Page 11 of First Kiss with a Mothman

“Someone left you in here?” The voice―so manly and deep―sounds distressed. It’s so chivalrous that he sounds like he’s really concerned for me.

I chuckle. “No.” I walk toward him, using my stick. “I came here on my own. To practice.” I raise my violin case for a moment.

“Oh, right,” he replies.

“Do you mind guiding me to the exit? Only if it’s not too much trouble.”

“Not at all!” he says quickly.

“I can take your arm if you don’t mind.”

“No! I mean, yes. I mean, no, I don’t mind. Please, whatever you need.”

I bite back a laugh as he gets closer. I ought to be embarrassed; for all my touting to my mom of being independent and able to manage life at a university, I shouldn’t have gotten stuck on week one.

But holding the guy’s firm, muscled bicep lined with soft fuzz makes me forget all my insecurities. His latent buzzing sound is delightful, and he’s being so polite to me. The guy smells good too, like a woodsy, pine scent. I’m assuming he’s fit by the feel of his arm, not that I’m picky about that. I can tell he’s taller than me, and his masculine tone is enticing. If getting lost means being saved by attractive monster dudes, then I have no problem being a blind damsel in distress.

Do I squeeze his bicep a little more than I need to? Maybe. I’m a virginal twenty-one-year-old boy; can anyone blame me?

We walk for a minute before I say, “Thank you. You’re my hero.”

“I’m…I’m not…”

“Are you the guy I met at the bonfire?”

“Uh…”

I snicker. He’s so distressed, it’s adorable. “You are, aren’t you?”

“Um, well…”

“And are you in my Monday-Wednesday orchestra morning class?”

He gulps as we continue walking. “I knew it,” I declare. I smile when we slow down and I hear him push open a door. The summer air is warm on my face even at this late hour. “I’m Arie, by the way. Arie Baker.”

“Mm…Mort.”

“Muh Mort?”

“Just Mort.”

“Nice to meet you, Just Mort.”

“Mort Rain.”

“Ah,” I reply. We share a soft laugh, and I hope I’m doing this flirting thing right. I don’t even know if he’s gay, so I decide to be bold. Life is too short to be coy and hold my cards to my chest. “Say, do you know if there are any campus pride groups for gay guys?”

“Um, well…”

I feel him tense up and notice that he hasn’t stopped slowly walking with me even though we’re outside. “Oh shit, did I interrupt your evening?”

“No, you didn’t. Not really.”

“I’m over here badgering you about campus questions.”

“I don’t mind,” he says in that deep, manly tone. He hasn’t brushed my hand off yet, a physical touch I’m totally going to read into.

“You were in the music room. Didn’t want to stop you from like practicing or whatever.”