“It’s only been a month...” I started slowly. “Not even. And you want me to say I’m yours? Aren’t we moving fast enough already? We went from a first date to practically living together in the space of three weeks.”
It was hard to admit, but I had been there before, hadn’t I? I had fallen for a man within a day of meeting him—head over heels within twenty-four hours of our first date. A man who, in the end, didn’t want me the way I wanted him.
“I need you,” Giancarlo said again, pacing up and down the small, tight space. He stopped behind me and wrapped his arms around my waist, nuzzling into my neck, his breath warm and heavy. “I need you, Layla. I don’t know why. I don’t know how. But I do. I need to know you’re mine, amor. Say it.”
I took a deep breath. My body didn’t melt into his embrace. Instead, I stood stock-straight as I felt his growing erection against me. Intensity turned him on, I knew. But I didn’t like the way he conflated that intensity with love. The lines between them became very blurry.
“I...”
Giancarlo pulled away and then leaned against the counter so he faced me. “It’s just us now, don’t you know that? No families. Nobody. We only have each other. If I lose you, I’ll...I just need to know, amor. I need to know you belong to me.”
But I couldn’t say it. I couldn’t tell him I was his, couldn’t say I belonged to someone else. I’m honestly not sure I could ever say that to another person.
Except one.
The thought entered my head before I could stop it, and I pushed it away and turned back to the vegetables, hissing in the pan. The sound echoed through the air, taking up the space where my words should have been. Why couldn’t I just say it? He so clearly needed me to. And it did feel so, so good to have someone want me the way he did.
But my mouth wouldn’t move. I stared at the vegetables, feeling Giancarlo’s temper building beside me, a powder keg ready to burst. It was strangely familiar. My father, of course, was the same way, with a temper that would turn to shouting if you pressed the wrong button. I winced, bracing myself for an onslaught.
Suddenly, the spatula was swatted out of my hand, and before I could say anything, the pan was slammed off the stove and into the wall in the corner. Flecks of hot oil bit into my skin, and I jumped back against the sink.
“Ow! Okay, okay, okay!” I shouted. “I-I need you too, I guess. Is that what you need to hear? Jesus!”
Giancarlo stood next to the still-red burner on the stove, its coil as red and angry as his face. He hurled the spatula at the pan, and I stared at them both, bewildered by the oily vegetables now staining the walls and the linoleum.
“Don’t placate me,” he bit out, then stomped out of the apartment, slamming the heavy door behind him.
It took me five full minutes to stop shaking, to get down on my knees and clean up the stir fry, to go without eating because that was all the food in his apartment, and I was too scared to see what he would do if he came back to find me gone. And he did come back, several hours later, smelling a little of Malbec and something else I couldn’t place. He scooped me against his big body, full of apologies and sex. And in my daze, I accepted both.
“There she is! Layla!”
I snap out of the memory and scan the bar, a little place on the Lower East Side where Shama wanted to go tonight. She and Jason broke up over the break, so Fat Black’s is off-limits for a while, at least for her. I’m glad they’re done even though my friend is heartbroken. Getting a text in the middle of the night from your naked boyfriend wouldn’t be so bad, but it’s fucked up when the text was clearly sent by the woman naked with him.
It was Quinn’s voice I heard. A second later I spot all of my roommates waving furiously from a booth.
“Come on,” I say and pull Giancarlo with me.
They’ve met before, of course, but it’s been a long time since that night in September. Jamie’s snuggled into Dev’s side, and Quinn and Shama stand up to give me tight hugs.
“We missed you!” they both yelp as we all sit down. I relax a little. It’s good to know that Quinn and I don’t have to be weird now.
“Guys,” I say, tugging on Giancarlo’s hand to pull him into the booth with me. Reluctantly, he follows. “This is Giancarlo. Giancarlo, this is Quinn, Jamie, and Shama. And that’s Dev, Jamie’s boyfriend.”
Dev gives a tip of his head, but turns quickly back to Jamie to resume their reunion as well. Quinn and Shama turn to us, openly assessing Giancarlo, who remains tense.
“So, Harry Potter,” Quinn says, “Layla says you’re in school. What’s your major?”
“Who is Harry Potter?” Giancarlo turns to me, ignoring the question.
“You don’t know who Harry Potter is?” I ask. “Those books are huge right now.”
“He’s a wizard!” Shama pipes up. She cocks her head, looking at Giancarlo. “Yeah, I sort of see it. I mean, he’s not exactly the little schoolboy type, but the glasses and the scarf...good call, Quinn.”
Quinn smirks. Giancarlo scowls.
“Maybe he’d like Voldemort better,” Quinn remarks dryly as she stirs her drink. Shama and Jamie start to laugh.
“Quinn!” I hiss.
She shrugs. “Anyway. Major, V-man?”
Giancarlo clears his throat. “Business.”
“Oh? What kind? Finance? Econ?”
Again with the throat clearing. “Um, finance, I think. After I finish, I will go back to Buenos Aires and learn my family’s business.” He turns to me with a sober look. “Layla will come with me too.”
He gives me that long, slow smile that makes my insides melt a little, and it almost distracts me from the fact that he thinks I’m going to move to a completely different hemisphere with him. Almost.
“What’s that?” I ask as lightly as I can. “This is news to me.” I grin at my friends, trying to play it off as a joke, but no one looks amused.
“Whoa,” Jamie says as she breaks from a kiss with Dev. “Did I hear you’re moving to Argentina? That’s awesome! And your dad will be so happy since you’ll be closer to Brazil, right?”
“Is this true?” Quinn’s voice is a lot more sober than Jamie’s, but I do find the courage to look at her.
Feeling the tension radiating around the table, but especially from the tall glass of intensity sitting next to me, I chew on my upper lip for a minute before answering.
“No,” I say. “It’s just an idea I guess.”
I don’t even have to look at Giancarlo to know that he’s glaring at me. His message tone rings, a loud blare that can still be heard inside the club. He checks it, then shoves it back in his pocket.
“I have to go,” he says as he stands up. “Come. We need to talk.”
And with a curt nod at my friends, Giancarlo tugs me back out of the booth and through the club without even giving me a second to grab my coat from the hanger. It’s not until we’re back outside on the sidewalk that he whirls around, the tails of his long black coat flying behind him like a cape.
“What the fuck was that?” he demands, nose tinged red with anger. A couple entering the lounge sidesteps away from him, even though he’s not even shouting.
Arms crossed, I hold myself tightly, shivering in the icy wind. I’m wearing a thin sweater and jeans, and it’s thirty degrees outside. “What are you talking about?”
“You think I like being made a fool? Is that why you brought me here?”
“N-no!” I proclaim. “Come on, please. Giancarlo, we were only joking around. That’s what we do.”
“And you? Joking around?” he comes closer, grabbing my arms and pulling me to him. “I wasn’t joking when I said I wanted you with me. I always want you with me, Layla. Don’t you feel the same for me?” His hands drift up my neck, clasping me there and turning my face toward his. “No,” he says, before I can reply. “You don’t take this serious. I can see it in your face.”
He releases me with enough gusto that I fall back a step or two. I’m so cold that my
teeth are chattering, but my mouth falls open anyway in shock. Is he serious right now? I’ve been with him literally every day for the last month. How could he possibly think that I’m not serious?
“I should walk away while I can,” Giancarlo snarls. “You’re only going to ruin me, I can see it. Nothing but fun and games to you, like a child.”
“No!” I finally burst out.
The tension that’s been stewing in my stomach finally flowers into something more explosive. I couldn’t say why, but the idea of him walking away, of leaving me, just like everyone else always seems to do, is suddenly too much to bear. It’s enough that it shutters the anger at his unfair accusations, at the feeling like I’m being railroaded into this conflict whether I want it or not.
“I’m serious,” I say reaching out for his sleeves. “I’m serious. You just took me off-guard with the Argentina comment, okay? But you know I’m serious about you, Giancarlo. You must know that.”
He lets me pull him close, but remains a statue as I press slow, tentative kisses around his jaw. There is no response, and his skin there, the skin he keeps meticulously shaved, is chilled in the wind. At last he takes a step back and draws his knuckles slowly across my cheek. I lean into the touch, not daring to break eye contact as he levels his cold stare at me.
“I don’t believe you,” he says, as he pushes my face roughly to the side. “I have to go. Maybe that will give you some time to consider what you really think of me. Maybe then you’ll appreciate what we have.”
And with another scowl, he turns and walks swiftly down the street, coattails flying. I stand there, shivering in the wind hurling down Houston until he disappears around the corner.
“You okay, sweetie?”
A deep voice startles me with its familiarity. Its low timbre. Its faint New York accent. I turn around, but of course, it’s not him. The doorman is dressed in the universal uniform of black, but he’s not Nico.
“You want me to kick his ass for you?” he offers kindly.
I almost say yes. I’m mad and scared and I just want this feeling to go away. But then I catch the way the guy’s eyes drift down to the cleavage apparent in my flimsy black shirt.
I shiver again and shake my head. “No. No, thanks.”
“Anytime,” he says just before I duck back inside the bar.
As if my roommates all made an agreement not to press me about Giancarlo for a certain period of time, no one brings up his sudden disappearance. We share a few rounds, and slowly the ball of stress in my stomach unravels—a little—while I listen to them tell stories about their breaks. We let Quinn brag about her family’s trip to Miami Beach, ooh and ahh as Jamie and Dev recount visiting Jamie’s mom, and boo accordingly as Shama debriefs us on her and Jason’s breakup. A few hours later, I’m not checking my phone for messages every few minutes anymore. Jamie and Dev have graduated to the dance floor, and Shama’s found herself a rebound.
“I don’t get it.”
I turn back to the table, where Quinn is finishing her fourth vodka soda. The music in here is really loud, but her disapproval echoes across the table.
“What don’t you get?” I ask.
Quinn looks toward the door, like she’s expecting Giancarlo to walk back in.
“What you see in Severus Snape.”
“Annnnd here it is,” I mutter.
“What?”
“I knew you wouldn’t be able to help it,” I snap. “You just couldn’t let an entire evening pass without judging my life, could you?”
“Calm down,” Quinn says. “He was a dick, and you know it.”
“He was a dick because you were a dick!” I counter. “You couldn’t have just been nice? Welcoming to my new boyfriend for once? Christ, you didn’t even like Nico until you physically saw him nursing me back to health last spring.”
“And I was still right about him, wasn’t I? I said he was the ‘fuck and run’ type, and he was! And I’m right about this one too. Giancarlo’s a selfish prick, Lay. I can see it all over his Potter-looking face.”
“Will you make up your mind which character he’s going to be?” I snap as I cross my arms over my chest. “Your snide insults aren’t as effective when you jump around.”
“He takes off for his so-called ‘job’ at the mysterious club. Does he not see that we are college kids out for the night? Jesus, even that shit-eating bastard Jason used to hook us up at Fat Black’s, and he was cheating on Shams the whole time!”
I roll my eyes. “I get it now. You’re just pissed that he didn’t invite you for free drinks. After you were busy insulting, no less.” I cross my arms. “Your entitlement is incredible, you know that? I had really hoped that a month away would have cooled your desire to criticize every part of my life, but it’s like it got worse.” I take a drink, polishing off the rest of my whiskey diet. “When you left, you were mad because you wanted me to move on from Nico. Well, I did, and now you can’t handle it. I’m happy now. Can’t you just be okay with that?”
“This is you happy? You’re a shell. You spent the entire ten-minute conversation brokering his interactions. Not to mention the mommy act you had to pull when you got in.”
“That’s it!” I toss a few bills on the table to pay for my drinks, grab my coat, and scoot out of the booth.
“Layla, come on. Don’t be so dramatic.”
I whirl around, not caring in the slightest how dramatic that makes me look. “You did not just say that to me.”
Quinn shrugs. “If the shoe fits...”
I shake my head, biting back the words I really want to say. “I’m going home. I need to cool off.”
“Is that the room we share, or Argentina?”
“Try not to wake me when you get back,” I call out as I exit the bar.
When I get outside, I ignore the leering smile of the doorman, deciding to waste a few extra dollars on cab fare instead of walking the several frigid blocks to the nearest subway stop. Sitting in the back of the cab by myself, while the city races by, I’m struck by how alone I feel. New York is an incredibly dense place, where everyone is literally stacked on top of one another. And yet, sitting in this cab, I feel so incredibly alone.
My phone buzzes in my pocket. I pull it out and open the message there.
Giancarlo: I’m sorry. I will see you tomorrow? You have no idea how important you are to me. x
I pause, reading the brief sentences over and over again. Giancarlo has a way of loading his words with more than they say on the outside, but it’s hard to tell with a text message. I’m never quite sure what he really means by these things, and if I get it wrong, I might pay for it with yet another argument.
But the bench beside me is empty. I rub my forearm, remembering another cab ride. One where I sat in someone’s lap, was utterly wrapped up in his lips, his mouth, his arms, his hands. Where I felt like I was the center of his universe in those moments, like for him, the sun rose and set with me.
All before it was ripped away. Time and time again.
I touch my lips, then look down at my phone.
Me: You are important to me too. x
The phone buzzes quickly after that, more x’s and o’s, more messages with all the ways he’s going to make the night up to me. I respond to them briefly, then tell him I’m home well before I am. For the rest of the drive, I lean my head against the window and close my eyes, willing that ball in my stomach to loosen completely, and the voice in my heart that aches for another to quiet into the night.
Chapter Twenty
February 2004
Nico
I pull hard on the underside of the bleachers. One more. Two more. Last one. You can do it.
“Ahhhh!” I growl as I pull up the last time, holding my body for an extra second before dropping to the ground. I’m so covered in sweat from the end of my workout, I’m not sure I could have held on anymore if I tried.
Still, I jog in place for a second, shaking out the pain coursing up and down my arms. It’s a
good pain—a burn that tells me I’m making progress.
On the other side of the bleachers, a group of high school girls giggle at me from the middle of the field as I jog back to the track for my cool-down. I probably should have kept my shirt on, but it’s too damn hot for that. Way hotter than normal even for LA in February. If you want to know the truth, I’m getting tired of the damn sunshine. Right now New York is covered in slush, and they’re supposed to have a snowstorm next week. I’d be happy to be there if just for the change of pace.
I finish the last loop of the mile, ignoring the way the girls are eyeing me. Kids. I sprint the last hundred meters on the track, huffing out short, sharp breaths in time with my feet. I want this. I want this job more than just about anything. I had one of the top scores of the test, and now I want one of the top physical assessments too. I know that it doesn’t really matter as long as I pass. It’s the background checks that are really important to getting one of the coveted FDNY spots. But I can’t afford to have an application that’s anything less than stellar. They already know about my pas, and the two big blemishes against met: two years in detention for aggravated assault. I was only fifteen, but still prosecuted as an offender instead of a delinquent, putting a permanent mark on my record.
But they could have just tossed my application right then and there, and then didn’t. So I have to try. If FedEx can see past my mistakes, maybe the FDNY will too, and I’m determined to make the rest of my application shine.
I know you can do it.
Layla’s voice sings through my brain as I jog back to my apartment, keeping a quicker pace than normal. I wish I could tell her what she does for me, how her faith keeps me going. I’ve left her alone since Christmas, when I heard that male voice on the other end of the line. I’m not going to lie. That knowledge cuts me too. I hate knowing that she’s moving on, even though she has every right. I hate thinking about the fact that another dude is touching her, loving her. Doing things to her that only I should do.
Bad Idea- The Complete Collection Page 54