by R.S. Grey
His mouth curves into a delicious smile. “You really think I’m a villain, don’t you? You’ve concocted all sorts of stories in that head of yours.”
Our heads stay bent together as we talk. We’re supposed to be moving toward the bar, but we’re just standing in the crowd, his hand firmly gripping my arm, my chin tilted up so I can see him properly. In the hazy bar light, he looks like a dream. All that thick hair, smooth skin, itty bitty freckles across his tan cheeks. I could measure the fullness of his lips. Could count the long black lashes that cluster together and frame his brown eyes. He has the warmth of a crackling fire and I feel like I’ll get scalded if I keep standing this close to him for too much longer. There are dangerous thoughts swirling around in my mind. Thoughts that would have Noah rolling on the ground with laughter if he could hear them. Thoughts that have cropped up in my mind once or twice over the years—mostly when I’m asleep and dreaming and therefore off the hook.
“You look like you’re really mulling something over.”
I am.
I swallow and he leans closer. “Why don’t you share it with the class?”
My eyes stay zeroed in on his lips. A bullet train could be hurtling straight for me, blaring its loud horn, and I would not break eye contact with his mouth.
“Murder. Mutilation. Blood.”
“The truth, Audrey.”
Like a hypnotized psych patient, words tumble out of me before I even realize I’m saying them. “I’m curious about how you kiss. I wonder if you ever let your partner lead or if you’re a bossy asshole about it.”
If I’ve surprised him, he doesn’t show it. Always in control, this one. Unflappable and stoic. I so rarely have the upper hand with him that I can’t resist the opportunity when it presents itself.
Truthfully, I’ve never wondered what a kiss with Noah would be like until now. Why would I ever conceive of such a thing? My efforts have been focused elsewhere: researching loopholes to get him fired, concocting elaborate plans to get him deported from the country, wielding tiny weapons of psychological warfare that drive him insane. Example: loosening the knob on his classroom door. Boy, did he hate that. Phillips screwdriver: $7.07. The look on Noah’s face when he realized what I’d done: priceless.
Lindale administration would prefer we keep our hands and mouths to ourselves, but we’re in Rome and Noah’s no rat. When I slide my hands up his shirt and creep up onto my tippy toes, I know this moment will stay between us forever.
I slip one hand underneath the back of his shirt collar then gently run the other up into the hair at the base of his head, through his soft strands, hunting for something.
“You won’t find an ‘off’ switch.”
Normally I hate that he can read my mind, but right now, it’s hilarious that I’ve been outed.
“Can’t blame a girl for trying,” I say, cheeky and sweet.
His eyebrows furrow; he’s curious and intrigued. I have him on the edge of his seat. If I pulled away right now, he’d be oh so disappointed. This power feels delicious. I could go mad with it if I’m not careful.
“What are you doing, Audrey?”
“I thought I was being pretty clear,” I say, edging even closer to him, flush against his body.
Even extended to my full height, I have to tug Noah down to meet me. The milliseconds it takes for his mouth to reach mine are just enough time for a wave of panic to spike my blood.
Holy crap. What have I—
But then his lips touch mine and the floor bottoms out from underneath me. My eyes flutter closed. Gentle and tempting, he doesn’t claim my mouth like a hungry brute. He’s calculated and cunning and annoyingly good at this.
I’m kissing my enemy, and more importantly, he’s kissing me back. One hand tightens on my arm and the other is tangled in my hair now, tilting my head, angling me perfectly so he can part my lips and further this experiment. How far do you want to take this, he taunts.
I’m losing track of my objective.
Destroy Noah? Or was it something else? Something better. Sweeter. Hotter.
My hand grips his hair and he feeds me a moan.
His lips tempt me toward insanity. An innocent kiss turns into something more.
His hands have moved lower. One is tight on my waist, keeping me flush against him. The other toys with the bottom of my dress. His knuckle brushes against the bare skin of my upper thigh and my entire body clenches with want. This is indecent, even for a crowded bar. Someone should pry us apart and scold us, but either nobody notices or nobody cares.
As the kiss deepens and Noah’s tongue touches mine, I’m drawn more and more into him. It feels a little like I’m sinking into quicksand. I feel totally helpless. Defenseless. At his mercy. If he wanted to back me up, haul me on top of the bar counter, and continue this madness, I’d let him. I’d surrender, totally.
And that’s when clarity stabs through me like a sharp knife.
I break the kiss and shove him away.
I’ve made such a huge mistake. I wasn’t really going to kiss him. I was going to toy with him and then be done with it. But Noah didn’t let it end there. He played dirty. He dug down to the very root of me and took a little nugget of truth he can tuck into the front pocket of his shirt and draw out whenever he feels like taunting me.
“God. You’re a jerk,” I hiss.
He looks like I just slapped him. “What?”
“How dare you…do that! Do you honestly have no moral compass at all?”
I’m already trying to shoulder my way through the crowd, but he tugs me back.
“What the hell are you talking about? You came on to me.”
We’re both spitting venom, and when I try to yank my arm free of his hold, he releases it like he just got burned.
“Yeah, and then you crossed the line,” I accuse. “I wasn’t really going to kiss you!”
I’ve never seen him look like this before. Furious, yes, but it’s more complicated than that. If I didn’t know better, I’d misread his crestfallen expression for real hurt.
But that’s all part of it too, isn’t it? He can’t laugh and admit his wrongdoing now.
He’s still in the game.
He just kissed me like I was his lifeblood. He made me believe it in my soul, just for that one perfect second.
I can imagine him breaking character and coming clean. Sinister glee twisting his features into something wicked. But those eyes don’t change. That hurt, however fleeting, doesn’t turn into triumph. It turns into exhaustion.
“Tell the others I’m heading back to the school,” he says before turning and weaving his way through the crowd toward the front door, never once looking back.
I’m mad at him for leaving before I could. I don’t want the task of returning to our table to mop up the mess we’ve just created.
My stomach growls as if to say, Hi! Crap timing, I know, ha ha, but you do remember that you still need to feed me, right?
But I’m not ordering anything here.
I have a mission, and once I complete it, I’m gone.
I figure there are two scenarios I’ll find when I make it back to the table. Either Lorenzo and Gabriella saw Noah and me kissing and are deeply confused and possibly upset with us, or they just want some food and they’ll be deeply confused and possibly upset with us once they find out we didn’t actually order anything in all that time we were away.
Oddly enough, when I spot them in the crowd, they aren’t drumming their fingers on the table, making awkward conversation in our absence. Gabriella scooted into my seat on the bench and has her head tilted toward Lorenzo. He’s talking and she’s laughing and from the looks of it, they’re really hitting it off. She says something he must like because he reaches out and touches her hand. Then he doesn’t take it away.
Right.
Well.
That’s convenient.
“Hey guys.”
They both jerk in surprise then look up at me with guilt in their eyes
. Gabriella scoots away from Lorenzo, trying to put some space between them.
I wave to let her know not to bother. “I don’t…whatever is or isn’t happening here, that’s…listen, Noah just left because…well, I don’t know exactly, but I’m gonna leave too.”
Wow, so this is what it would sound like if I lost half my brain cells.
They both have the decency to look worried.
“Is he all right?” Gabriella asks, her gaze flitting toward the door. “Should I go check on him?”
She doesn’t sound too enthusiastic about it. I can tell she’s only offering because she knows it’s the right thing to do.
“No. You two stay. Please. Enjoy, um…I was going to say the food, but we didn’t actually order. Sorry about that.” I’m starting to back away as if hoping to vanish into thin air, but then I pause and lean back in, gesturing between them. “I don’t know how to put this in a way that doesn’t seem awkward, so I’m just going to flat-out say it. You two seem to have a lot in common, and if you’re interested in each other, go for it. Lorenzo, I’m not…in a good place, apparently. I realize that now and I’m sorry. And Gabriella, I can’t speak for Noah, but…”
I decide that’s as good a place as any to stop talking. They meet each other’s eyes, and I just know the second I walk away from this weird interaction, they’re going to have a lot to say.
Her cheeks looked flushed. Do you think her cheeks looked flushed?
Noah just up and left?
And COME ON—they didn’t even order us food?
I offer a pathetic little wave then turn and have tunnel vision on the exit until I reach it, push through the door, and escape out into the night.
Chapter Twelve
My head is a mess of confusing thoughts. Outside the bar, I’m trying to think so hard and so fast—to make sense of the last few minutes—that I actually get a headache from it. Or maybe that’s just the aftereffects of the sun, and the shot, and the zero calories I’ve put into my body since lunch time.
For the last few years, Noah has been a constant in my life. Through hard breakups and moves, my dad’s cancer scare, and a bad set of bangs, he’s been my counterpart. My other half. My dependable nemesis.
Tonight might have changed that, and I only have myself to blame.
Like someone teeing up the perfect joke, I delivered myself to Noah on a silver platter. He couldn’t resist taking things as far as he did. I behaved poorly, and he one-upped me. This…this was the worst thing he’s ever done.
There have been a few times in my life when I’ve felt soul-crushingly sad or lonely. When I didn’t get invited to Lauren Valentine’s birthday party in the fifth grade, which included a limo ride to a Jonas Brothers concert and produced a bevy of inside jokes I was forced to endure for the next year of my life. Sorry, Audrey. You had to be there. When I didn’t get into my top-choice college that all my friends were going to, I thought it was the end of the world. When I didn’t land that job at a publishing house in my early twenties, I thought I was a loser and a failure, especially when I had to move back in with my parents for a few months (okay, a year) because I couldn’t make rent in the city. When I walk through the streets of Rome tonight and pass a couple sitting on a stoop, sharing a bottle of wine and leaning into each other, laughing, silly, in love, it hurts to look at them. It hurts to realize how far I am from being part of something like that.
Tonight, I was kissed, and it was real-life fairytale magic. Pixie dust included.
Then, I realized it was actually nothing. A farce.
A harsh reminder of how lonely and alone I am.
Back at St. Cecilia’s, I stand in the hallway outside Noah’s door with my hand clenched in a fist. Knocking would be so easy. Taking us back to baseline would take no effort at all.
Hey, let’s forget about the bar. In the morning, you can tease me and I’ll act annoyed and everything will be right in the world. How ’bout it?
But my fist won’t move.
I can’t do it.
My feelings were really hurt tonight.
Noah kissing me like that, making me feel like he could…maybe…it doesn’t matter. It took our antics to a level we’ve never ventured to before. It was cruel, and I can’t yet forgive him for it. Maybe also, deep down, I’m not ready to forgive myself either.
I let my hand fall back limp by my side and turn for my room, closing my door softly behind me. I strip out of my dress and put on the comfiest clothes I can find. I consider texting Kristen and Melissa about everything, but I know they’d have no patience for me. At this point, they’ve heard me complain about Noah far too much.
You provoked a snake, and the snake bit you.
It’s not even been a full week here in Rome and everything has gone to shit.
I knew something like this would happen if Noah and I co-chaperoned this trip. We can’t be left alone. We’re like two children who need constant minding. Put us in a room together and you’ll return to find the place on fire.
It seems like for once, there’s no clear path forward.
I suppose I could bail on this whole thing, call Principal O’Malley, tell him I can’t do it after all and I need to come home. But where would that leave the students and Noah? I can’t just up and abandon them. Today was rough at the Roman Forum, but I know the kids are having such a good time here. There’s also the issue of the bonus money, which isn’t all that important, but it’s something. One more reason to stay.
I’m being a coward, really. I’m only thinking about leaving because I don’t want to face Noah in the morning. I wish I could slink away into the night, but I can’t just up and flee back to the States, holing myself away on a cargo ship. I have more than two weeks left here in Rome and I need to make the most of them. I’m in Europe! Surrounded by culture and good food and fine wine! Weird situation with Noah and failing love match with Lorenzo aside, I’ve enjoyed my time exploring the city on my own, and I feel like I have so much left to see and do here. That’s where I need to focus my attention.
Noah doesn’t matter, I tell myself, like I’m practicing a new mantra. He shouldn’t have this much control over my mood and emotions. He’s my coworker. The teacher next door. A person I see at staff meetings and in the lunchroom and that’s it.
I go to sleep repeating all of that, feeling hopeful that it’ll stick.
I really think I’ve cured myself of this sickness, and then I walk into the dining hall the next morning and there’s Noah, sitting at a table by himself, nursing a coffee, looking like shit.
There’re faint circles under his eyes and his mouth is a flat line. His thick brows look like they’ve accidentally become stuck in that furrowed position permanently. He hasn’t seen me yet. His attention is down on his cup as he brushes his thumb up and down the length of it. It looks like he hasn’t slept a wink. I wonder if that’s his first cup of coffee or his third?
Complicated feelings tug me in opposite directions. I feel bad that I might have inadvertently hurt Noah somehow. I should not have teased him like that. Maybe he feels bad that he took things as far as he did. Strange as it may seem, I do think he’s capable of feeling remorse. I guess we’re both dogs with our tails between our legs this morning.
For a moment, I consider going over to him, saying all the things I would have said had I had the courage to knock on his door last night, but then I think of my new mantra. The only way forward, the only way to get out of this crazy loop with Noah is to break the cycle. I cannot keep doing this with him, pretending that poking him and teasing him and focusing my full attention on him will get me anywhere. If I’m not careful, my love-to-hate relationship with him will suck me dry, and where will that leave me a month from now? A year? Two years? Right where I am in this moment. Alone.
I mean look at what happened last night. I kissed Noah while I was on a date with another guy! Lorenzo and I were hitting it off pretty well. I liked him! And then my complicated relationship with Noah sabotaged my night
with Lorenzo. Whatever we could have had is gone now, up in smoke.
So I make a conscious effort to pivot away from Noah and take careful measured steps toward the dining hall line. I feel like I’m an actor walking across stage for an audience. Am I doing it right? Do I look natural?
If Noah looks up and spots me, I don’t notice. I’m purposely ignoring him. I go through the food line and pick up a banana and a bagel. I fill my coffee to the tippity top of my cup, and then I take my tray to the side of the room Noah isn’t occupying and sit with my back to him.
There. That wasn’t so hard.
I stare down at the food I should be eagerly tucking into, and then like an impulsive addict, I glance furtively over my shoulder in time to see Noah stand up. It’s early and most of the kids aren’t awake yet. There’s only a handful of people in here, and there’s no way Noah hasn’t seen me.
I hold my breath and watch him walk, anticipating something. My spine straightens and my hand instinctively goes to my hair to tug some of it behind my ear. I haven’t breathed since he took his first step. I’m a balloon filling with helium, growing, growing, growing, and then I POP when he turns toward the exit and disappears around the corner without even glancing in my direction.
Right.
Well my back was to him. There’s a chance he mistook me for someone else.
With sagging shoulders, I turn to my breakfast and everything looks so…blah. I force myself to eat three bites of my bagel, and I chew and chew and chew and only swallow when it seems like I’m supposed to. My banana gets saved for later and I only sip half my coffee, worried any more than that will make me anxious.
Today, since it’s Sunday, the children have options. The schedule isn’t the same as it is throughout the week. They get a break from their Latin lessons and planned excursions. They have the choice to either go with Lorenzo and Noah to a sports field for a game of pick-up soccer, join Gabriella and Ashley for a trip to a nearby farmer’s market, or stay back at St. Cecilia’s with me. We picked posts earlier in the week. I wanted to go to the farmer’s market, but it was clear no one was excited about hanging back at the school, and to be done with the awkwardness, I volunteered.
