She keeps shifting her weight from one foot to the other, her hips mesmerizing. I always loved the way she moved, like a sexy cat slipping around stealthily among crowds, trying not to make her presence known. Apparently that hasn’t changed.
“How are you?” I ask, trying my warmest smile to see if I can possibly relax her just a little.
“Fine,” she says. “Well, tired. I flew all night, so I’m pretty jet lagged. But what are you…why are you…?” She gestures towards my apartment across the way as if to say You don’t belong there. This was supposed to be my place, you bastard.
“I’m living in Rome for several months,” I tell her. “Working with an architecture firm here, doing some research for a project.” I spin around and point to my flat. “That’s home for now.”
“Oh, that’s right, you studied architecture in college. I’d almost forgotten,” she half mutters, as though she doesn’t want to recall anything from that time.
“And you? What are you doing here?”
“Vacation,” she says, though the word comes out like something that’s repulsive rather than exciting. She may as well have told me she’s serving a prison sentence with a cell mate who collects discarded fingernails and rat carcasses. “For a month.”
“You don’t say?” I raise an eyebrow. Well, well. Things just got interesting. “Are you here alone?”
No, of course she isn’t. What woman travels to Rome alone for a month? She must have a guy with her.
That’s fine. A guy is fine. I’m not jealous at all.
My dick, on the other hand, is totally jealous. I really hope there’s no guy, says Dylan Junior, who’s been in a semi-erect state since I first set eyes on Lucy. My cock, the eternal optimist.
“I…” she glances around like she’s looking for an escape route. She’s probably trying to figure out if she should make something up to cover for herself and keep me the hell away from her. “Yes, alone for now. Though I’ve met someone here.”
“Wow, you work fast,” I chuckle. “I thought you said you just arrived.” I’m watching her, trying to sort out if she’s feeding me a line of bullshit. Is she worried that I’m going to demand that she go on a date with me to make up for giving me the shaft seven years back?
“Yes. An Italian man,” she says. “His name is Giancarlo.” She’s trying to smile as she says his name, but failing miserably. Clearly Giancarlo is not the man of her dreams. “He invited me to dinner, and I said yes. Not tonight, but…soon.”
The answer is detailed enough that I think maybe she’s telling me the truth after all. Damn it.
My dick and I both hope a piano falls on Giancarlo.
“That’s good,” I say. “I’m happy for you.” Truth: I’m totally not happy for her at all. And I’m definitely not happy for Giancarlo, that lucky fuck. That is, if he actually exists. “Listen, I’ll let you get unpacked,” I add, eyeing the large suitcase that’s sitting at the far end of the room. “Do you want me to move that to the bedroom?” I ask, taking a step towards it.
“No!” she all but shouts at me, her voice desperate.
“Whoa,” I laugh, raising my hands in surrender. “I didn’t realize you were stashing a dead body in your luggage. I’ll stay away then, shall I?”
“I…it’s just heavy,” she says.
I flex my arms, displaying my biceps. Cheap move, I know, but I’m okay with being a manipulative prick for a second. “I think I can handle it.”
“Right, of course you can. But I don’t need help,” she mumbles miserably. It seems that my muscles have made things even worse.
I step back onto the balcony, ready to make myself scarce before I ruin her life entirely, and turn to face her. The thing, is, we still haven’t talked. Not really. “Listen, we should go out and catch up at some point, yeah?”
She nods, her eyes fixed on the floor.
“Actually,” I add, “I’m heading out right now to grab a coffee. Do you want to come?”
“No,” she blurts out almost before I’ve finished the question. Her eyes meet mine, all but pleading with me. A barrage of rejection bullets shoot through the air between us, and most of them hit me square in the chest. Message received. Also possible internal bleeding.
“Wow. Okay, I can take all the hints,” I reply, smiling to hide my slightly injured pride. “Sorry if the invitation came off as aggressive.” I prop my arms against the door frame and lean forward. “I don’t mean to seem like I’m putting the moves on Giancarlo’s woman.”
“I’m not his….I mean, it’s fine,” she says, her eyes moving to the floor again as she shuffles her feet. “I just can’t, not right now.”
For a moment I just stare at her, admiring every line of her face as she avoids looking into my eyes. God, she looks good, if tense as all hell.
“Loosen up, Loose,” I tell her quietly. “You’re in Rome. Anything goes here. You should unwind, have fun. I’ll come find you tomorrow when I get home from work and take you out, okay?”
Another nod. “Yeah, okay,” she says, managing the least convincing smile ever as she pulls her eyes up to meet mine.
It may be my imagination, but she looks like she wants to ask me something. There’s plenty I’d like to ask her, too. I want to know what’s going on in that amazing head of hers after all this time.
I want to know if she has any idea how much I’d like to kiss her again.
Four
Lucy
Dylan’s gone back to his apartment and away from me. Gorgeous, perfect, infuriating, frustrating, sexy Dylan, whose abs and biceps I want to lick, even though he once crushed me like a wilted flower.
Thank God he’s gone. I can breathe again.
My knees are still shaking. I feel like I’m going to throw up. My heart’s pounding. All because of a guy I’m not supposed to give a fuck about.
Over the years, I’ve told myself more times than I can count that I’m over him, but it’s become clear in the last few minutes that I never really succeeded at pushing him out of my heart. Maybe it’s because he was the first and only man I ever loved. Maybe it’s because I was saving myself for him. I don’t know. All I do know is that the moment I set eyes on him, all those old feelings flooded back through my system like a fast-moving freight train. I don’t know whether to be happy or miserable, horny or frigid.
Or all of the above.
I throw myself onto the couch like a rag doll, grab a throw pillow and hug it tight to my chest. Right now, this pillow is my only friend in the damned world, and I’m not willing to let go of it for anything.
Dylan was so friendly, so casual just now. Not at all like a guy who crushed my soul seven years ago. Could he possibly have forgotten what happened that night? The very thought that he must have cared so little makes me want to shed bitter tears and throw things at the wall.
Of course, I’m not going to, because I’m not an immature idiot like I was in college. I’m not innocent or naive or stupid. I’m a grown-ass woman who knows how to handle herself.
With a deep inhale, I remind myself that I’m also a woman who just got asked out by a hot Italian stud-muffin. I have a date with a sexy, curly-haired, swarthy man called Giancarlo; I don’t need to lose any sleep over a guy whose only claim to fame is the time he fucked me over without actually fucking me.
That’s it, I tell myself. I’m going to take a page out of Signor Smellissimo’s book and learn to give no fucks whatsoever. Dylan has no power over me, not anymore.
What sticks in my craw is that clearly I have no power over him, either. He’s just proven that he didn’t actually give a crap about me back when we were college kids. The night we kissed I was just another potential notch on the bedpost, another conquest to mark his post-high school years—at least until he got a better offer from his skanky ex. As soon as she came along, Dylan took off for Sexville, leaving me in a trail of dust and snivelling girl-tears.
I’m sure the bastard never gave me a second thought after that.
> Right. No fucks given. This is my place now. My damned holiday. No one is going to ruin this for me, not even a sexy man with a perfect smile, perfect ass, perfect abs and perfect everything else. There’s definitely no way I’m going to let myself fantasize about how good he probably is in bed by now, after seven years of post-college experience. How amazing his tongue probably is at caressing a woman’s sex. What it feels like to have his hips gyrating over mine as he thrusts his massive…
STOP IT, LUCY.
Stop thinking about the past. Dylan is old news. Just because he’s hot as hell and his smile makes you want to offer him the best blowjob of his life doesn’t mean you should. He doesn’t deserve to lick your flip flops.
As I’m staring blankly at the wall and forcing away thoughts of him, my phone starts belting out All by Myself. Shit, I really need to change that ringtone. It screams “Hello, my name’s Lucy. I’m single, my life is a pathetic abyss of loneliness and torment, and by the way, I’m still totally horny for Dylan Emerson, even if I pretend I’m not.”
When I click on my phone to answer it, a familiar name pops up. It’s Katherine from the Single Ladies’ Travel Agency.
Damn it. She’s making a video call, and I’m a frazzled mess.
Although I’ve never met her in person, I’ve already determined through a couple of Skype chats that Katherine is about the coolest chick I’ve ever known. She’s smart, funny, and always seems to have her shit utterly together. I wish she taught a master class in how not to be a total disaster. I’d pay big bucks for the premium course.
Convinced that I can at least fake it for now, I wipe my damp eyes, pinch my cheeks and click on the reply button. “Hello?” I say as the image flares to life on the screen. A beautiful, ivory-skinned woman with blue eyes and a shock of red hair is staring me in the face. I’m as aware as ever of how attractive and well put-together she is.
“Hello, Lucy?” she says. I’d almost forgotten about her accent, which is the coolest blend of English, French and something unidentifiable. It’s like a mish-mash of all the places she’s lived over the course of her far-more-interesting-than-mine life.
“Hi!” I reply, a broad smile sweeping over my face, trying to cover up any residual discomfort from my close encounter with Dylan. I’m more grateful for the sound of her voice than I’m willing to say out loud. She’s come to feel like a friend by now, and God knows I could use one of those.
I set the phone down against a pile of books on the coffee table and tuck one leg under myself as I ease back down onto the couch.
“Listen,” she says, “I wanted to make sure you’re settling in okay. Did everything go all right with check-in?”
“Oh, totally,” I chirp. “Everything’s just…great.”
“Uh-oh. That doesn’t sound convincing in the least.” Her expression tells me she’s genuinely concerned. Or quite possibly psychic. “Anything the matter with the flat?”
“Oh, God no. The apartment’s amazing. It’s just—” I let out a massive sigh, like sixty tons of oxygen have been trapped inside my lungs for the last several minutes and I’ve just now managed to unleash them into the atmosphere. Should I tell her? Probably not, but I will anyhow. “There’s a man I know, or at least used to know, staying across the way in the same building.”
There’s something about Katherine that just seems so damn trustworthy that I want to open up to her. But I immediately regret mentioning Dylan. All of a sudden I’m looking down at my hands, which are fidgeting with the edge of the couch’s upholstery. Too embarrassed to look at a stupid phone screen.
Give no fucks, I mutter under my breath.
I hear a sort of chuckle on the other end of the phone that tells me she’s amused by my torment, but not maliciously so. “I take it he’s not someone you particularly wanted to see?” she asks.
“No, not particularly, to put it mildly. He’s probably the last person I wanted to see, unless you count the Angel of Death as a person.” I dare a look at the phone. Thankfully, her expression is sympathetic, her eyes full of kindness.
“Oh, dear. I’m so sorry to hear it,” she says. “Is he awful?”
“No, not at all. Actually, he’s the opposite of awful.” For all my horror at seeing him, it is the honest answer. Dylan is gorgeous. Amazing. But saying it out loud might summon a demon that will possess me and make me want him all over again. It took me a long time to banish that demon the first time, and it’s not a war I’m prepared to fight again.
“So what’s worrying you?”
“Oh, nothing,” I say, not at all convinced that I mean it. “It’s not important. It was just a little bit of a shock to see him, but I think I’ll survive. There are worse things than having a gorgeous, ripped, successful man living fifty feet away, I suppose.”
Shit. I said it out loud.
Demon summoned.
“Gorgeous, you say? Uh-oh. Those are the most dangerous kinds of men, aren’t they, darling?”
I sigh, surrendering to my weakness. “You don’t know the half of it. I was…sort of, kind of in love with him a long time ago.”
“I see. And now?” She asks the question like she’s a trained therapist, opening up the floor to let me reveal everything. I don’t know where she acquired this amazing skill, but hell, I need to vent, so I’ll vent.
“And now? Well, I don’t know him anymore. It was seven years ago, and we’ve both changed since then. I’m stronger than I was; I’m not a delicate virginal flower. Besides, all we ever did was kiss once.”
“Uh-huh,” she says as she watches me babble on about how little I care about a man I obviously care about.
“Well, whatever,” I add, like I’m talking to myself more than to her. “If he’s forgotten, I guess I should too. It was just a kiss, after all. It’s not like we were married and he cheated on me.” Somehow while I’m rambling, I’m almost managing to convince myself that I mean every word.
“You said just a kiss,” scoffs Katherine. “As if there’s such a thing. You know as well as I do that there’s no simple kiss, not for a young woman. We tell ourselves that kisses mean nothing, but that’s a pile of bollocks.”
“Yeah. Why is that? What the hell is wrong with us?” I ask her, letting out a cynical laugh.
“Conditioning, my dear. We learn vey early on how important kisses are. A kiss awoke Sleeping Beauty. A kiss saved Snow White from certain death, or at least a permanent coma. A kiss changed a frog into a prince, for fuck’s sake. Kisses are life-changing events for young women. We fantasize about our first kiss from the time we’re able to walk, and convince ourselves that the meeting of lips is the most important event in a young life. It’s a sign of true love. A connection deeper than anything, and don’t fool yourself—that includes sex. So when a kiss from an important man is ruined for us, the moment sticks in our minds like a trauma that can never be erased.”
“So what do I do?” I ask, helpless. She’s just brought me back to square one.
She throws me an encouraging smile. “You embrace the memory and move on. As you said, you’ve both grown. I’m sure you’ve had lots of sex since then.”
I nod, not wanting to acknowledge just how much the nickname Loose has come to suit me over the years.
“Tell me,” she says, “is he still single?”
“I don’t know. Maybe. Does it matter?”
“You tell me.” She’s giving me a sly, wicked smile, like she already knows the answer.
“No, I suppose it doesn’t,” I reply. “It would be better if he’s not, actually. Easier for me.”
“Ah, but if he is, you may rekindle something that only ever sparked but never grew into an all-out flame. Maybe fate has brought you to Rome for a very good reason.”
“I’m not sure I believe in fate, Katherine.” I want to roll my eyes, but her sincerity prevents me.
“Well, if you don’t believe in fate, I hope you at least believe in fucking.”
My eyes bug out as I take in the words
. “That was very…explicit,” I choke-laugh.
“Come on,” she says. “You know you’ve at least considered fucking him. You said he’s sexy.”
“Well, yeah. He’s unbelievable.”
“So open yourself up to the possibility that you can and should get naked with him. Sexy men aren’t as common as all that. And sex is very, very nice, particularly on hot Roman nights. Think of it as a long-overdue rebound romp with a man who probably wants you for all the same reasons you want him.”
I can’t say I’m not tempted to make up for lost time. I’m certainly more practised at the art of seduction than I used to be. I’ve probably had a few too many one night stands over the years. Those have become my specialty. They’re my way of controlling the male sex: seduce a guy into thinking he’s the one picking me up, when the whole time I know I’m the one in control. Go back to his place, fuck him once or twice, give him a fake number and a wink, and high-tail it out of there. I’m like a vampire who bites, sucks out my fill, then disappears off the face of the earth. A sexual vampire. That’s me.
The question is, could I detach myself enough from Dylan to use him for my own selfish desires?
Probably not. I’m not sure he’s one night stand material. He’s the man I used to love. The only man I ever loved.
The only man who ever broke me.
“I don’t know, Katherine. I think maybe I should look elsewhere to satisfy my sexual cravings.” My mind wanders over to young Giancarlo, who’s all charm and looks, and little else. He’s safe, probably a little boring, definitely hot, and best of all, there’s little to no chance of my falling in love with him.
“Whatever you do, just be sure to enjoy yourself,” she tells me. “Well, listen, darling, I was calling partly to let you know that I’ve just arrived in Rome myself. I’ll be here for a week or two, depending. What say you and I have a little nibble at some point soon and we can talk further about all this?”
Going Hard (Single Ladies' Travel Agency Book 2) Page 3
