Rita
We run close to each other, shoulders touching for a few paces before we’re forced apart by an old lady walking her little fluffy white dog.
When we come back together, he tells me about his friends. Carmine and Ford, both in the area with their wives; Eros, out in Chicago; and Lanzo, somewhere overseas. “They have unconventional jobs,” he says, frowning straight ahead.
I decide not to follow up on that, though I file it away for future questioning later. “My best friend lives out in Kentucky, and most of the people I knew in high school either moved out of state or are out in the suburbs still. It’s been hard the last year.”
“I can see why you’re such a wreck.”
I glare at him. “I’m a wreck because my apartment burned down, you asshole.”
“Right, of course, I shouldn’t have suggested otherwise.”
“You got into a lot of fights as a kid, didn’t you? I can imagine people are constantly trying to beat you up.”
“Not since I hit six foot,” he says with a smirk. “All right, wife, come on. Let’s get some coffee and take a break.” He slows down outside of a Starbucks. I stop with him, catching my breath. I want to give up on this stupid run and head back to the apartment, but I could use some caffeine. The sun’s barely over the horizon now, the weak morning light slanting through the buildings, reflecting off the sweat on his skin.
Despite being a huge prick, Scar’s attractive. Absurdly attractive. The way he runs a hand through his hair to show off his toned biceps. His enormous chest muscles, his toned abs, his vein-wrapped forearms. God, those freaking forearms. I could lick those damn forearms.
I just wish he weren’t such an asshole.
At least he buys the coffee. Well, he has no choice, since I’m broke, but still.
“All right, let me ask you something now,” I say as we stand outside together on the sidewalk, sipping our drinks. “When you were a kid, what did you want to be when you grew up?”
He’s quiet for a long moment. “I wanted to work on computers.”
“Really?” I look at him, honestly surprised. “Were you sort of a nerd?”
“No, I wouldn’t say that.” He pauses, staring into the distance. “My family didn’t have much money back then. But one day, when I was around six or seven, my dad came home with this old computer a client was throwing out. He cleaned it up, plugged it in, and that changed my life. It opened a world for me. We got America Online, I surfed the web, learned about networking, got really into hardware. I had that computer for years, even well past its prime. I fell in love with it, with what it could represent, and although I moved on from that as I got older… that’s what I wanted to do with my life. Computers, internet. All those possibilities.”
I watch his face as a strange sense of calm comes over me. I can almost see a little Scar sitting in a dark room in front of the glow of a computer monitor, chatting away, playing games, exploring the web. I don’t really know what the internet was like back then, but I picture a curious kid finding himself.
It’s almost sweet, actually. I wonder how he went from playing with computers to lawyer for gangsters.
“I wanted to breed dogs.” It comes out in a sudden rush. He looks at me, a little smile on his face like he’s about to make a joke, so I keep talking. “We didn’t have any pets. My mom was allergic to cats and didn’t like dogs, so we never got one, but I was obsessed with them. I used to have these elaborate daydreams where I’d imagine a whole pack of black Labradors, all of them running around through a forest, and I’d call out all their names one by one, petting their heads as they run past.”
“I didn’t take you for an animal lover.”
“Well, I grew up. At least I wasn’t a computer nerd.”
He laughs at that, finishes his coffee, and tosses the empty into a trash can. “You do realize most computer nerds grew up into rich programmers, right? It’s cool to be into computers now.”
“Don’t try to hide your nerdery from me, Scar.”
“I wouldn’t dream of it.” His smile fades as he stretches his neck. “All right, let’s head back.”
“Hold up, we’re running home?”
“Of course, how did you think we were getting there?”
“I don’t know… walking? At a leisurely pace? Maybe taking a cab.”
“Toss the cup, Mrs. Scarfoni. We’re going.”
I groan, throw it away, and adjust my hair. There’s no way I’m going to let him know that I’m already sore and exhaust. “Fine, let’s do this, you big dork.”
He laughs as he sets out at a pace I definitely can’t match for long.
But I try anyway.