A Bird Song

Chapter 4: House Tour

"I was wondering, would you like to come to my house? I bet you'll love Chica."

"The dog from the picture?" I nod. "I fucking adore golden retrievers, as you might already know. So of course I'll love her."

LA is already busy and we have to wade through tons of people. A big group walks between us, splitting us up. When that happens, I freak out a bit and twist my neck in impossible angles to look for Mark. I'm all alone in a country I've never been to after all. When we make eye-contact Mark pulls a face that makes me laugh. I wink back at him. He looks down for a second, then the group is gone and we walk next to each other in silence. The sun is burning in my eyes and the pavement under my feet feels like hell is burning below me. 

At that moment I start having allergy issues and my eyes are watering as well. Mark sees it and magically pulls out a pack of tissues. "No need to cry," he whispers as he struggles to open the packaging.

I stick out my tongue. "it's allergies, and the sun, and... I'm just not used to this LA air. I probably look like a pink version of a panda." I pull a pouty face. 

Mark bumps into me with his hip. "You look like a fabulous pink panda. Now take my tissue."

The spot where his hip had hit mine is tingling. I ignore it and grab the tissue. I can't prevent my fingers from touching his and I feel his skin under the callus that playing the guitar for years has left behind. I'm really sure he felt my rough skin on his soft hands. A cold shiver runs up my legs. I clench my teeth together. "Danke schön," I say and I bow my head a little. Looking at the ground, I lightly wipe my eyes. The tissues smell like him. Deodorant, a little bit of dog and something else. I can't figure out what. 

"My car is parked here," Mark says. He opens a door and I quickly get inside. The dog scent was more intense here, the leather seats were hot. The other door opens and a leg followed by Mark gets into the car. "That's hot."

"Thanks," I say, hiding a laugh.

Mark turns his head and rolls his eyes. "The car, you little idiot."

I frown at him. "Hey, hey, you are not in a position to call me little."

He pulls up an eyebrow. Then he acts as if he's been shot in his heart. "You've found my weakness. My length." 

"Hahaha, you're indeed not really tall. But you're taller than me, so it's fine to my standards." I look outside and feel my skin redden. "Not that I have high standards," I think to myself.

The car starts and Mark pulls up quickly. The roads and buildings flash by and I take off my glasses. The outside becomes a yellow wall. 

"You look cool without glasses."

"I have tiny eyes," I mutter while rubbing the glasses with my shirt.

A snort makes my head turn around. Mark's clearly Asian eyes flash at me. "I have those too." 

"Ah. Yes. Did that just make me  racist, or you? I'll let you know, I don't have Asian blood. Spanish, French, some Viking, you know, with the blonde hair and blue eyes." I am being racist. On purpose, bitch.

"And freckles," Mark whispers to the road in front of him.

My eyes widen. "Already? God, one minute in the LA sun and the deed is already done." I shake my head, putting my glasses back on.

The houses outside slowly get a little bigger, and spaced further apart. Then he quickly turns onto a driveway in front of a large yellow house. It looks very Mediterranean, with dark wood accents and marble floor on the porch and all the way around the house.