by Sarina Bowen
I managed to smile instead of swallowing my tongue. I’d been raised in a home where sex was just not talked about. It’s not like I’d ever made a conscious choice to be a prude. I just didn’t know how not to be one.
Bella stood. “Come on, then. You can tell me the rest of your sob story upstairs.”
“What?”
She beckoned. “I have furniture. And also glasses.” She hefted the champagne bottle and picked up my gift bag. “On your feet.” Then, without waiting to see what I’d do, she turned and walked up the stairs.
Four
Bella
For a second I wasn’t sure if he was going to follow me. But after a moment of hesitation, I heard Rafe trudging up the stairs behind me. That was good, because I really did not want to be alone tonight, brooding over all my uncertainties.
The staircase wound up into the eaves of the old building, growing narrow at the top. Up here there were just two rooms — mine and another single, its door ajar. Strains of classical music could be heard from a stereo within.
“Evening, Lianne,” I said in the direction of my neighbor’s door. “I have a friend over in case you wanted to join us.”
Silence.
I smiled to myself. I’d been deliberately vague about what it was Lianne might join us for. Generally I considered myself a nice person. But Lianne’s distaste for my personal life had rubbed me the wrong way since move-in day.
My neighbor didn’t approve of the frequency with which men turned up in my room. Her serious frown could often be seen through her open door as I passed by with one of the hockey players who sometimes shared my bed. Both our rooms opened onto a tiny, shared bathroom, and Lianne had once gotten an eyeful of a bare-assed guy in our shower. Her mouth had zipped into a straight, disapproving line.
Lianne thought I was a total slut.
For her part, Lianne seemed to live like a monk. Not only had I never seen her with a guy, she didn’t seem to have friends at all.
“Goodnight,” I called into the crack of her open door.
There was no response.
Whatevs.
Unlocking my door, I propped it open for Rafe. Then I dropped his shiny paper bag on my bed and fetched two dining hall glasses from my desk drawer. I poured the champagne slowly, tipping the glasses so that it wouldn’t fizz up. Into my glass, I only poured a little, since I’d had a couple of beers already. His I filled to the top.
Rafe followed me into the room a moment later, shutting the door behind him. What a hottie he was, with big dark eyes set into a handsome face. Rafe was a soccer player, and he totally had that soccer look. He wasn’t as bulky as the hockey players I usually hung around with, but he carried his muscular body in a way I found absolutely sexy.
Also? There was something to be said for guys who could run for two hours straight. Endurance was an excellent trait in a guy…
Rafe glanced around. “Your room is so cool. I love the slanting ceilings.”
“Mmm,” I said noncommittally. Those ceilings could dole out a vicious bump to the head — or to other body parts — if you weren’t careful.
I handed a glass to Rafe, and then sat down on the bed, my back to the wall. “Sit already,” I told him.
Rafe’s eyes darted around the room for a second, and I saw him doing the math. Aside from the bed, my desk chair was the only other option. And it had about seven books stacked onto its seat.
“Right here,” I told him, patting the space beside me. I needed this tonight — a chance encounter with an obviously lonely guy. A distraction.
A hook-up, if I played my cards right. And I always played them right.
“I don’t bite,” I assured him. “But I do want you to tell me why you’re all dressed up, carrying around a bottle of bubbly and…” I picked up the bag in my free hand and dumped it onto the bed. Two things slid out: a small box with a fancy ribbon around it and an unopened box of condoms. Uh-oh. “Huh. Looks like you had a big night planned. What happened?”
Sitting down beside me, Rafe groaned. “It’s too embarrassing to talk about.”
Aw. “I’m sorry. I’m quite familiar with humiliation, actually.”
He glanced up quickly, surprise on his face. “Challenge.”
“Seriously? My humiliations could arm-wrestle yours to the ground one-handed while singing Queen’s ‘We Will Rock You.’”
“No way.” Rafe’s sexy eyebrows lifted. “Of course, now I’m desperately curious.”
“What do I win if I’m right?” I had a few excellent ideas, of course.
He touched his glass to mine and took a sip. “I’m sharing my champagne either way.” He touched his glass to mine and took a sip. “Tell me your tale of woe.”
“You first,” I demanded, just to see what he’d do.
“Dios.” He rolled his shoulders and undid the top button of his dress shirt, exposing a V of bronzed skin. “You only get the short version. I was dating a girl since last spring. But she spent the summer at a program in South America.”
“Wait!” I grabbed the bottle off my desk to top up his glass. “I remember her. That snooty blonde? Alison with one L.”
His eyebrows shot up. “Yeah. That’s the one.”
“Go on.”
He sighed. “She’s back from the summer, right? I thought everything was good…”
I picked up the condoms off the bed. “They must have been good.”
Rafe dropped his gaze. “Tonight we were having a birthday celebration.”
“Whose?”
He lifted those espresso-colored eyes. “Both of ours, if you can believe it.”
“Get out of town! You two have the same birthday?” This story kept getting better and better. And I hadn’t even heard the punchline. “And happy birthday, Rafe.”
“Thanks. But before you decide that she and I were meant to be, let me get to the part where her boy toy from the overseas program abroad shows up tonight with flowers at the same time I walk in.”
Jesus. “Seriously? She’s two-timing you?”
He nodded, miserable. “He’s all, ‘Hi baby! Surprise!’ And I’m, like, ‘Who are you? I’m the boyfriend.’ And he says, not in so many words, that he’s the fuck buddy.”
“Oh, Rafe!” I grabbed his hand and squeezed. “You poor thing. What did you do?”
He just shook his head. “Got the hell out of there. Good riddance.”
“Well…” I hated to see my hook-up prospect go up in smoke. But it was a rule of mine never to hook up with someone who was already involved. And maybe all was not lost with Rafe and his little preppy queen. “Maybe she thought you weren’t supposed to be exclusive while she was away. Could it be a misunderstanding?”
Rafe’s expression darkened. “Not a chance. Things were very clear that we were waiting for each other. And she let me believe that she had.”
“What a bitch!” I said with a little too much glee.
“That’s exactly right. I mean… she knew exactly what it would mean to me. She knew. And the guy she cheated with…” He gave his head a violent shake. “She could have slapped me in the face and it wouldn’t have been any clearer.”
“Why? Who was he?”
“Never met him before. But some rich dude in a fancy suit. Your basic nightmare.”
I let out a hoot of laughter. “Rafe? Did you just quote When Harry Met Sally to me?”
His gaze slid into mine, and a slow smile began to overtake his face. “I might have. My mom really likes the chick flicks.”
Aw. “And a good son watches them with his mother once in a while, right? Just to be nice. Not because they’re funny as hell.”
His smile grew, and I felt more than a flutter. Because that smile? It was blindingly hot. “That’s right. Just doing my duty.” We just sat there, taking each other in for a minute longer. And I couldn’t help but fixate on his lips, which were a dark, rosy red. I wondered what they’d feel like sliding against mine.
That’s how it always was wit
h me. I loved men and their variety. The texture of their hair made me want to run my hands through it. Rafe’s hair was coal black and shiny. I imagined it would feel soft as it slid through my fingers. And that muscular chest was calling to me. Last week I’d seen him out jogging shirtless, and he had a set of abs that was tight enough to bounce quarters off of.
Just thinking about it now made me wonder about the scent of his skin and whether those abs would clench when I touched him.
I liked men, and I liked sex. A lot. I gave Rafe’s hand one more squeeze. “I’m sorry your girl was cheating.”
“I am such an idiota.”
“Betrayal always makes you feel like that.” And I should know.
“This just pushes so many buttons for me, though. My mom, for one, will not be surprised.”
“She didn’t like Alison?”
Rafe grimaced. “They never met. But Alison comes from money. She was this fancy California girl, you know? I always thought it didn’t matter to her, though. We hit it off right away last year. We had fun together. But she’s sleeping with Mr. Rolex.”
“And you,” I pointed out. It seemed possible that Rafe was taking this whole social divide thing a little too far.
Rafe looked down at his hands. “Not today,” he mumbled. “Though I guess it’s better to find out first, I guess.”
“Not hardly!” I yelped. “If you’re going to have your heart broken, at least you could get sweaty first. Instead, you get betrayal with a side order of sexual frustration.”
He sipped his wine, a stoic expression on his face. “Nobody ever died from sexual frustration.”
I was pretty sure I’d come close a few times, but I kept that to myself. “There must be some way you could get revenge,” I teased him. “Let’s steal her phone, and break up with her fuck buddy via text message.
He chuckled. “You are evil.”
“Only when it’s deserved. And revenge is very cathartic.” I mimed someone texting on a phone. “Sorry Mr. Rolex, but you’re just not that good in bed. I’ll call you if I’m feeling desperate.”
Rafe shook his head. “At least I can return the earrings.” He tossed the little jewelry box back into the gift bag. “Couldn’t really afford them. But I wanted to get her something nice. I thought we were going to be together for a long time.”
“And that is why I do not do relationships.” Because some nice person like you comes around to remind me why it’s a bad idea.
Rafe cocked his head to the side. “How’s that working for you? I think it’s your turn to tell me an embarrassing story. Because I’m pretty sure I’m winning this bet.”
“Not hardly.” The truth was that my humiliation could dance the cha-cha around his. But I’d already decided to keep the worst of it to myself. Instead, I was going to tell my second most humiliating tale.
“You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to. But I’d never repeat it.”
He wouldn’t, either. Rafe had one of the more trustworthy faces I’d ever come across. There was something serious in his expression that I didn’t often find in men our age.
With a fortifying gulp of champagne, I told him about the ugly morning I’d had last January. “I have a friend, but he and I used to be friends with benefits. We’d stopped fooling around a year earlier, though. His decision. And he never really said why…”
I got lost there for a second, picturing myself in Graham’s room, removing his clothes. We were usually drunk and giddy. Getting Graham’s jeans off his body when he was wasted wasn’t easy. But I was happy to do it. Graham only liked to have sex when he was trashed. That should have been a clue. Maybe there were other clues, too. But I never saw them. I’d always had a blind spot when it came to Graham.
Rafe was waiting patiently for my story to continue. I’d never talked about this. Not with anyone. But there was something steady in his expression that made it possible for me to go on. “I was hung up on him,” I admitted. I’d never said that out loud before, either. And it wasn’t easy. College was too early, in my opinion, to get all swoony over a guy. That never worked out.
But still, I’d hoped.
“Even though we weren’t fooling around anymore, I always thought that some day we’d get together and stay that way. Because he understood me in a way most people don’t. We were such close friends, too. We told each other everything. At least that’s what I thought.”
I had to swallow hard then.
“You really don’t have to tell me,” Rafe said gently.
Christ. I obviously wasn’t as good at putting a brave face on things as I imagined. I cleared my throat. “I walked in on him hooking up with somebody else.”
“That sucks,” Rafe said softly.
I held up a hand. “That’s not the point. I never thought he was celibate after we stopped fucking. The problem was that I walked in on him with a man.”
Rafe’s eyebrows shot up. “Oh. That’s not where I thought this story was going.”
“Me neither.” I gave a nervous laugh.
“Maybe it was just a one-time thing. Or maybe he’s bi.”
I shook my head. “It wasn’t. And he isn’t. He has a serious boyfriend now. They’re ridiculously happy together. And when I saw them that morning…” I broke off, because it was impossible to express. I just knew. All of a sudden, I understood what I hadn’t wanted to see before. For all the sloppy, drunk sex we’d had, it had never meant a thing to him.
That awful day last winter, it was stone sober wake-up-next-to-the-one-you-love-and-grab-each-other sex that I’d walked in on. And when I saw Graham kissing Rikker, there was more passion and tenderness on his face than I had ever seen there before.
People could say what they wanted about all the recreational sex I’d had. But I knew what love looked like. I’d probably stood there thirty seconds longer than necessary that morning, just trying to process my own disappointment.
I let out a big sigh. “I never made him as happy as he is now. Not even close.”
“That sucks, Bella.”
“It really did. But it was the lying that killed me. I thought we told each other everything,” I said, hating how pathetic it sounded. It’s hard to admit you’re just in someone’s periphery when you imagined you were closer to the center of their world.
“He should have leveled with you. But maybe he was afraid.”
But not of me, I argued to myself. I liked to think of myself as bulletproof. Things that bothered other girls (like being called a slut behind my back) didn’t bother me so much. Graham’s heartbreak hadn’t been so easy to brush away. He had never belonged to me. But it had been a shock to know he never would.
Also, I considered myself an excellent judge of character. But twice now I’d fallen in love with people who were incapable of loving me back.
Since then, I’d stuck to sex and kept my unreliable heart out of it.
Unzipping my hockey jacket, I shrugged it off. “To add insult to injury,” I added, “I was in such a hurry to get out of there that I caught my jacket on the door handle.” I showed Rafe the pocket. “And it tore. I still need to get it fixed.”
Rafe took the jacket out of my hands and inspected the rip. “This isn’t so bad. It just needs a few stitches. You should do it, though, before the edges get too frayed.”
“True. I’ll take it to that dry cleaner’s on Chapel Street tomorrow.”
“And let them charge you twenty bucks for a half-inch repair?” Rafe looked appalled. “Don’t you have a sewing kit?”
I did, as a matter of fact. “Sewing on buttons is the most I can manage.”
Rafe gave me an eye-roll, which most men can’t really pull off. On his chiseled face it looked sexy. “Whip it out, then. I’ll mend it.”
“Seriously?” I slid off the bed and went over to my desk. In the very back of the drawer, behind the highlighters that I never seemed to use, I found my tiny sewing kit. “I bought this on the street corner in Chinatown just because I liked the l
ittle silk pouch. Not because I know how to sew.”
He took it from my hand. “Where are you from?”
“New York City.”
Rafe raised his eyes. “Me too. What part?”
“Guess.”
He chuckled because I’d put him on the spot. New Yorkers were very opinionated about their neighborhoods. “Well, you don’t dress prissy enough for me to guess the Upper East Side.” He measured me with his eyes. “So… I’m going to go with the West ’70s. How did I do?”
I gave him my biggest smile. “You’re half right. Because I went to school on the West Side. But I grew up in a townhouse on East 78th and Madison.”
“Wow.” His smile was wan. “But where are your pearls?”
“Very funny.”
“Your turn,” he said, fiddling with the sewing stuff. “Where am I from?”
“Staten Island,” I teased him.
“What?”
Now we were both laughing, because I’d just named the least fashionable corner of the five boroughs. And I was glad I had, because it meant I got to see even more of Rafe’s hot smile.
“Just kidding, okay? How about Red Hook? That’s my guess.”
“You are not even close.” He picked up a needle. “I’m from Washington Heights. My family runs a Dominican restaurant.” He looked at the needle in his hand. “These are pre-threaded. That’s handy.”
“How is it that you know how to sew?”
Rafe shrugged. “My mother made me learn the basics when I was a little kid.”
“Show me,” I demanded.
His long fingers held up a needle with black thread dangling from it.
“Is that going to look okay against the gray?” I asked.
“Sure is,” he said. He wrapped the free end of the thread around the tip of a finger, then rolled it against his thumb, revealing a knot on the end. He slid the jacket onto his lap, dipping the needle’s tip into the pocket and anchoring the thread. “Okay, see that?”
I peered into the pocket. He’d tucked the knot into the crease where it was almost invisible. “Yeah?”
“If you make the stitches shallow, they won’t even show on top.”
