“Is wine okay for dinner, or would you like something else?” he asks as he takes our plates to the small table near the window on the kitchen side of the room.
“Wine is good, but I need a refill,” I say, holding up my empty glass.
He grabs my glass as he sweeps past on his way back to the kitchen. “Have a seat. I’ll be right there.”
I slide into one of the chairs at the table and pick up my fork. I know enough about manners not to start before Alessandro’s back, but that doesn’t keep me from dipping the tines of my fork in the sauce and tasting it.
“Holy Christ, that’s good.”
Alessandro picks up our glasses and moves back to the table. “I’m glad you approve.” He lowers himself into the seat across from me and nods at my plate, indicating I should go ahead. He doesn’t have to tell me twice.
I cut off a hunk of chicken and cram it in my mouth. “Oh, God,” I moan. “Who taught you to do this?”
“My grandmother.”
“Well, the woman deserves a medal.”
I dig back into my food, but just as I cut through a stalk of asparagus, an antenna flips out of my sauce. “Shit!” I scream, dropping my fork with a clank.
But then I hear Alessandro chuckling. He’s staring at me out from under his long, dark lashes, and in that look, I see the boy he was so long ago.
“You son of a bitch!” I say, but I’m laughing. How did I not see this coming? “I warned you.”
I grab the bug out of my sauce and charge at him, but he leaps out of his chair, laughing. “You warned me about cockroaches in your tea. I didn’t put the cockroach in your tea.”
“Close enough.”
He moves around to the front of the couch, but what he doesn’t expect is the direct, take-no-prisoners attack. I leap over the back of the couch and take him down, tackling him onto the throw pillows at the end and cramming the bug in his face.
And then I realize where I am: lying on top of Alessandro on a couch.
We’re leaving, Hilary.
Everything stops. Me. Him. Time.
I’m plunged backward in time to the rec room. Creed sang “My Sacrifice” from the radio and it was just us, which meant I could do this. I could touch him. He was on the couch in his T-shirt and jeans, and I was on top of him. He was kissing me, but he stopped.
“We’re leaving, Hilary.”
I shake the memory away, my heart beating in my throat.
Please. Don’t.
I climb off him and just stand here for a second, not sure if I should go.
Alessandro pulls himself up and looks at me a moment with wide eyes. His whole body is tense, his shoulders stiff and his hands bunched into fists at his sides.
I smooth my hair back. “I—sorry. I should go.”
He rubs his forehead, then looks at me. “You haven’t eaten yet. Come back to the table.”
We stand here staring at each other for another tense minute, then settle back into our seats.
“I’m sorry,” he says as he fishes the other cockroach out of his food. “It was stupid of me.”
But seeing him sitting there, sucking sauce off a rubber cockroach, is more than I can take. I crack up.
He smiles, unsure, but so soft and so beautiful. “We’re okay?”
“We’re okay.” As I say it, I realize I want it to be true. I want to spend time with him—get to know him again. I want to know what happened to him after he left New York. I need to know how he felt back then—and even now.
I need these things for my sanity. It’s just closure.
I’m not totally playing with fire.
Chapter Eleven
WHEN BRETT CLIMBED on top of me this morning before he left for the airport, I felt like I was going to throw up. It’s guilt. I know it. Because I can’t stop thinking about Alessandro, even when I’m having sex with Brett. Especially when I’m having sex with Brett. It’s a sick fantasy, but I can’t shut it down, no matter how hard I try.
Brett’s on the road for six crazy weeks of touring. I’m so jealous. But I’m also scared. Because without him here, fighting the urge to spend all my time with Alessandro is even harder.
When I walk into Argo Tea, he’s at a table near the window, and there’s already a cup at my place. I peel off my winter wear and lower myself into my seat, wrapping my frozen fingers around the steaming cup. I hope he thinks the shake in my hand is from the cold.
“It feels like snow today,” he says by way of a greeting, swirling his coffee in his cup.
That’s his tell. I look at him more closely. Is he nervous too? About what? I didn’t tell him Brett was gone.
“Colder than a witch’s tit,” I say, bringing my cup to my mouth with both hands and sipping. The warmth of the tea sends a shiver through me.
“I took the liberty,” he says with a nod at my cup. “Hope you don’t mind.”
“Thanks. So, where are we going?”
Some of the caution melts off his face and his mouth pulls into a smug half smile. “That’s how you want to play this? No surprise?”
I shrug. “I’m going to find out when we get there, right?”
He lifts his cup and looks at me over the top of it, taking a slow sip. “No,” he finally says, lowering it back to the table. “I’m not going to tell you.”
I roll my eyes and sip my tea. “Fine. If you won’t tell me, then I’m not telling you what we’re doing next week.”
His smile is back. “Good. I like surprises.”
“But I will tell you that we have to do it on Saturday instead of Thursday.”
He lifts an eyebrow at me.
I lift my eyebrows back. “If I say more, you’ll probably be able to figure it out,” I warn.
He raises his hand. “Enough said. I’m assuming this is happening in the morning, since you work Saturday nights?”
“Yes.”
He nods. “I’ll make it work.”
I shrug, trying to come off as indifferent, but I’m really starting to get into this. I went online to research what quirky things New York has to offer and I have a few stops lined up that I’m pretty stoked about. “If you say so.”
He watches me sip the last of my tea, then stands. “Ready?”
I wrap my scarf around my neck and scrape my chair back. “Let’s go.”
We step outside and the cold bites after the warm tea. I slip on my gloves and pull my jacket tight around me. We come to the subway, and I grab the rail and swing around for the stairs, but Alessandro keeps going.
“We’re walking.”
“How far?” I ask, feeling the warm air bellowing up from down there.
He stops walking and turns. “You’ll warm up. And, in any event, it’s not too far.”
I stand at the mouth of the subway and stare at him, exaggerating my shiver.
He smiles and walks back to collect me, looping an arm around my shoulders.
And, damn if I don’t feel warm all of a sudden.
He turns us and starts up Fifty-eighth, and I keep stride at his side. “I should have asked. Are you afraid of heights?” he asks as we walk.
I cut him a look. “We are not going to the Empire State Building! You said no lame-o tourist attractions.”
“I’m quite certain I never used the word ‘lame-o,’ and we’re not going to the Empire State Building.”
“So where then?”
He just smirks at me.
Twenty minutes later, when we’re still walking on Fifty-eighth, I’m starting to think he’s going to walk us straight into the East River, but then he takes a left on Second Avenue. “Almost there,” he tells me with a squeeze of my shoulders.
I’m warm now from the walk, but I like that his arm’s still around me, so don’t tell him that.