“Not at all,” I say, completely charmed. “Why don’t you do it?” I take another bite of salad and wait pointedly for his answer.
“I’ve tried,” he confesses. “It’s not that easy. I applied twice to the FDNY and was turned down both times. Once because I wasn’t qualified, and the other because they were full up. I’m out of time. They don’t hire anyone over twenty-nine.”
“Aren’t you only twenty-six?” I ask.
He shrugs. “I’ll be twenty-seven in September. But first I have to get the invite to take the exam. Then I have to go through academy...if they even reopen their hiring to begin with. I’d be twenty-seven, almost twenty-eight by the time I could even start. Time’s pretty much up.”
Nico signals to the waiter for another bottle of wine, stopping any more questions I have. Well, I did sign up to drink, didn’t I?
“You know,” he says. “I’ve thought about becoming a cop, because I hear sometimes that can help you get into the academy, too, but I don’t know. I don’t really like cops.”
I snort. “Who does?”
He grins. “You get pulled over a lot, NYU?”
I say nothing, just purse my lips. He’s got me there. He’s nice enough, though, to let that line of conversation die.
“So, my turn for twenty questions. What’re you studying in college? What do you want to be when you grow up? Tell me all about Layla.”
Something about the way he rolls the syllables of my name over his tongue sends ripples all over my skin, the kind that make me want to throw myself across the table to see what else that tongue can do. I cringe a bit at the backhanded reference to my age, but maybe he’s just kidding. I hope.
“Well,” I say as I stab another piece of lettuce. “I’m kind of figuring that out. I’m supposed to go to law school.”
“Supposed to?”
I shrug. “It’s the only way I could convince my dad to let me come to NYU instead of staying home and going to UW.”
“So, what are you, pre-law?”
I shake my head. “NYU doesn’t have a pre-law program, so I can pretty much choose anything. I’m still figuring out my major.”
Nico cocks his head to the side. “Don’t you have to do that soon? Before your junior year or something like that?” When he catches my surprised look, one black brow arches. “Hey, I put in a couple of years. I remember a little bit about it.”
I finish chewing my lettuce and sigh. “It’s a sore subject.”
“Well, what classes have you enjoyed the most?”
“That’s the problem,” I say after a big gulp of wine. “I sort of like everything. I’m taking a literature class right now, and that’s great. Biology was fascinating. This religious studies seminar I took last semester blew my mind.” I look up. “Did you know that in one version of the Gospel, the direct translation of Christ’s death actually says he was hanged, not crucified?”
Nico blinks. “I did not know that.”
I shrug and go back to forking my limp lettuce. “Anyway. Yeah. I guess I’m having a hard time deciding exactly what I want to study. But I have to declare soon. This is my last semester of prerequisites. I have to start my major classes next year.”
Nico watches sympathetically. “I get it. It’s hard having that kind of decision forced on you, especially when there are so many amazing things in the world to see, and too much shit to figure out about yourself, right?”
I blink away the sudden tears that are welling up. Somehow, this conversation ended up touching on a bunch of nerves. I’ve known this guy for all of a couple of weeks. How does he know the questions that are brewing inside me––questions I haven’t even been able to put into words yet?
“Hey.”
Nico puts his fork down and reaches over to touch my hand. There it is again––that strange tingle that happens when we touch. I shiver, despite the fact that inside the restaurant, it’s actually pretty warm.
“Layla?”
I look up, blinking away the wet sheen clouding my vision. When it clears, I just see Nico. Instantly, I feel better.
“You’ll be all right,” he says as he squeezes my hand. “You’re smart, sweet, and you obviously did something right to end up where you are. You’ll figure it out in the end.”
The confident, kind look in his eyes just about breaks me. “Thanks,” I say as I take back my hand and swipe under my eyes before I actually do cry and trash my eye makeup. “Sorry. I didn’t mean for things to get so heavy.”
Nico takes another bite of steak and grins. “I’ll take heavy over bullshit any day of the week, baby. I like real.”
I finish my salad and set the plate aside, picking up my wine and taking a long drink to chase away the emotions clouding my head. Nico refills my glass with the last of the first bottle while the waiter opens our second. But what really surprises me is when he cuts off a portion of his steak and plops it on my plate along with a handful of fries.
“What’s this?” I ask.
He just shrugs adorably. “You need to eat, baby. Nobody can drink a bottle of wine on iceberg lettuce. So, your family’s from Brazil, right? You go there a lot?”
Still marveling at the way he just pivoted from the steak, I start to cut up my food. I can’t deny that I’m still starving. I’m also starting to feel the pleasant wooziness of alcohol rising in my head and dissipating the last of my nerves.
“Just a few times,” I say. “The last time was when I was in high school, for Carnaval.”
“Carnaval,” he repeats with a clipped “r”, the way Spanish speakers, not Brazilians, would say it. “That must have been crazy. I’m so fuckin’ jealous.”
I take another, smaller bite of my steak and nod. “Yeah, it’s pretty nuts.”
“Do you go to the parades, like in Rio?”
I shake my head. “No, those are mostly for tourists, although a lot of people watch them on TV. My dad’s family goes up to Salvador, in Bahia, where they rent a condo on the beach. The city has these giant trucks, they’re called trios electricos, and the samba bands play on top of them, blasting their music to the crowds. Everyone parties in the streets for six days straight. When you’re tired, you go sleep in the house; when you’re thirsty, you drink the cheap beer all the vendors have; when you’re hot, you go run in the ocean. It’s amazing.” I sigh. “I wish I was there now. It starts next week, you know.”
I sit back in my chair and smile, a little lost in the fond memories.
“Did you ever go to a soccer game?” Nico asks, interrupting me from my samba daydream. He’s just finished his steak and has assumed the same comfortable, slightly glazed-eye position that I’m in. Apparently, the wine has loosened up us both.
I smile. “Hell yeah, I did. Played too.” I take another bite, satisfied with the shocked look on Nico’s face.
He leans forward. “Seriously? You, playing? I thought chicks didn’t really get into sports there; at least, that’s what the Brazilians I’ve met say.”
I nod, swirling my wine glass meditatively. “It’s kind of true, actually. Most of the girls just go to the gym. But I played soccer through high school, and so I played on the beach with my cousins, too. It’s where I get all my moves.” I gyrate my neck a bit, demonstrating one of said moves, and earn a laugh in return. “You like soccer?”
Nico nods, eyes blazing. “A little, yeah. I play in the park sometimes too, but I suck. What position did you play?”
“Striker,” I say with a wink and a grin. “I know how to score.”
And that’s all it takes to jumpstart the connection I knew was there all along. We talk about everything and nothing, finishing the second bottle of wine and ordering a slice of mediocre chocolate cake to share just so we won’t have to leave. I tell him about the lonely house where I grew up, what my parents are like, and how my biggest dream right now is to stop living off my parents when I graduate. He tells me about how he likes to draw in his spare time, how he lives in Dominican City, sometimes with his siste
r and her kid when she’s on the outs with her boyfriend, and how his favorite sibling is his baby brother, Gabriel, who’s just a couple of years younger than me. He’s proud of Gabe, who is getting ready to go to school at CUNY next year. Nico has about half his tuition money saved so far.
The job at FedEx makes more and more sense. Nico carries the burdens of a lot of people on his big shoulders, burdens that require a full-time job that, after so many years, pays well and comes with excellent benefits.
“Gabe’s crazy smart. Just like you, baby,” he says. The second bottle of wine has also made him a lot more familiar, and I like it. “You’d like him.”
“You sound like you want to set me up with him,” I joke. “Maybe I’m out with the wrong brother.”
That earns me a dark glare almost immediately, and I start to giggle almost uncontrollably. Nico leans over the small table, now cleared of all dishes besides our wine glasses and the empty bottle. He covers my hand with his. I try to pull it back, playing the coquette, but he presses it tightly to the tablecloth.
“Oh, no,” he growls, causing my heart to skip a few beats. “You definitely got the right brother, NYU.”
I stop laughing, caught in the intensity of his gaze, now just a few inches from my own.
“Did I?” I ask.
He grunts and signals for the check. “I think,” he says as he drains the last of the wine in his glass, “that it’s time we get out of here. Don’t you?”
I couldn’t agree more.
Chapter Ten
Layla
We are both fairly drunk when we stumble out of the restaurant. We grab desperately at each other’s arms to steady ourselves on the slippery sidewalk, each unable to stifle our elation. Nico’s deep laugh reverberates down the snow-brightened street, echoing off the brick apartment buildings and fire escapes. We might be drunken fools, but we’re fools together, and the night couldn’t be going any better.
“So, where to, NYU?” Nico says, tucking an arm around my waist as we start in the general direction of Lafayette.
The snow is falling harder now, covering downtown Manhattan in a magical layer of quiet and white. Even the rumble of the subway beneath us is muted. Despite the fact that there are still people on the street, it suddenly feels like we are the only two people in a city of millions.
“That depends,” I say as I lean more into the crook of his big shoulder. I’ve been dying for this kind of contact all night. Actually, for two weeks. “On what you’re interested in doing.”
I’m not intending to be suggestive, and so I blush when he winks at my comment.
“Oh jeez, men are such perverts,” I say, elbowing him softly in the side. “All I meant was what you wanted to drink. We are out drinking, aren’t we?”
“Sure, sure, sweetie. Whatever you say, NYU.”
“Why don’t you ever call me by my name?” I ask suddenly, breaking away to look at him. We’re standing under a lamppost on a corner, and I watch as the snowflakes create a bright halo behind his head, falling on his broad shoulders and atop his beanie. “It’s always ‘NYU’ or ‘sweetie’ or something with you. Never my name. Are you afraid of it or something?”
He raises one mischievous eyebrow and pulls me a little closer so I can see his full expression. He has dimples; I can’t believe I didn’t notice them before.
“But you are sweet, Layla. It fits.”
“I’m not so sweet.”
I lay a hand on his chest as if to push him away. He glances down at it and back up to me, his gaze resting on my lips before returning to my eyes.
“Oh, I bet you are,” he says.
He sticks his hand in between his teeth to pull off one glove, then the other, which he shoves in his pocket. A lightly calloused fingertip traces my cheekbone, dropping down my nose and over my lips. Suddenly, I can’t breathe.
“Do you want me to kiss you, Layla?”
Nico’s deep voice reverberates through the quiet of the snow, and my own voice deserts me completely, leaving me only to nod, dumbfounded. He drifts his thumb over my lips.
“You sure you want a man like me?”
His voice dares me to say yes while he frames my chin and cheeks with both hands.
I should probably say no. He’s too old for me. Too poor. Too uneducated. Too dangerous. But right now, none of that means a thing. It doesn’t matter that this is a bad idea.
“I’m sure,” I whisper. I don’t know if he heard me, but it’s all I was able to get out. I’m sure.
“You have a snowflake here,” he says, and leans down to kiss my upper lip. He hums. “You see? I was right. So very sweet.”
He dips his head again while cupping the back of mine, then slowly teases my mouth open. And Christ, does he taste better than I ever thought he could.
I angle my face, allowing him to run his tongue lightly over my bottom lip before he slips it inside my mouth. A pang of desire shoots down my spine when he sucks my lip between his teeth. I welcome his invitation to come even closer when he wraps his arms around my waist and pulls me firmly against his body. Gently, the hands at my chin tip my face to the side so he can deepen the kiss even more.
The snow-flurried lights around me spin, and not just in that too-much-wine kind of way. This is what I have been waiting for. Not just for the last two weeks. I have been waiting for this kiss my entire fucking life. Every kiss I’ve experienced before now was child’s play, the tentative, floundering advances of teenage boys and not-yet men. There should be another word for this kind of kiss. Something that conveys the way the Earth tilts a little when his lips are on mine, the way the sky changes color a little when our tongues coil together. Nothing comes close to this man’s mouth. Nothing.
A small moan escapes when I come up for air, and I’m pleased to find Nico’s breathing is on the rough side too.
“My roommates are out for the night,” I mumble into his lips, barely managing to get out the words before he devours me all over again. At this rate, I won’t be able to make it home by myself anyway. His lips are soft, his tongue is firm, and his insistence with both of them makes it hard to think at all.
“Oh yeah?” he purrs, gently pulling my hair back to nip over my neck and behind my ear. The wet imprints of his lips chill in the wind, causing goosebumps to rise all over my skin and make me forget completely that we are standing in the middle of a relatively crowded street, probably attracting a number of curious looks from passersby. “They won’t be back at all?”
“No, not until late,” I slur, leaning back to make my neck more available to his advances. “They won’t mind if you’re there, either. But we’ll have some privacy. Mmm, that feels good.”
He returns to my mouth, and his hands reach gingerly under the confines of my unbuttoned jacket, sliding cautiously over my ass. He squeezes lightly—he wants more, and so do I.
“I’d be all right with that,” he murmurs against my lips.
It takes another thirty seconds of him sucking on my lower lip before I can answer. When I do, my voice is hoarse, but urgent.
“Let’s go.”
Nico
We practically sprint back to her dorm, stopping here and there when I can’t fuckin’ take it anymore and have to kiss her against a dark wall or on an empty street corner. I can’t explain it. Something happened. All that electricity that’s been building for the last two weeks finally sparked, and now it’s full-fledged fire. It’s like now I can’t stand more than six inches between us at all times, and if I don’t get another taste every few seconds, I’ll stop breathing. In the space of a few minutes, Layla went from sweet to essential.
I really am completely fucked.
Somehow, when I don’t have my tongue down her throat or my hands on her ass, we get back to her building. Layla sobers a little and touches her hair, but lets me keep her other hand firmly in mine. If she thinks I’m letting her go now, she’s crazy.
I glance around curiously as we stop at the security desk. It’s been a
while since I’ve been in a college dorm. During the year and a half I spent at CUNY, I lived at home, although I did visit a few friends at NYU and Fordham. I forgot how busy they are. Even at eleven o’clock at night, the lobby is bumping with the chatter of students, most of them looking readier to go out than stay in.
I smirk as I hand my ID to the security guard, and he copies the information with a bored look. All the better if everyone is out for the night. If I have my way, Layla’s going to be making a lot of noise.
Once we’re let through, I recapture Layla’s hand while she leads me to the elevator banks. A few of the students wave at her, and I notice more than one frat-looking dude looking her up and down, and then at me with a little annoyance. I scowl. I know these guys. They’ll grow up to become the next generation of Wall Street assholes, like the ones at the club last weekend. Scumbags who will trade people’s lives away for some extra coin. They see Layla as a commodity, not the special, luminous person she is.
I grip her hand harder, and she leans on my shoulder.
“Don’t worry,” she murmurs into my ear. “We’re almost there.”
She trembles when I grin at her. It’s a good thing she seems to like my smile, because I seriously can’t stop around her.
“Hey, Layla.”
A gawky kid who looks about six inches too tall for his shirt gives Layla a wave and looks me up and down curiously as we all enter the elevator. I glare. Christ, this girl really turns me into an animal. I’m almost afraid of what I’m going to be like once we’re finally alone together.
“Oh, hey, Vin,” Layla says. She tugs on my arm, urging me to look at the kid. “Nico, this is my friend, Vinny. We’ve known each other since we first started at NYU.”
I give the kid another look, but now I can tell by the way he’s glancing between me and Layla that he’s not interested in her—just looking out. I relax. Preppy shitheads with too much entitlement? They can fuck the hell off, and I’m happy to help them do it. Scrawny guy down the hall watching her back? Him I can deal with.
Bad Idea- The Complete Collection Page 9
