Authors: Lisa Desrochers
He kisses the top of my head and sends shivers through me. “You won’t.”
I let go, and he strums the strings again.
“You ready?” he asks, smiling at me.
“Always.”
As he starts on the first verse of “Someone, Somehow,” I feel tears sting the corners of my eyes. I’ve always loved his singing voice: smooth and deep with just a hint of gravel when he kicks the emotion up a notch. By the time he gets to the chorus, I can’t keep them from spilling over.
You fill the hollow places life as left behind.
And now your soul is tangled into mine.
When I needed an angel you were there,
you, to all my secrets I bare.
I needed you then,
and I need you now.
Someone, somehow.
I lean into his side as he finishes, and he wraps his arm around my shoulders and squeezes.
Warm and comfortable and
mmm.
This is the feeling of my best friend. I never want it to stop. “Thanks.”
He tips his face into my hair. “For you, there’s nothing I wouldn’t do.”
I turn to face him and lift my hand to his face, trailing my fingers down the line of his strong jaw. Very slowly, I close the distance between us and press a gentle kiss to his lips. He closes his eyes and holds his breath, and when I pull away, his eyes are still closed.
I stand and move to the door. “Don’t you dare leave without saying good-bye.”
He opens his eyes and nods. “You got it.”
An hour later, when I come down the stairs and see Trent standing in Julie’s embrace with his duffel bag in his hand, two things happen. 1) I have a minor panic attack at the thought of not seeing him for the next several months, but 2) when he smiles his lazy smile—the one that always makes me feel warm inside, the panic evaporates. And then I see the guitar case at his feet, and everything lightens.
He holds his arms out to me, and I step into them, and when he wraps them around me, I know I have my best friend back.
“Love you,” he says low in my ear.
“Love you too,” I whisper back.
He kisses my forehead, then lets me go, and Dad gives him a clap on the back. “Go get ’em, son.”
Trent smiles and nods. “See you in a few weeks.”
He picks up his guitar and turns for the door. We all spill onto the walk, watching him strap his things onto his bike and climb on. He turns and gives me his lazy smile, then tugs his helmet over his head and flicks the bike to life. As much as my heart aches as he speeds off down the street, it’s so much lighter that I’d swear I’m floating.
I
HAVE MY
strategy, and so far it’s working, but I don’t want to tempt fate, so when Sam twirls her straw through her smoothie as we sit at the Juice It Up in the mall, and says, “So, how much do you really want to know about Trent’s sexual prowess,” I say, “Nothing. I changed my mind. That’s between you two.”
She pouts a little, like she really wanted to share. “If you say so.” But then her eyes light up. “Hey, I bought something for your birthday, but since you’ll be gone by then, you have to open it now.” She pulls a small, brown paper bag with a blue bow on top out of her purse. “These are for use on your trip, and you’re not allowed to come home before they’re gone.”
I scrunch my face at her as I take the package, afraid of what it might be. She watches as I pull it open and peer inside. I roll my eyes and hand her back the condoms. “You should keep these.”
She huffs out a laugh. “What? You think I didn’t buy myself a box too? Have you
seen
your stepbrother?”
I feel myself wince.
“You
will
find a hot Italian, and you will wish you had those,” she says, nodding at the bag.
“Doubtful,” I say. I’ve already met a hot Italian, and there’s no way I’m going to need a condom.
“You can’t tell me in a city full of beautiful Italian men, there’s not a single one who wants to sleep with you.”
“Gee. I didn’t know that was the only criteria. ‘Hey, you want to sleep with me? Yeah? Okay, let’s go!’ ” I roll my eyes.
“I’m just saying, you never know when love is going to strike.”
I shove the package in my shopping bag and sip my smoothie. “We should go. I told Julie I’d be home for dinner.”
My birthday isn’t until January 19, but since I’m flying back to Rome tomorrow, Julie insists on celebrating tonight. She makes my favorite: lobster saffron risotto, and after dinner comes out with a cake, twenty-one candles blazing like an inferno on top of it.
“Make a wish!” she says as Dad warbles out the “. . . and many moooore,” at the end of “Happy Birthday.”
I blow out the candles and hold the wish that Trent and I can be how we used to be. No awkwardness, no holding back, just best friends.
And I toss Trent’s T-shirt into Julie’s dirty clothes as I’m packing that night. I’m done obsessing.
M
AYBE IT’S BEING
thousands of miles from anyone I feel accountable to, but it’s liberating to be back in Rome. Or maybe it’s Abby. She’s crazy, I know, but she’s growing on me.
I got home late last night and fell into bed. When I woke late, there were three texts from Abby that she was coming over. I was going to answer them after I dragged myself through the shower, but I wasn’t even dressed yet when my doorbell started buzzing.
I’m unpacking all my freshly home-laundered clothing back into my armoire, and she’s lying on my bed, texting someone and giggling.
“You realize you sound twelve?” I say, looking up at her when she giggles again.
She lifts her head and glares at me. “Bugger off.”
“So, who is this person that has the power to reduce you to a giggling twelve-year-old?”
She lifts her head again, and this time she’s grinning like a dork. “It’s Grant. We’re sexting.”
I feel my eyes widen. “What happened to the girlfriend?”
She pushes herself to a sitting position against my headboard, a smug smile on her face. “He went home for holiday and realized she just couldn’t compare to this,” she says, running a hand over her curves.
Warning bells are going off in my head. “So, they broke up?”
She shrugs. “They will.”
I tuck the last of my T-shirts into my drawer. “Just be careful, Abby.”
Her thumbs are flying over the keyboard on her phone, and she’s grinning again. “Always am. I’m a great fan of the Trojans.”
“I mean with your heart.”
She looks up at me with an expression so sincere that it looks totally foreign on her face. “We have chemistry, Lexie. You can’t fight chemistry.”
Who am I to argue that? I spent all last semester alternately swimming in and drowning in Trent’s and my chemistry, and I think I’ve finally made shore, but it has definitely taken its toll.
She looks back at her phone and giggles again.
“Are we still doing my birthday movie marathon?” We’d talked about it before break, and she’d actually suggested a night of clubbing. After last time, though, I know I can’t count on her to have my back if I get trashed, so I talked her into something a little more chill. She only caved when I’d capitulated to hot Italian porn and agreed to bring wine.
Her eyes lift from her phone. “Oh, shit! When is that?”
“Day after tomorrow.”
For the first time ever in the history of our friendship, she looks contrite. “Grant and I are going to Florence for the weekend. I will find a hot Italian to take your mind off the fact that I’m a bloody horrible friend?”
I smile and shake my head. “Spare me the hot Italian. We’ll do it some other time.”
My phone starts vibrating off the nightstand, and I move across the room and pick it up. Speaking of hot Italians . . .
“Hi, Alessandro,” I say when I connect.
“I hope you had a pleasant flight.”
I can almost hear his smile, and I smile in response. “ ‘Pleasant flight’ is an oxymoron.”
He laughs. “Well, I am happy you’re back. I just wanted to remind you about our next tour this Friday.”
“Like I’ve ever forgotten,” I say with a roll of my eyes.
“I’ll concede that you don’t forget, but punctuality isn’t your strong suit.”
“I’ll be there,
Dad.
” Now I sound twelve, but I feel suddenly giddy talking to Alessandro. I really missed him though I’ll never admit it to his face.
“I’ll be waiting with bated breath.” Something in his voice stalls my heart, and I take a deep breath to massage it back into rhythm.
“See you then.”
When I look up at Abby, she’s got that grin plastered to her face. The one that says sex all over it.
“What?”
“You and the priest?” she asks with a lift of her brows.
I roll my eyes.
She tucks her legs under her and leans toward me, onto her hands. “Is he a virgin?”
“No!” I snap before I think better of it.
Her eyes widen. “Did you pick his cherry, Lexie?” she sings.
I throw up my hands. “Oh my God! Will you stop?”
She leans back and scrutinizes my face, and that lascivious smirk is back. I fight not to press my hands to my flaming cheeks. “Bloody hell,” she finally says. “This is better than the movies.”
W
HEN
I
RUSH
up to the obelisk right on the minute, Alessandro steps forward and grasps my shoulders, kissing me on one cheek, then the other. It’s only the traditional Italian greeting—nothing special—but he’s never been this physical before, and it surprises me a little. When I pull away, he studies my face.
“How was your holiday?”
“Fine. It was good.”
His eyes narrow a little, as if he’s trying to read between the lines, and I know he’s wondering about how things went with Trent, but then he gently grasps my elbow and moves us off toward the back entrance to the museums. “Selfishly, I’m happy to have you back.”
What does he mean by that? Did he miss me?
Before I can respond, if I could actually think of something to say, he sweeps a hand toward the doors, and adds, “Your public awaits.”
As I start walking toward the ramp, I feel my cheeks flush. It was stupid to think he missed me. He’s happy I’m back for the kids, of course. Otherwise, he’d have to do the tour himself.
“So, if I remember right, today’s your birthday,” he says as we walk.
“You remember right.” I smile internally that he remembered.
“Have you made plans?”
“I was supposed to go to my friend Abby’s, but she’s having chemistry, so I don’t think that’s happening.”
He looks at me curiously for a second before saying, “It’s against Italian law to spend your birthday alone.”
“What?” I say, squinting at him. He’s got to be joking, right?
He cracks a smile. “I’m cooking.”
My stomach flutters. “Oh. Okay, I guess.”
We reach the door, and he holds it open for me. “I’ll be by around seven?”
“I’ll be waiting with bated breath,” I say, parroting back his words.
We stroll to our meeting spot, and, as the kids gather around the Apollo, I smile at Alessandro, remembering how nervous I was the first time we did this. Now I feel comfortable here, like these museums are my second home. Now that all my angst over Trent is resolved, I realize I’m not just here as an escape. I’m here because I love it.
And, more and more every day, I want to stay.
The apartment is a thousand degrees when I get home. I try to adjust the thermostat on the wall of my bedroom, but the wheel is stuck, and the old metal radiator is going full steam. I grab my phone and call the landlord, but he doesn’t answer. It wouldn’t matter if he did. He doesn’t speak English, and I don’t know how to say “thermostat” or “radiator” or “burning alive” in Italian.
Just as I’m stuffing the phone back in my pocket, it vibrates.
I smile at the caller ID. “Hey, you,” I say when I connect.
“Hey. Happy birthday.”
It’s so good to hear Trent’s voice. “Thanks. How was the tournament?”
He blows a sigh into my ear. “I won.”
“Oh my God! That’s amazing! Dad must be in heaven.”
There’s a long pause. “Not so much.”
“Why?” I say, feeling my brows pinch.
“Because I quit the next day.”
I can’t even speak for a second, my mind reeling. “Wow.”
“Yeah.” He gives me a second to absorb, then says, “So tell me what’s going on there? Any big birthday plans?”
I want to push him, to make him tell me everything that’s going on with him, but we’re still healing. Maybe we’re not ready to tackle
everything
quite yet. “Um . . . well, you know Alessandro?”
“Alessandro?”
“The almost-priest I’ve been doing all that work at the museum with?”
“Oh, yeah.”
“He’s cooking for me tonight. He should be here in about an hour.”
“A cooking priest, huh?”
I hear the smile in his voice. “First, he’s not a priest yet, and second, he’s pretty damn amazing in the kitchen.”
“Yeah, well, just make sure he’s not expecting you for dessert.”
“Jesus, Trent! He’s a priest!”
“Not yet,” he says, laughing.
I roll my eyes right out loud.
“Seriously, though. It sounds like you guys are pretty close.”
“We are.” I think of all the things I’ve told him—things I never would have dreamed I could tell anyone other than Trent. “He’s a really good listener.”
There’s a long pause, and I can almost hear Trent wondering if I’ve talked to Alessandro about him. “Good,” he finally says. “I’m really glad you’ve had someone to talk to.”
“Yeah. He’s amazing. I really feel like I’ve gotten to know Rome because of him.”
“That’s great, Lex,” he says, and there’s something resigned in his voice.
In the silence of the pause, I can hear him breathing. I close my eyes and imagine the warmth of his breath in my hair.
“Well,” he says after a minute, “I just wanted to wish you a happy birthday and tell you I miss you, so . . .”
“Thanks.”
“I love you,” he says in a voice that makes something deep in my chest twists a little.
I close my eyes again and breathe. “Talk soon.”
“Talk soon,” he repeats, then the line goes dead.
I hold the phone to my ear a minute longer, hearing those words over and over. “I love you too,” I whisper before lowering it.
I fan myself, then move around the apartment, opening all the windows. The cool air from outside makes it feel less sauna in here, but it’s still warm.
I head to the shower and decide to shave again, but the whole time I’m getting ready for my “date” with Alessandro, I can’t stop thinking about Trent. When I come out of the bathroom, I look through my armoire and slip the black silk tank Sam picked out for me off the hanger. It’s my birthday, and I feel like dressing up. Alessandro always looks so put together. No reason for me to always be a slob.
I strap on my black lace bra and the matching thong, and slide the tank over my head. Sam’s right, the beads do draw attention to my boobs, and I think for a second about changing. I rifle through the hangers for the black skirt we bought to go with the top and shimmy it up my silky legs. Midthigh, so not indecent, but will he think I’m sending him signals? Am I sending him signals?
I look at myself in the mirror, and my cheeks are flushed.
Jesus
it’s hot in here. I fan my face as I move to my bedroom window to open it wider, and there’s Horny Boy, on the street in front of my apartment. He must live on this street or something.
He looks up and sees me and his hand moves to the zipper of his jeans. “Vieni a letto con me, dolcezza.”
“No!” I say, holding up my hand.
A grin spreads across his face as he inches the zipper down.
I run to my nightstand and pull out Sam’s box of condoms, then sprint to the bathroom. I rip one open and fill it with water, then tie the end and run back to my window.
He’s got his junk out, and he’s just starting to aim for my doorway.
“No!” I say again, and throw my water balloon.
He jumps back and laughs as it explodes at his feet.
“Conosco un modo migliore per usarlo,” he says, grinning up at me.
I run to the bathroom and fill two more, bringing them back with me. I throw them, and they explode on the pavement nowhere near him. I’ve got horrible aim.
He gives himself a stroke and smiles up at me. “Vuoi assaggiare?”
But then a man steps between us. He puts his hand on the boy’s shoulder and says something to him low enough I can’t hear it. The boy puts his junk away and scurries back into the bar. When the man turns and smiles up at me, I’m relieved to see Alessandro’s face. He arches an eyebrow. “Pest problems?”
“Yeah, thanks! I’ll be right down!”
When I throw open the door at the bottom of the stairs, Alessandro is standing there with two grocery bags. He smiles, and it strikes me that there’s something different about him. I can’t put my finger on it, exactly, except to say there’s a little bit of swagger to him that I’ve never noticed before. “Your personal chef has arrived.” His eyes drift over me. “You look lovely.”
I’m barefoot, in a short skirt and a tank top in the middle of winter. “Thanks, but not quite season appropriate,” I say with a shiver. “The heat won’t turn off in my apartment, so it’s hot up there. The landlord isn’t picking up.”
Horny Boy staggers out of the bar door just a few feet away. It seems to take his eyes a second to focus, but when they zero in on Alessandro, he grins. “Perdonami Padre, perchè ho peccato.” He cackles and staggers back into the bar.
Alessandro clears his throat and looks back at me. “Can I come in? Maybe I could take a look.”
“Yeah,” I say, standing aside. “Sorry about that.”
We move up the stairs into my apartment, and he heads directly to the kitchen and sets his bags down. “It
is
warm in here. Where is your thermostat?”
“In my bedroom,” I say, pointing back past the front door and the dining-room table.
He hesitates for just an instant, but then peels off his jacket and hangs it on the back of a dining-room chair on his way to my room. I follow him through the door.
“Here,” I say, pointing to the wall next to my bed. I watch his eyes briefly scan the room, catching on the bed for just an instant, before landing on the box of condoms on the nightstand.
Shit.
I feel my cheeks flame as I sweep them into the drawer and shut it, and I can’t look at him. “The, um . . .” throat clear, “. . . the stupid wheel is stuck. I can’t turn it down.”
He moves to the wall and pulls the cover off. “This is old,” he says, looking it over. “Sometimes the mechanism just gives out.” He fiddles with the wheel, but can’t get it to move. “Hmm . . .” he says, looking around the room again. Finally, he lifts a foot and bends to slide off his shoe.
“What are you doing?” I ask, something in my stomach kicking at the thought that he’s undressing.
“When all else fails . . .” he says, then bangs the heel of his shoe into the thermostat twice.
I step back, and my eyes widen. “
I
could have done
that.
”