I’m here for the apartment. I can’t throw away my future for a night with Erik Storm, no matter how Asgardian he may be.
“Sure,” I say, swallowing hard.
“So, tell me a bit about yourself, Sol.”
The bartender comes, and Erik orders two pints of lager for us. As I conclude that I should wait until the alcohol lightens up his mood before revealing why I’m here, I lift my glass, and we toast.
“Skål,” he says. “It means cheers.”
“I know. I’ve been here for almost six months.”
“Where are you from?”
“Brazil. And you’re Danish, I guess?”
He nods, swallowing a big mouthful. “Brazil? Wow. I’ve always wanted to go there.”
“Rio?” It’s always about Rio.
“Of course. Which city are you from?”
“Not Rio.” I drink too. If I’m doing this, I better be tipsy. “Brasília,” I tell him.
“The capital.”
I give him an acknowledging nod. “You know that. Ten points for you.”
He laughs at my random scoring—a little game I used to play with my best friend. Erik clinks his glass on mine, and we both drink.
“Is it nice in Brasília?”
“It’s fine, but the nearest beach is over six hundred miles away,” I say, wincing like I always do whenever I’m reminded of the biggest con of my always warm—and half the year too rainy, half too dry—hometown.
“Oh, I couldn’t imagine living so far from the sea,” Erik says, reflecting what I’d probably say myself if I’d lived on the coast all my life.
“Where were you in your profile photo?” I drink faster now to see if he will follow. The quicker we get inebriated, the better.
“Colombia,” he says, and I lift my eyebrows.
“Oh, so you’ve been to South America!” I don’t know why that surprises me to the point of making my heart race. He’s probably lived a financially comfortable life that allowed him to travel the world. So what?
“I love your continent,” he says with a light shrug and a carefree smile that makes my breathing fussy.
“Then why haven’t you visited Brazil? I’m offended.” I tilt my head, assessing him with a critical eye, even though I’m not truly offended. He laughs, and I attribute the unwelcome fluttering in my stomach to the beer I’m consuming too fast. It’s definitely not because of the golden strands of hair slipping out of his bun and falling over his face, where he lets them be.
“It wasn’t in the itinerary, sadly,” he answers in a casual tone, and I’m somehow glad for the vague explanation. The lighter and more impersonal we keep this exchange, the better. “Your country deserves a dedicated trip, north to south,” he adds.
I put my hair behind my ear in an instinctive reaction to looking at his loose strands, which I can’t move away from his face.
“Good save,” I reply, his smile convincing me of nothing but his seductive intentions, which I’m intent on keeping at bay.
We keep talking about traveling while drinking our pints. I learn that he had two “gap years” between high school and college in which he worked at a restaurant to earn money for a four-month backpacking trip across the world. Universities are free in Denmark, and his grades were good, so when he returned, he had no trouble getting into his desired program—a bachelor’s degree in software engineering at the IT University of Copenhagen. Right after graduating, he started a master’s in games.
I tell him I have no master’s, only a bachelor’s in design. Before I reveal that I work at Scorpio Games, I stop and gulp down the last of my beer.
“What did you do after your master’s?” I ask, pretending not to know that he worked at Scorpio.
“I’ll need a stronger drink before talking about that part of my story,” he says jokingly, but a shadow crosses his eyes.
I smile with sympathy, but to myself, I’m thinking, Was Scorpio so bad? “Let’s get you some liquor then.”
“No, no,” Erik says with a grin. “It’s too early for that.” He winks, and I feel another little quiver in my stomach, both because he can be so charming and because the implication that there might be a later for us will be crushed when I reveal that he has fallen into the trap I’ve set up for him.
I can’t let this continue any longer. It was a mistake.
“I’m sorry... I shouldn’t have invited you here.”
“What are you talking about?” Erik frowns a little, amusement still playing on his lips. He’s affected by the cheerful vibe of the alcohol, the laughing crowd, and the upbeat music in the background.
He thinks I’m joking, and it’s tempting to let him believe that. I can’t though. As I remain serious, his smile starts to fade, until his brow furrows in confusion.
“You’ll hate me when I say it...” I look down to avoid his eyes.
“Say what?” His voice is louder now that the noise in the bar has increased. He comes closer to my face, making it hard for me not to look at him. We’re surrounded by people. It’s feeling a little claustrophobic.
“I should leave.” A flush of boiling heat rises to my face, threatening to burn my cheeks. I’m getting up, but Erik holds my wrist.
“Come on, Sol. Say it. What’s wrong?” He blinks, confused.
