by Rowan Shaw
An emotion flashed through Enzo's dark brown eyes. "How?"
"I learned French Sign Language after you left."
Enzo gazed at me for a while, then rubbed the back of his neck as he gave Patrick a short, pointed look.
"Okay, I get it." Patrick cut one last threatening glance into me, sizing me up before he turned on his heels and left without a word, not going far. He remained at the bar, close enough that he could spy on us or interfere if Enzo needed help.
"Are you and Patrick dating?" I signed and cursed myself silently. Out of everything I could ask, why did I have to inquire about that?
"No, he's just a friend," Enzo signed back. "He's a bit of a mother hen. Sorry about his grouchiness. He makes it his job to coddle me. Well, he's like that with all his friends, really. And no, we've never had sex."
I stifled a smile. "You get that question a lot, huh?" I was glad it wasn't just me assuming they were lovers.
"Well, we're both gay, right? So obviously we must be copulating."
I let out a soft chuckle, and my body began to relax. When Enzo smiled, something inside me pinched hard.
"How have you been?" I asked.
"Been all right."
"Look, about what happened. I am so, so—"
Enzo stopped me with one raised finger. The gesture was so familiar, it took me down Memory Lane fast. "I don't want to talk about that. Not tonight."
I nodded and took a sip of my beer. "Do you want anything to drink?"
He shook his head. "I'm on driving duty."
I cast a quick glance at Patrick, who was joking around with the bartender. Everyone else around us was busy talking over the loud music, flirting, or making out.
"What have you been up to?" I signed.
Enzo shrugged and didn't reply. There was something sad about him that tore through my guts. I wondered how hard his life had been after the accident, or if there was anything I could have done to help. Guilt pooled in my chest as it did every time I thought about him.
"You dating anyone?" I wanted to slam my head against the counter for asking that.
"No. You?"
I looked to the side when my throat constricted, making it hard to breathe. I hated how I still couldn't get over Marlène and this damn pain inside my chest. "Nope."
Enzo's smile widened, reaching his beautiful dark eyes. His brown hair was longer than I remembered, fuller on top, falling over his forehead, but his face held the same gentle touch. He looked almost boyish, and he still had that timidity about him that I found so damn attractive.
"You want anything? I'll treat," I offered again. "I'm sure they have apricot juice."
Enzo's gaze never left mine. "You remembered?"
I nodded. I remembered way more than that. In fact, I remembered everything about him—from the things he liked to eat and drink, to the smell of his skin and the feel of his lips, to the taste of his cum hitting my tongue.
"I'll have the apricot juice, thanks," he signed.
"Always so polite."
When Enzo bit his lower lip and simpered, I cleared my throat. He was so damn gorgeous, I was fucked. Completely fucked!
Chapter 6
ENZO
"You gave him your phone number?" Patrick asked, crashing on my couch later that night.
"You're so curious. And please don't rip the fabric with your keys. Thanks."
He shifted around and pulled the chain to the front of his pants. "Aww, come on! Did you or did you not?" he signed, crossing his legs at the knees.
"Maybe."
His arched brow never fell. "You still haven't told me who he is."
I let myself drop into the armchair closer to the entrance and placed my feet on the wooden coffee table between us.
"Want me to open a window?" he asked, fanning himself with his hand.
Even this late, it was so warm, we could barely cool down. June had arrived quickly, bringing along its share of heat and thunderstorms. The building had no air conditioning, which promised a sweltering summer of suffocation.
"Not sure opening a window will help," I replied. "But go ahead."
Patrick headed to the panes to unlock them. Then he turned to me, a smirk on his face.
"What?"
"Your neighbors upstairs are going at it again."
"Are they loud?"
"Well, she sounds like a pig getting strangled, so he's either really good at it or he's plain terrible."
I let out a snort I couldn't hear while Patrick kept looking toward the ceiling before he came back to sit. I deemed myself lucky I didn't have to listen to that ruckus all night. Sleeping in complete silence was a real perk, especially with noisy neighbors like mine.
"So who was the blond guy at the club? He had eyes to die for—as blue as the Mediterranean sea. You missed your chance to get laid. He wouldn't stop ogling you. I bet he's a good fuck, too; he had that look about him. Confident enough to take control, but caring enough to actually excel at it."
I raked my mind for a reply. I refused to tell Patrick that Florian gave amazing blowjobs. I'd never hear the end of it, and he'd ask for all the details. Florian and I never went all the way, but at least I knew how skilled he was with his mouth.
"I didn't tell you who he is because I know you're gonna judge."
Patrick raised his hand to his chest in a feigned hurt movement.
"You know you would. You do that all the time."
"I do not."
"Yes, you do."
"The only one I ever judged from the start was Cyrille, and I was right about him. If you had listened to me, it would've spared you a whole lot of heartache."
He was right about that, but I wasn't about to acknowledge it. The last thing Patrick needed was for me to inflate his large ego.
My conversation with Florian at the bar had lasted for hours. He hadn't left his stool to dance at all, even when a couple of guys came up to flirt with him. He brushed them both off and stayed with me.
"Did you see the look on Cyrille's face when he spotted you with him, though?" Patrick let out a laugh that was silent to me, his Adam's apple dancing in his throat when he tilted his head back.
I had hoped my ex wouldn't show up at all, though. Florian and I were laughing so hard remembering our teenage years, Cyrille's presence was a slap back to reality. I was thankful he didn't talk to me.
"Honestly, I don't get that guy. He dumps you, then he can't stand seeing you with other men," Patrick signed.
"Man. Singular. It was just Florian."
"Well, I sure hope said man, singular and single, fucks your brains out soon 'cause you seriously need it."
I made a face at his crudeness. "Will you stop already?"
"What? You do," Patrick insisted. "I'm sick of your sulky face. I told you that so many times already. Speaking of said guy, who is he? You two seemed awfully cozy. You never mentioned him before."
I didn't want to answer. Patrick wouldn't take my words too well, and I wasn't sure how to deal with the downfall. The thing was, he had heard of Florian before. I had mentioned him a lot over the years. But I'd never said his name.
"Remember when I talked about the accident?" I signed.
"That was no accident, but sure, go on."
"Florian was the guy I was with."
Patrick's entire face closed off, his sharp green eyes narrowing into bullets bent upon murder. "Say that again!"
Chapter 7
FLORIAN
Squeezing the bridge of my nose, I lay down, groaning and ready for another terrible night. This damn leather couch was hard and uncomfortable as fuck. I couldn't wait to move into Amal's place tomorrow. I was grateful she'd agreed to let me crash there for as long as I needed to. Otherwise, I'd be royally screwed. My back hurt from sleeping on the sofa all week, and I was sick to my stomach any time I awoke to the huge framed portrait of Marlène semi-naked hanging from the wall above the TV.
I should have known she was a narcissist the day she insisted upon creat
ing an altar to her own ego right there in the middle of our living room. Her long, dark brown hair hardly hid the nipples on her huge tits in that photo. I used to hate how my friends would gawk at it any time I invited them over for a beer—the worst of them being Guy. Of course! I should have guessed right then that he'd try to fuck her.
I grumbled as I shifted my pillow around. Thankfully, Marlène made a point of staying in the bedroom. She went there to avoid me most of the time. I didn't know if she was still screwing Guy. I didn't care. He didn't have the balls to show up here again. That was all that mattered. He probably feared I'd break his teeth in. And with good reason. Even though I tried my best not to stoop so low, I couldn't swear I'd keep my cool if he brought his ass over here.
I also wasn't sure if running into Enzo was a good thing or a bad thing. I was surprised he wanted my number at all. It was like nothing had changed between us. I knew he was forgiving to a fault, but I never would have imagined he'd talk to me again.
It made me ache to discover how stunned he was that I'd learned French Sign Language. Of course I had. It was a form of self-flagellation, really. To learn something I would never use because I'd hurt my boyfriend so badly. Throughout college, those classes kept knifing me, reminding me I'd never get to see him again or even communicate with him using that language. I never thought I could be wrong about that.
Still thinking of him, I grabbed my phone and stared at it, wondering what he was up to. I was pathetic enough to feel relief when he left with Patrick earlier instead of taking some guy home to fuck. After all those years, I had no right to feel jealous, but the thought of him sleeping with someone else drove me nuts anyway. I tapped on my cell, pondering what to text him. I stared at it, dropped it in my lap, picked it up again, and stayed like that for a while, unable to make a decision.
Chapter 8
ENZO
When the screen of my phone flashed at me from the coffee table, I nearly bounced, hoping it was a message from Florian. I was too much of a coward to make the first move. It was all up to him. I didn't want to reopen those old wounds if he wasn't interested, even though I still missed him. Over the years, I couldn't stop wondering how things would have evolved between us if not for that fateful day.
"Going to pick that up?" Patrick asked from my couch, cocking a sassy eyebrow at me.
I braced myself and grabbed my cell, but when my eyes landed on the message, my heart sank.
Cyrille: It was nice seeing you tonight. You could have said hi, you know? Are you ready for the meeting on Monday?
"Right." I let out a sigh.
"What?" Patrick craned his neck to see the screen, but it was impossible for him to read the message from that distance.
"Nothing."
"Is it him?" he asked, pursing his lips.
He wasn't too happy about me seeing Florian again. He'd made that clear the moment I explained who Florian was. But he wasn't the boss of me. I would spend time with Florian if I damn well pleased. Patrick was the one who had pushed me to go to that club, after all. He was also the one who kept insisting I needed to move on with my life. He couldn't have it both ways.
When his green gaze zeroed in on my phone suspiciously, he moved too fast for me to react as he yanked my cell out of my hands. His eyes narrowed into threatening pistols the moment they caught on the text.
"Putain de merde! You've got to be kidding me."
Despite the fast movements of his lips, I had no problem interpreting the curse. The frown on his face deepened as he typed angrily. I stood to take the phone from him, but he turned his back to me, hiding the screen so I couldn't read the words over his shoulder. He only caved in and dropped the phone in my hands when he was done typing.
My eyes bulged when I saw his message to Cyrille.
Fuck you! And no, I'm not offering, so leave me alone, you lame-ass lay!
"Patrick!" What in the world?
My phone beeped.
Cyrille: Patrick, go screw yourself! Enzo would never say "fuck you." He's far too polite for that. And he doesn't act like some petulant drama queen.
I sighed in relief and swallowed down a chuckle. Patrick was a drama queen all right.
Me: I'm sorry. I don't know what got into him.
Cyrille: I guess nothing has changed. He managed to ruin our relationship, but I see he's still a priority in your life. Fine! I should have guessed when I saw his sorry ass hovering in your space at the bar.
I stared at the screen for a long time, waiting for more rage from Cyrille, but it seemed he was done drilling guilt into me.
"What did he say?" Patrick asked.
I clenched my jaw. "Gee, thanks for this! Next time, I'll grab your phone and start insulting your coworkers too. You'll see how that feels."
"He's not a coworker. He's an asshole who needs to fucking let go."
"You know what? I'm exhausted. How about you go back to your place and let me sleep?"
"I drank too much to drive."
"I'll call you a taxi."
Patrick creased his eyes at me the same way he did when he meant to dissect my brain through a psychological evaluation. "He blamed you again, didn't he? Show me the message."
"No." I wasn't sure how he knew, but I wasn't about to confirm his suspicions.
"Show me the message!" he signed angrily and came for my phone before I could hold it out of his reach. His sharp green eyes thundered as he read the words.
"A petulant drama queen? Fuck him! Connard! First, he cheats on you. Then, he breaks up with you. Then, he acts like a possessive douchebag as soon he sees you with another guy. And now, he's going to text you like you're his bitch on call. How dare he blame you when he's the one who left?"
His face was turning red as he kept signing furiously, "How long are you going to take that shit from him, Enzo? Really, I just don't know what to do with you anymore." He flicked his hand at me, shaking his head. "You know what? I'm outta here."
He seemed ready to storm out but turned to me when he reached the door. "Cyrille is a narcissistic asshole. He'll reel you in just so he can spit you back out. You deserve better. I've been telling you that for years, but I'm done repeating the same shit over and over again. Cut that jerk out of your life once and for all, or you might miss out on the one guy who could finally turn this whole story around."
With that, he slammed the door on his way out.
Chapter 9
FLORIAN
When I stepped out of the bathroom with nothing on but a towel around my waist, Marlène huffed from the couch. She ran her gaze all over me with what she probably thought looked like disdain though it actually felt like carnal hunger. Her eyes narrowed when they landed on my abs.
"You've been working out?" she asked, staring.
I peeked down at myself and pushed my dark-framed glasses up my nose. "Yes, I started months ago. You would've noticed if you'd looked at me instead of screwing my best friend."
She ignored my snark and glimpsed at my phone. "Who's Enzo? Your new sex toy?"
My heart skipped a beat.
Marlène glowered when I let myself drop onto the armchair. "If your towel's wet, I'd appreciate it if you didn't sit on my furniture."
I wanted to flip her off for pestering me, but I didn't bother dignifying her with a response. The seat was made of leather. Water wasn't going to ruin it.
When I didn't move, she groaned and took a sip of her dark coffee, then snatched a magazine from the side table and proceeded to read it—or pretended to. She was finally ignoring me; that was all I cared about. I couldn't wait to get out of this hell hole.
I glanced at the screen and smiled when I saw the name flashing at me.
Enzo: Do you still listen to Elmer Food Beat?
I bit my lower lip hard, but I couldn't stop the little laugh rolling out of my mouth. My amusement cost me another glare from Marlène, but I typed quickly, chuckling to myself.
Me: I never even liked Elmer Food Beat.
His resp
onse came fast.
Enzo: Liar.
Me: How is that a lie?
Okay, it was a total lie. I loved that band.
Enzo: I remember that day you sang their song at the top of your lungs in the middle of the cafeteria.
His message sparked guffaws I couldn't repress. That trick had cost me a trip to the principal's office and one month's detention. My parents hadn't found the joke funny at all. Apparently, I was the only one to appreciate a good salacious song every once in a while.
Me: That song is right though: condoms are wonderful.
Enzo: Right, but I don't think it was necessary to face expulsion just to pass that message along.
When I chuckled again, Marlène scowled and shifted in her seat.
Me: I'm always willing to take the fall for my brothers. I'll take all the detention in the world if it means they'll cover up for sex.
Enzo: I don't think you had to sing that other song about big boobs, though.
I let out a roar of laughter. Under her breath, Marlène grumbled some kind of insult that I ignored.
Me: Well, I won't deny boobs are nice too.
Enzo: I guess it's the straight part of you.
I furrowed my brow.
Me: The straight part of me? There is no part of me that's straight.
Enzo: Sure there is. The part that's not gay. The part of you that likes boobs. That part, you know? The part that loves Elmer Food Beat.
I chortled again. At that point, Marlène slammed her magazine on the table, but Enzo was too funny for her to ruin my good mood.
Me: I'm rolling my eyes at you so hard. Can you see me?
Enzo: I'm just saying... And yes, I can see you. You hit video by mistake. Nice abs, by the way.
My frown deepened. "Wait, what?" I stared at my phone, trying to figure out what I'd done wrong.
A few minutes later, Enzo sent another message.
Enzo: It was a joke... But since you're not answering, I'm assuming you either are naked or in your undies.
Me: Undies? Who says undies?
Enzo: I do.
A little smile poked at my lips. He was fucking adorable. Actually, I couldn't remember a time when Enzo wasn't too endearing for my own good.
