I said, placing my takeout on the floor and digging in my bag for my key.
I did know it. But I didn t think it was all that remarkable. He was a good looking playboy who
likely spent more on one bottle of moisturizer than I did on all my hygiene products over the course of
a year. I was a mousy, low maintenance hermit. The chances that we moved in similar social circles
or had similar interests were not good. Not good at all. Why talk to a person if you had nothing in
common with them? What would that accomplish other than a painfully stunted conversation?
Successfully unlocking the door, I tossed the keys back in my bag and picked up the food. Kurt
hovered at my side, leaning against the wall. Again I could feel his eyes on me. Rather than ignoring
him and ducking into my apartment, I turned slightly and gave him a small wave.
Well, I m going to go inside now and eat this food, I held the bag up as evidence, See you
around.
We should trade numbers, he said, reaching into his back pocket for his phone, so we can
arrange dinner.
My smile morphed into a frown and I stared at him, my next words slipping out before I could
catch them. Are you serious?
Kurt s eyes flickered to mine, a crooked smile tugging at the corner of his mouth; Of course I m
serious. I never joke about dinner.
He said the words so smoothly, like words should be said, like an expert in banter and flirtation.
My heart gave an uncomfortable twist then took off at a gallop. It was one thing to trade polite chit-
chat in the elevator with my beautiful neighbor when I was certain it would lead nowhere. It was
quite another to give aforementioned beautiful neighbor my telephone number and, therefore,
permission to contact me for a shared meal.
I couldn t do that.
I couldn t.
My table manners were terrible. I d never been taught.
I sucked at conversation and therefore always ended up tongue tied, silent, and beet red.
I cussed like a sailor.
My wardrobe consisted of black, gray, or brown pants, skirts, and tights; and oversized black,
grey, or brown sweaters. I was wallpaper. This was purposeful.
I stared at his phone with helpless panic confused, horrified. I waited a beat for him to say,
Just kidding!
But he didn t. Instead he lifted his gaze to mine. It moved over my face then back to my eyes his
were still easy and friendly and I was paralyzed.
His smile widened. You are too cute& he said these words like he was talking to himself.
I started, flinched, my eyelashes fluttering at the unexpected compliment, and I gave into the
panic. Looking everywhere but at him, I darted into my apartment, saying lamely, Uh, my phone is
broken or needs repair or got lost, so I ll just give you the number later, when it s fixed or I find it.
But it was really nice meeting you. Goodbye.
And, with that, I shut the door in Kurt s face.
***
New York s Finest
March 13
If Sporty Spice married a hobbit, had a three-way with a leprechaun, and then gave birth to a
sexy, bizarre baby (paternity unknown)
Guess who was spotted this week looking equal parts hot and ridiculous in every kind of
synthetic fabric currently manufactured by the miracle of chemical engineering? None other than
Colin Farrell (or his doppelganger) down near the Village. Obviously no one loves him. Friends
don t let friends dress like this (unless it s cosplay or part of a bedroom role-play fantasy). If you
take a look at the pictures above, you ll certainly understand my horror at finding anyone willing
to wear lime green Lycra and speedo running shorts. The only explanation I can think of is that he
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