Stone In Love

Chapter 1

The journey home from Shane's apartment had me traveling outside my comfort zone, with an annoying mid-trip transfer, but I was used to subway life and had developed strategies for cozying-up with strangers. The first thing I did after hitting the platform was survey my traveling companions, relaxing a bit when I noticed most of them staring blissfully at the screens of their phones. The only questionable character was a crazy leaning against a pillar singing a song in French. With any luck, he would provide our entertainment until the train arrived and wouldn't follow us on. He wasn't half bad.

When the rail cars slid to a stop, I found an open seat with no effort, and I popped off a text to my girl, Sylvie. She knew I had made a lust connection, and I always shared my dirty little secrets with her. Sylvie claimed to live vicariously through me, but she was no slouch herself.

Got laid last night. How was your Thursday?

After hitting send, I continued assessing my compatriots, glancing up in time to see the crazy climb on board. He was hard to miss in his navy blue military jacket and combat boots. The getup was probably something he'd inherited from a long dead relative or well-stocked thrift store. He'd also been cursed with a hooked nose that drew attention away from his otherwise attractive face. My phone buzzed with an incoming text, and I dropped my gaze to read the message.

Damn you. It's that gorgeous body of yours. Men love a woman with a big ass. My night was a fail. Worked late. Leftover Chinese. CSI reruns.

I didn't take offense at Sylvie's big ass comment. It was the truth, although most guys claimed it was my hazel eyes that unlocked the secrets of the universe.

You can't count your night as a fail if you don't go anywhere, Lame-O.

I'll ignore that. You gonna see this guy again?

Nope. He's too nice.

You need nice. You've had enough assholes.

Yeah, and they fucked me up for the nice ones.

As Sylvie and I bantered, the crazy made his way surreptitiously toward me, keeping his nose in the air as if following a scent. I knew he was targeting me because I kept him locked in my peripheral view, watching him dissect me like a bug on a peg board while the subway car hurtled between stops. I willed him to keep his distance, but clearly he couldn't read minds, because the next thing I knew he was standing in front of me.

"Parlez-vous Francais?" he asked.

French, huh? I wasn't surprised. I'd been mistaken for a tourist before, and although I'd had one year of French in high school, I dropped it to study Latin. But I still knew enough to tell him I didn't speak his language.

"Je ne parle pas Francais."

"Where are you from?" he continued in a thickly-accented form of English. Of course, the fact that I could now understand him didn't mean I was going to answer him. At least not in any detail.

"America."

A toothy smile softened his features, and I noticed his teeth were straight and white, making him look less crazy. He also smelled kind of nice, like the cologne you'd by at Bloomingdales not Walgreens. He raised his eyebrows as he continued to stand in front of me. Did he think I was crazy?

"I have never seen you before," he said. "Are you without a domus?"

Domus? Okay, now he was using Latin, which freaked me out a little. Why did he ask if I was homeless? I was wearing makeup and carrying an expensive camera bag.

"I have a home, but I appreciate your concern."

The train came to a screeching halt at the transfer station, and as I prepared to stand, the crazy extended his hand, offering to help me out of my seat. When I hesitated, he dropped his arm and stepped aside to let me pass. While he still seemed interested in me, he didn't follow me out, and I breathed a sigh of relief when I saw him exit and walk in the opposite direction. As I waited for the next train, I sent another text to Sylvie to take my mind off the strange encounter.