by Rosie Somers
Almost like he’s following me.
My pulse speeds up, and adrenaline is spreading warmth through my veins, preparing my body for fight-or-flight. I quicken my pace, rushing as casually as I can in heels. No matter how freaked I am, I don’t want to let on that I’ve made him. So far, he’s keeping a safe-ish distance.
And just like that, I’m starting to second-guess myself. Maybe my flight reflex is malfunctioning. Maybe the stress of hiding out is getting to me, and I’m starting to imagine danger where there isn’t any. But if he really is tailing me and realizes I’m onto him, he may act. And a surprised assailant is an unpredictable assailant.
When I’m satisfied with the distance I’ve put between us, I feint right and duck left into the next alley. The space reeks of garbage and wet animal, and I immediately regret my decision, gagging on the odors, but there’s no going back now. Frantic, I speed for the freedom at the other end, placing each step carefully and quietly as I kick into a half run, spurred on by the fear that he could round the corner behind me at any second. Halfway down, I realize I’m not going to make the other side before my pursuer enters the alley. Then it will be just the two of us, with no witnesses around for whatever he might do. I was stupid to go this way, stupid to give up the safety of a public place.
I duck behind a dumpster and crouch low in the shadow it casts. No sooner do I peek around the edge than he appears at the mouth of the alley. My suspicions that he was in fact following me are confirmed when instead of continuing on by, he stops and stares down the corridor. He cranes his neck and takes one step forward but must decide against entering. After a moment, he turns and heads back the way he came from.
I release an unsteady breath, but despite the relief I feel, I stay crouched for another moment or two until I’m sure he’s really gone. When I leave the relative safety of my hiding place, I rush out the other end of the alley as quickly as I can and make for the restaurant where Will is hopefully waiting for me, looking over my shoulder every few steps. My tail doesn’t reappear, but I don’t relax until I can see the restaurant.
When I get there, Will is seated on a park bench outside the quaint Italian eatery, looking anxiously up the opposite end of the street. I guess he’s expecting me to come from the other direction. He’s so intently focused on the opposite way, I’m able to approach him without drawing his attention to me.
I stop just a few feet from him and take a moment to compose myself, slow my breathing and my pulse. Then I clear my throat. He startles at the sound and jumps to his feet. His cheeks redden, probably from embarrassment at being caught unaware, and I take a moment to enjoy having our roles reversed. For once, I’m the one with the smooth moves, and he’s the bumbling bundle of nerves. I look him over from head to toe, and he shifts nervously under my gaze.
He’s certainly dressed for a date, but he looks more hot bad boy than clean-cut suitor in black pants and a striped green button-down topped with a leather jacket and shiny black combat boots. His hair falls like brown silk over his ears, and a lock of it has slipped down to obscure part of one eye.
“Hey.” He greets me quietly as he returns my once-over.
“Hi,” I answer.
“Look, no candy or bouquet.” He holds his arms wide as if to prove his point.
I laugh lightly. “A very thoughtful gesture, and I thank you for it.”
“I hope you like Italian.” Will holds out his hand to me, and I place mine in it. His fingers are warm and soft and close around mine gently.
I let him lead me out of the cold. Inside, the environment is warm and cozy. Already, my face and fingertips are feeling less chilled, and it won’t be long before I can comfortably take off my sweater.
“Campbell,” Will tells the young hostess standing behind a black lacquered podium in a ruffled white top and long red skirt, and in minutes, we’re seated on opposite sides of a small booth, far enough away from other diners that their presence doesn’t feel intrusive.
I slide onto the red pleather seat against the wall, a habit born from years of casing places. I need the best vantage to see the most of my surroundings, and Will sits on the opposite side, as comfortable with his back to the room as I would be uncomfortable in the same position. As soon as we’re settled, the hostess takes our drink order and promises to return shortly. When we’re alone—relatively—Will watches me carefully, so I grab a menu and pretend to study it with interest in order to avoid his gaze. The menu is one page, double-sided, printed on cardstock with fancy lettering and scrollwork, and the fare is traditional, bare-bones Italian. I decide quickly on the spaghetti and meatballs but keep up my pretense of deliberating my choices until Will goes for his own menu. At some point while we’re scanning the page, the hostess drops off our glasses, and Will thanks her with a smile.
“So what looks good?” he asks me.
I peer at him over the top of my menu, but he’s looking down at his own. “I’m thinking about just getting the spaghetti and meatballs. Keep it easy.”
“My kind of girl,” he answers, then almost immediately looks up at me in surprise. “No. That’s not what I meant. I’m not calling you easy. I just meant…you know…the food…not complicated.” He ends on an exasperated sigh. Even in the dim lighting, his blush is a furious shade of red.
I take pity on him. “It’s okay. I know what you meant,” I tell him with a laugh. His posture relaxes just a bit, and he sets the menu down at the edge of the table.
Our waiter arrives just as I’m placing my menu on top of Will’s. “Hi there, welcome to Angelo’s. I’m Tommy. Have you dined with us before?”
I shake my head at the same time Will says, “All the time.”
I catch myself wondering just how many dates he’s brought here before I remind myself that it doesn’t matter because we’re just keeping it casual.
Tommy looks back and forth between us before asking, “Would you like me to go over the menu for you?”
Will looks to me as if to ask if I need the waiter to tell me about the food, and I shake my head.
“No thank you, I think we’re ready to order,” he tells Tommy.
Tommy pulls a pen and order pad out of his apron and says, “Great! Go ahead when you’re ready.”
“Spaghetti?” Will asks me, and I confirm with a nod. He orders two plates of spaghetti with meatballs, and Tommy promises to have our order to us shortly. Then he ambles away to check on the couple at the table across the aisle.
“Is it weird that I ordered for you? I don’t want to be one of those guys, ya know? It just seemed easier, since we were ordering the same thing.” Will’s demeanor is different than what I’m used to seeing from him. He seems unsure of himself, and almost shy.
“No, it’s fine. I mean…I told you what I wanted, so it’s not like you were just ordering food willy-nilly.”
He chuckles at my choice of words, and then we lapse into silence. It’s not comfortable silence like when we walk to and from school together. The air between us is loaded with something I can’t quite put my finger on, some sort of new tension that didn’t exist before tonight.
“This is the first time I’ve ever been on a date on Valentine’s Day.” I say it to fill the void and maybe explain away some of my nervousness, but it’s not entirely true. I’ve never actually been out on a date. Period. But he doesn’t need to know that.
“Me, too. I’m not really sure how this is supposed to go.”
“What, you? Will ‘Casual’ Campbell? You don’t know what to do on a date?” I tease.
“Hey, a date is one thing. A casual dinner on Valentine’s Day is something else entirely.” He blushes that adorable shade of pink, and I take mercy on him and let the conversation drop.
“So, how are you doing with precalc? Is it getting any better for you?” He’s changing the subject to school. School is safe. This is a conversation I can get into. And I do.
All through dinner, we exist in that weird place between awkwardness and friendly b
anter. Will is a perfect gentleman, but maybe that’s the problem. I’m used to his lady-killer vibes, and tonight I’m getting something different, something altogether more wholesome. And infinitely appealing. Not only is he totally hot, but the longer this date goes on, the more I start to suspect that Will has a romantic soul that he hides with flirting and pickup lines. By the time he pays the check, I’m antsy to get outside and away from whatever is building between us.
“Well, flower, the night is still young. Wanna catch a movie or something?” Will asks me as we step out onto the sidewalk.
I consider the possibility for a moment, then shake my head. I’m not ready to leave his company, but I’m not in the mood to sit and stare at a screen and not talk to each other for the next two hours. “No movie. Wanna just walk for a bit?”
“Sure.” He reaches out and grabs my hand, lacing our fingers together, and we stroll away from the restaurant to nowhere in particular. And I’m content to just view the sights around us.
Chapter Eleven
The sidewalk is busier than I expected when we leave the restaurant, and every few yards, I have to squeeze closer to Will to avoid bumping passersby.
He doesn’t seem to mind, and after the fourth time, he slips his arm around my shoulders. “If you wanted to cuddle, all you had to do was say so.”
“Ha-ha. Aren’t you funny.”
“I’m hilarious; ask anyone.” He puffs his chest out in a mock show of pride.
“And humble, too, I see.”
“Come on. I want to show you something.” Will grabs my hand and veers off the sidewalk, lightly tugging me up the handful of stone steps leading to the front door of one of the brownstones. He already has a key in hand by the time we get to the door, and he has it unlocked and open before it registers in my brain that this is where he lives.
“This is your place?” I ask, even though I’ve already figured that out.
“Yeah, well, the building is split into apartments. I live on the second floor, but that’s not where we’re going.” Still holding my hand in his, he leads me into a long gallery with white-paneled walls and dark wood floors. About halfway down the long, wide hall, we stop in front of an elevator. It opens as soon as he calls it, having already been on the ground floor, and we step in.
Inside, the elevator is small, cramped in a way that would normally have made me uncomfortable to share with another person. But being in such tight quarters with Will has a different effect on me, like I’m waking up; I’m instantly so much more aware of him than I was just moments ago—the warmth of his body less than a foot away; his scent, like clean laundry and the barest hint of a woodsy cologne; the way he seems to take over the space, possess it, possess me.
He reaches for the button panel to the right of the door, and I visually track the movement, unable to take my eyes off him. The shiny brass panel frames buttons for five floors and a sixth button marked R. He presses that last button and settles casually against the back wall as the elevator lurches into motion.
Something about being alone with him in the tiny elevator reminds me of the night we danced together, of being close to him. Before we’re even halfway to our floor, I’m imagining Will leaning in to kiss me. I picture him covering me with his body, pressing me back into the elevator wall. And just like that, the area is uncomfortably warm for mid-February. I jump when the elevator chimes our arrival and the door slides open to spit us onto the roof.
Will lands his gaze on me and gestures for me to exit ahead of him. “After you.”
I nod my assent and head out into the cold air.
Wood fence panels with thick, horizontal slats line the outer edges of the rooftop, and hanging plants and climbing vines are spaced out across them. Rope lighting runs the length of the roof and crisscrosses over the width, casting the entire space in a soft white glow. The area is unfurnished, but several feet away, a couple of steps lead up to another landing where dark-brown wicker chairs surround a stone fire. Beyond that, a covered swing is partially enclosed by teal fabric panels hanging down around it. Potted plants, mostly tropical in nature and all lush and colorful, give the impression of an equatorial vacation, even in forty-six-degree weather.
The rooftop is a private oasis, an island of peaceful isolation apart from the crowded city. While most of the time I do love the anonymity that comes with living in a city with a population of more than eight million, right now, nothing compares to the beauty of this private retreat. It even sounds less populated up here.
“It’s beautiful. My building just has a swimming pool on the roof.” I wrap my sweater tighter around me and head for the swing, not bothering to wait for Will. But his footsteps trudge along behind me, and when I turn to sit down on the swing, he’s right there.
“It’s my favorite place to come to.” He sits down a moment later, placing his arm around my shoulders as he does. It’s a practiced move, and a smooth one.
“Do you bring girls up here often?” I try to sound teasing, but even I recognize the tiniest hint of accusation in my words.
None of my business, I think in an attempt to convince myself of exactly what I’ve been telling him: that I’m not looking for anything serious. But somewhere along the line, I stopped believing that, stopped feeling it. And it’s too late—the damage is already done.
“Just you,” he says quietly after a long pause, like he’s admitting some deep secret. “I’ll admit, I’ve dated, but I’m not out there whoring it up.”
“Okay.” I don’t know what else to say. I didn’t mean to offend him.
Finally, he returns his attention to me, and the hand that’s still around my shoulder sifts into my hair, playing with the loose strands. “So, let’s get to know each other, flower. Where did you move here from? Some place cool and sophisticated, right?”
I snort in amusement before I can stop myself. “Sophisticated? You think I’m sophisticated?” The idea sends a tingle of pride rippling through me, and I lean in a little closer to him.
“Aren’t you?” He tightens his hold on me, pulls me in to lean on his chest, and I let him. Then, he kicks his feet, scuffing his sneakers across the concrete to propel the swing into motion.
I ignore his question and instead go for answering the easy one. “I’m from the city originally, but we moved overseas when I was little.”
“Why overseas?” His question is casual, but it sets off warning bells in my head. I can’t tell him why we really moved, so I simplify the answer as best I can. “For my mom’s work.” Then I evade and misdirect. “Hey, if you could do something you’ve never done before, what would it be?”
Will takes the change of topic in stride. “Hmm, I don’t know. BASE jumping seems like it might be kind of fun.”
I shudder at the thought. “Ick, no thank you. Give me a rope, and I can rappel tall buildings all day, but BASE jumping is too much like free-falling for my taste.”
Will’s foot scuffs on the concrete as he drags it to stop the motion of the swing. “You rappel down buildings?” He’s staring at me again, only this time his look is less admiring and more unreadable.
“Well, no.” I scramble to recover quickly. “I’m just saying I could. You know, if I had to.”
His eyes narrow, like he isn’t quite sure if he should believe me. But then his expressions softens, and he starts the swing moving again. “Okay, my turn. If you were an animal, what animal would you be?”
His question throws me off, and I almost laugh at it. But then the nature of it clicks in my brain. He’s trying to figure me out, to probe me in a way that won’t be intrusive. Will’s smarter than I gave him credit for. “I don’t know. Probably a wildcat, like a leopard or a cougar or something.”
Will smirks. “A cougar, huh? You like ’em young?”
“Maybe I do,” I tease back, enjoying the light banter. “How old are you?” I realize what I’ve just implied the moment the words are out of my mouth, clamp my lips closed, and shut my eyes tight in mortification.
Maybe, if I try hard enough, I can disappear.
“I’ll be eighteen in May. You?” His voice is quieter, huskier when he answers, and if I’m not mistaken, he’s moved ever so slightly closer to me.
I open my eyes to his face barely inches from mine, and he’s watching me expectantly, waiting for my answer. “March,” I whisper.
“So I have a chance, then?”
If I lean forward just the slightest bit, I could press my lips to his. But I’m not that brave. “I guess you do.”
He’s about to kiss me. I’m as sure of it as I am of my own existence. His lips are impossibly close, so close I can feel the heat of his breath when he exhales—as close as two people can be without actually kissing.
My phone rings. The tinny chime splits the silence and cuts through the romance of the moment, but I don’t move to answer it. Maybe if I stay just like I am, he’ll still kiss me.
“You gonna answer that?” Will’s voice is a breathy almost-whisper against my lips.
“No.”
His lips land on mine as soon as the word is out of my mouth, like he was waiting for that one word as permission. His kiss is insistent, hungry, and sends wave after wave of awareness and anticipation crashing through me. I’ve always imagined my first kiss would be slow and awkward, but there’s nothing awkward about kissing Will. It’s like we’re back in the club, dancing together in perfect unison.
When his tongue sweeps across my lips, I feel the sensation in my soul and answer him with a nibble to his bottom lip. He makes an almost imperceptible sound of approval. I withdraw just a hairsbreadth, and he follows me, closing the distance between our lips before it opens. The hand he’s had playing in my hair all this time splays across my tingling scalp and holds me steady.
At some point, my phone stops ringing, but I’m not paying attention to it anymore. All my focus is on Will, on this kiss, on the way his lips are both demanding and gentle against mine. I don’t know what to do with my hands, so I place them against his chest near his shoulders, not to push him away but to expand our connection. His free hand lands at my hip, and images of him holding my hips while we danced flash through my brain.
