by Doyle, S.
I thought of the editor, Andrea. That had happened in the past few weeks, but New York editors had been reaching out to me for the past year regarding a book deal. Andrea just happened to be the editor who convinced me. Right person, right offer, right time in my life.
Then there was Leigh. That was also pretty new, but considering she was on the other side of the country in New Mexico, it was unlikely she was involved in whatever this was.
“I couldn’t help but notice you were leaving a travel agency earlier today.”
I lifted my shoulder. “I’m a travel blogger. I’m booking my next trip for what’s going to be a book deal. Is there a problem with that?”
I said it like it was the most normal thing in the world for me to be taking off to Europe. Like I hadn’t just paid a hundred and fifty bucks for an expedited passport.
He sighed. “No. No problem. Thank you for your time, Miss Ryan.”
“That’s it? You’re not going to tell me what this is all about?”
“Sorry, anything you don’t know is…classified.”
“There’s a reason why they call you guys spooks, you know that?” I said as I gathered my bag and took my coffee. Why not, right? Free coffee.
“Actually, that’s the CIA. We’re the G-men.”
“Whatever,” I said, rolling my eyes. “I can expect you’re done following me?”
He nodded once.
I left the coffee shop and spent some time wandering the streets of Philadelphia just to prove that it was true. My shadow was gone, and so was that creepy feeling that had been following me around for weeks.
How totally insane was that? A father I never knew was in trouble with the FBI over some national security issue. No surprise the guy was a bad dude. He’d fucked my mom without a condom at some point, and never thought to ask her if there were any consequences.
Loser.
It took a while, but by the time I was back home, I’d managed to put the whole thing behind me and focus on what was really important about today.
I had taken a pretty big step out of my comfort zone. And there was someone I totally wanted to share that news with.
* * *
ME: So I did it. I took the deal. I’m officially going to write a travel book and I already booked my trip.
LEIGH: Holy shit! That’s awesome. I know this is going to sound weird but I’m really proud of you. I know this is a big deal for you
ME: Thanks. You were the first person I wanted to tell, actually.
LEIGH: Ahh. That’s because you’ve accepted the fact I am your friend. I know this because we’re now sharing details about our sex lives.
ME: YOU didn’t share. I shared. Big difference.
LEIGH: Well I’ve got nothing to share right now…so sad for me.
ME: Why not? Are you ugly? Scars? Warts?
LEIGH: No BITCH! The truth is, I kind of have a crazy job and it really doesn’t allow for things like relationships. Barely even one-night stands, although those have gotten kind of old.
ME: What kind of work do you do? I don’t think you’ve ever told me.
LEIGH: It’s one of those jobs that is hard to describe so I just tell people I’m in marketing. Lately though it’s been getting to me. The pressure. The constant stress. There is never any down time. I’ve started to lose the thread of who I am.
ME: That sucks. Have you considered something else?
LEIGH: Not really. It’s not one of those jobs that’s easy to walk away from. But I’m thinking if I’m ever going to settle down, I might have to before I’m simply incapable of making a connection to someone real.
ME: Okay, you’re thinking about settling down. That makes me think there might be someone out there you are interested in.
LEIGH: There’s a girl. A woman. Maybe. But again, I just don’t see how I could make it work with my job. And I’m afraid I’ve forgotten what being in a relationship even means.
ME: OH SHIT! I hope you didn’t take offense when I said I wasn’t gay!
LEIGH: Chill out! No, I didn’t take offense. I just took it as you explaining you’re not gay. That’s what’s so great about being alive today. No one cares about stuff like that… well, almost no one I know. You like dicks, I’m into girls, and we’re bestie internet friends.
ME: Cool. Well, you convinced me I was crazy not to take a chance on the book so I’m telling you—screw the job and go after the girl. You’ll figure it out.
LEIGH: I’m thinking about it. Where are you going to go first?
ME: I fly into Rome, but the plan is to train it up to Venice, then down to Florence, back to Rome. Then Paris. I wanted to save Paris for last.
LEIGH: Because it’s your favorite place.
ME: How did you know that?
LEIGH: It’s the way you write about it. When you talk about Paris it feels like you’re talking about somewhere you truly love. It’s in your voice. Your writing voice.
Was it? No, it wasn’t possible. I couldn’t love a place I’d never been to. She was just guessing.
My computer dinged again, breaking me out of my thoughts.
LEIGH: Anyway, it sounds amazing.
ME: Yeah, I’m excited. I had this crazy thing happen today so it’s nice to just focus on this trip. I thought… I don’t know, I thought I would be more afraid, but right now I just want to go
LEIGH: What was the crazy thing that happened?
ME: Some FBI agent followed me, then questioned me about a father I don’t even know. It was beyond bizarre. I just want to forget about it. Venice here I come!
LEIGH: Have fun and don’t forget lots of selfies!
* * *
Liam aka Leigh
I shut down the computer and considered what I’d learned. I picked up my burner cell from the hotel room desk and dialed.
“Have you made contact with the target?” the man on the other side of the phone answered without any prelude.
“Yes. I’ve made contact,” I said. “So has the FBI.”
“Shit, those fuckers. I suppose we should have guessed they would approach her. What did you learn?”
I got up and looked into the mirror situated above the desk in the hotel room across the street from the Northern Liberties Plaza Grande condo complex.
My jaw was scruffy, scratchy. I need a haircut and a shave, in that order. Because it looked like I was going to be meeting the well renowned travel blogger Beth Ryan in the very near future.
I tried to tell myself I wasn’t excited by the idea. I was an excellent liar after all.
“You need to book me a ticket to Rome.”
3
Two Weeks Later
Venice
Beth
It was surreal. I’d gone from a near-recluse to here.
HERE! Venice.
I was sitting at the hotel bar, looking out across the lagoon at Venice and all its beauty just waiting for me to explore tomorrow. And I’m pretty sure the guy who, I fucking kid you not, looked like Charlie Hunnam, was checking me out.
Blond, built, a little scruff on his chin. He didn’t look Italian, but not many people in Venice did. It was a total tourist destination. He was definitely out of my league. Way outside of my comfort zone. But most likely the best revenge fuck I could have to get over Jared.
Flirting with this guy was probably heading directly into danger. For the first time in a long time I was willing to plunge forward.
Can you get some pictures with some hot guys? Your blog is the Lover’s Guide to Travel. How awesome would it be if people could see you falling in love?
I’d snorted when Andrea gave me that piece of advice. The Lover angle was just the hook I’d used when I’d started writing. A fantasy. An escape from my own shitty life at the time.
This guy definitely looked like a fantasy.
I considered how I might look to him. Dark black hair that fell straight to my chin, bangs which I thought made me look edgy. I’d gone all out for this trip since the point was to have
pictures. No yoga pants or T-shirts; instead, I wore a sleek, short, black dress with a pair of funky, red, platform shoes I’d seen in a second-hand store in Philly and thought looked cool.
It was sort of another thing I’d lost being homeless. When you’re trying to survive, you don’t think about fashion choices or what looks good on you. You think about what’s going to keep you warm.
Tucked inside my condo, I didn’t have to worry about how I looked, either. Who would care? I didn’t even think Jared would care, but apparently, he did.
My nose ring was my only message to the world about who I was. It’s why, during all that time with Jared, I hadn’t wanted to take it out. It wasn’t the best message. I’d gotten it before leaving my mom’s apartment out of spite because she thought nose rings were disgusting.
So, my single fashion choice was really a fuck you to my mom. Before coming to Italy, I’d thought about taking it out for good, but it felt wrong. However, instead of hiding it like I had done with Jared for two years, maybe it was time to decide what I liked. So, I’d replaced the half circle with a full circle. Now it was out and present all the time.
I was thin, a hangover from months of surviving on not much food. The habit of snacking instead of eating full meals kind of stuck. So it meant I had a relatively flat chest and ass, but there were guys out there who liked the waifish look.
That was pretty much my vibe. Badass waif. Don’t mess with me…or do mess with me.
I popped another peanut from the dish in front of me and casually leaned over the bar to pick up my martini glass, ever so slightly checking to see if he was still looking at me.
Except someone stepped in between me and Charlie Hunnam, and now he was all I could see.
“Hi. You’re an American.”
I looked up at the tall guy in front of me. He was lanky with ears I noticed, which meant they were probably too big for his head. Dark-framed, rectangle glasses filled up his narrow face.
Somewhere around thirtyish. He was wearing a Dodgers baseball cap, which basically announced his American citizenship. That and the white sneakers he was sporting with his jeans and black T-shirt.
“Sorry to bother you, it’s just nice to run into one of my own. I overheard you ordering your drink a few minutes ago. Debated whether I should come over. Then I said, fuck it. I’m Ted.”
He reached out with his hand. If he hadn’t looked so damn eager, I might have told him to go pound sand. Instead, I took it. His grip was surprisingly firm.
“I’m Beth.”
“Cool. Can I sit down?”
Ugh. This guy was not going to help me break my habits. He wasn’t going to make me plunge into danger. In fact, the opposite; he reeked of safety. His entire vibe screamed, no drama here. Just a totally normal dude. Someone I would have considered good boyfriend material.
But that’s exactly what I didn’t want. I didn’t want to find someone I thought I needed. I wanted to find someone I wanted.
So I could figure out who I really was.
What I wanted was to talk to the Charlie Hunman lookalike with the mysterious eyes. Mr. Dangerous, who was wearing slacks and a button-down shirt with gold cufflinks, not jeans and a T-shirt. Who shouted sophistication with a dash of intrigue. Who was probably really good in bed, too.
Not a nice guy. A nice guy was what I’d left behind. Or rather, left me behind.
Still, I didn’t have it in me to be intentionally rude.
“Sure,” I said, and added, “It’s an open bar. You can sit anywhere you want.”
“Yeah, but you know how it is. Sit too close to a girl and she’s not okay with it, and suddenly it’s all you’re-harassing-me and shit.”
The bartender approached him, and he put his empty beer bottle on the table. At least it wasn’t a Bud, but something local. “I’ll have another, and I’ll get her next one on me.”
“Presumptuous,” I said. “What if I only wanted one drink?”
“Can’t fly on one wing.”
“What?”
He laughed. “It’s something my grandmother always used to say. Can’t fly on one wing, dearie. She used to call all her grandchildren dearie when she couldn’t remember our names. It means you’re wasting your time with only one drink. Although now that I think about it, maybe that’s why she couldn’t remember any of our names.”
I laughed in spite of myself.
I wasn’t supposed to be entertained by this guy, not if I still had a shot with Mr. Dangerous. Ted felt like my comfort zone and I wanted out. I needed out if I was going to break free of the prison I’d created for myself.
Just as I had the thought, Mr. Dangerous got up and started to leave the bar.
I couldn’t stop watching him as he walked away. Then, just as he made it to the end of the room that led to the hotel elevators, he gave me a smile, a wink and a two-finger salute.
Fuck! He had been watching me.
“Seriously? That guy?”
I turned my attention back to Ted. Ted, who had probably cost me my one and only chance with Mr. Dangerous.
“What?” I asked.
“Looks like a douchebag to me, but hey, whatever rocks your boat.”
“Yeah,” I snarled. “Well, he might have been rocking my boat if you hadn’t gotten in the way.”
Ted shrugged. “Sorry about that. It’s not like I even wanted to flirt with you. I just heard the American accent and got a little homesick.”
“So, you buying me a drink is not flirting with me,” I said, feeling somehow offended. Which made no sense because I didn’t want Ted to be flirting with me. I wanted that to be Mr. Dangerous.
“Nope. You’re not really my type. I like a little more…” Then he cupped his palms under his chest.
I punched him then. Hard on the arm.
“Ow! That actually hurt.”
“It was supposed to hurt, you jackass. You don’t walk up to strange women and tell them they’re too flat-chested for you.”
He actually looked sheepish. “You’re right. I apologize. Just because you’re an American and I’m an American and we’re in this foreign country doesn’t automatically make us friends. It just kind of feels like it, doesn’t it?”
“My friends don’t insult me.” Or at least if I had any I’m sure they wouldn’t.
“I wasn’t trying to insult you, I promise. I was just trying to explain in a very, very bad way that I’m not trying to hook up with you. I’m just looking for someone to hang out with. I did this trip on my own, and while it’s been cool, I can see how having someone to do stuff with would be more fun. You looked like you were on your own, too.”
“I am.”
“What do you say we do the tourist thing together? What are your plans?”
“My plan was too hook up with the superhot guy at the end of the bar,” I said snootily.
“Well, how do you know he won’t be right back here tomorrow night?”
There was that. A woman could hope. Plus, now that I knew he was interested, we wouldn’t have to waste so much time playing the I’m looking at you but I’m not looking at you game.
“He could be,” I conceded.
The bartender dropped our drinks in front of us and Ted paid. At least there was some satisfaction in that. These martinis were, like, twenty euros a pop. He’d ruined my chance at breaking free of my self-imposed prison and for that, he had to fork over the cash.
“Let’s forget The Douchebag.”
“You mean the superhot guy? I’m calling him Mr. Dangerous.”
His lips twitched and he took a sip of his beer. “You know I could be offended now, too. The way you refer to him as superhot sort of implies I’m not.”
He wasn’t. He was a super normal looking guy. But unlike him, I wasn’t about to suggest he wasn’t my type. That might hurt his feelings.
I said nothing and popped a vodka-soaked olive into my mouth instead.
“So, you want to do it?” he asked me.
I raised m
y eyebrows.
“Check out Venice together. Geesh, are you that hard up that everything has innuendo?”
I was a little hard up, but I wasn’t going to tell him that. It wasn’t like I thought sex with some random dude might change my opinion of sex. It just seemed like a way to push myself out of my comfort zone.
Lights on sex. Not Jared sex. Mr. Dangerous sex.
I considered his proposition. I’d landed in Rome yesterday and had trained it up to Venice today. I didn’t have a plan other than to walk around Venice taking a bunch of selfies.
Did I want to do all that with Ted? Part of the whole breaking out of my prison thing was also about making new friends. I needed to learn how to trust people again in general. Connect with someone even if it wasn’t romantic.
Spending a day with Ted, with no romantic strings attached, could be another positive move in the right direction.
“What if we don’t like each other?” I asked him.
“Then we walk away from each other. But it’s not possible. I’m a totally likeable guy. Just ask my friends.”
“You have a lot of them?” I asked, curious.
“I don’t know, what’s a lot? I’ve got my work friends, my hometown friends, my college friends. I would say it’s a pretty normal amount of buddies.”
“Do you have any girl friends? I don’t mean a girlfriend…”
“Yeah, I know what you mean. I suppose I can’t count my buddies’ wives.”
I shook my head. “No, it can’t be through an association. She has to be your legit friend that you met directly.”
He scratched his chin and finally admitted, “Then no. I guess I don’t. You could be my first.”
I took a sip and considered it. “I guess I could pop your female friend cherry.”
“Again with the innuendo,” he laughed. “It’s a good thing I’m not into you or I might have recognized how badly you needed to be banged and tried to talk you into a one-night stand. Then I would have to bail the next morning so things wouldn’t be awkward. Then we wouldn’t be able to hang out in Venice tomorrow.”
I smiled. “Yeah, I guess it’s a good thing. Okay, what time tomorrow?”
