by Vivian Arend
I sip the wine eagerly. Suddenly, the house feels very warm.
Cosmopolitan magazine did not prepare me for the fifth date, at all. I was all geared up for date number four, and the sex. I think that one went well. Now I don’t know what the hell is happening.
I guess I assumed that all the dates after that key milestone would just fall into place. It’s supposed to be smooth sailing for a year or two, when it’s time to trick the guy into thinking he wants to marry you. Those articles are so stupid. I always roll my eyes, but I keep reading them.
Luca breaks the silence by asking me to help him set the table.
He serves the dinner, and we eat while making light conversation about business comings and goings on Baker Street.
What’s happening between us is easy and comfortable. Luca is great, but the house is freaking me out. I don’t think I belong here, in this grown man’s house.
Maybe there’s a reason I usually date man-children who spend their social lives online. Those guys don’t intimidate me, or make me feel like I’m not doing enough with my life. I’m twenty-nine and I live with my mother, working the same job I’ve had for a decade.
I’m like the poster girl for arrested development.
“We’re already taking bookings for the first month,” Luca says, gathering the plates to clean up.
I stare down at my empty plate with surprise. I’m already done eating? I’ve been so busy beating myself up in my head that I haven’t even been present.
Why can’t I be present and in the moment all the time, like Luca?
“Come on,” he says, holding out his hand to help me up. “Let’s go downstairs, and you can have your pick.”
He leads me back down the stairs, to all the motorbikes. It’s still incongruous to see bikes inside a house, but less of a shock.
“There’s nothing like an after-dinner ride,” he says. “This is why I went easy on the wine. You pick which bike we take out.”
“This one,” I say without hesitation. It’s the same bike we rode to the movie set.
His face lights up, like I’ve just passed some test.
He leans over the bike and starts rolling it toward the door, his muscles popping out of his form-fitting shirt. I run ahead and open the door for him.
We put on our helmets, slip into place on the bike, and ride off down the street.
The sky is gold and pink, making everything more beautiful.
We ride out of the neighborhood, and then along a park. I can tell Luca knows this route well. We turn into an area I don’t know that well, and soon we’re winding along a road that curves and bends like a meandering river.
I marvel at how instinctive it is to lean first one way, and then the other, keeping my body in line with Luca’s and the bike. The movement itself is pleasurable, like rollerblading down a gentle hill.
The vibration of the bike, plus holding on tight to Luca’s solid torso, is all part of the magic.
The sun sets, and night is around us. The headlight slices a path through the darkness, leading us home again.
We get back to Luca’s house, where I hold the door open again while he parks the bike.
He watches as I take off my helmet and shake out my hair.
“What?” I ask, still running my fingers through my wavy hair. “Is my hair all squished.”
“Not at all. It’s just that the sight of a beautiful girl shaking out her hair after a ride is irresistible.” He takes my hand and kisses my fingers, holding me with his intense gaze. “You’re irresistible.”
I glance down at his broad shoulders and defined pectoral muscles. He’s the one who’s irresistible.
“Let me give you the full tour,” he says, leading me back upstairs.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Holding my hand, he leads me right into his bedroom. This room is as plain and minimal as the rest of the house. The bed looks freshly-made, with black sheets.
Luca dims the lights, and then he kneels before me. I’m standing just inside the door to the room, and this is the same thing he did when I first got here. He lifts up my shirt and rubs his cheek against my stomach.
He’s such a big, muscular guy. Seeing him kneel before me makes me feel like a queen. I pull my shirt off, toss it aside, and enjoy the sensation of being adored.
He kisses my stomach, his hands on my back. He unhooks my bra, and fills his mouth with first one breast, and then the other. My legs are trembling, and it’s not just from the long bike ride.
Suddenly, I don’t feel worthy of this worship. I pull away and walk toward the bed. He catches me with one arm and turns me to face him. We kiss, and I pull his shirt off over his head.
He leans forward, pressing his hot skin against mine. He picks me up and lays me back on the bed.
I’m quiet as he unbuttons my jeans and pulls them off. Next are my underwear, and then he takes off everything of his.
I’m on my back, in the middle of the big bed, and he stands at the foot of the bed. He’s an intimidating sight, completely nude.
He climbs onto the bed, kisses me lightly on the stomach, and then moves down.
I gasp as he kisses me on the tops of my thighs, and then between my legs. His lips and tongue make my pulse quicken.
I look down at his muscular back, his beautiful body.
He lets out a soft moan, the vibration traveling through me like a low, rumbling bass note.
My toes curl with pleasure. He keeps licking, driving his tongue against me. His fingers slip in, coaxing out even more pleasure.
He slows down and adjusts his body position, like he’s in no hurry at all. I’m the one who’s desperate with urgency, rocking against his every stroke.
He’s enjoying this, and holding back just enough so I don’t climax.
Finally, I can’t take it anymore, and I say one word: “Please.”
He looks up, grins, and moves his body up.
He’s over me, on his hands and knees. His manhood is rigid, aligned with his torso, and right above me. I reach up and give it a careful stroke.
“Squeeze it,” he growls. “Both hands.”
I reach up and place one hand over the other. I’m amazed there’s space for both hands—and excited. He gives me a few more words of encouragement, and soon I’m working him hard.
I’m enjoying myself, playing and squeezing like I have a new toy. It’s so much fun that I almost forget about everything else. He grabs a condom from the dresser and hands it to me.
I’ve never done this part before, but how difficult can it be? I open the packet, and Luca rolls onto his side, alongside me. He folds one arm under his head and watches me with amusement.
I place the rubber on the tip, and try to roll down the rest of it. But it won’t work. At least he’s not going soft yet, but I’m an utter failure at this task. I keep working.
This is impossible.
It’s like trying to coax a shark into a Ziploc bag.
Luca snickers. “Grab a fresh packet. You’ve mangled that one.”
“This is impossible. These aren’t the right size, are they? Why are you doing this to me? Is this a subtle hint for me to go on the pill?”
He laughs. “They’re the right size. You put it on upside-down.”
I swear and toss the mangled rubber aside. I grab a fresh one, and this time I pay very close attention. It works! I feel very proud of myself, and pause to admire my work.
I don’t get to admire it for long, because Luca rolls me onto my back, climbs on top of me, and slides in, just a bit.
I cry out in pleasure, my toes curling already. He groans, and the rumble in his chest is like the roar of an engine.
I bend my legs, clutch my knees in my hands, and beg him to take me.
He takes his time, teasing me with each stroke. His body is my jungle gym, and I wrap my legs around him. I just want to be as close as possible, a part of him.
We move together, coaxing out more and more pleasure.
I w
onder if I’ll ever get enough.
He warns me that he’s coming. I hang on tight as he plunges into me, harder and faster. In a flash, time seems to hold still for a moment, and pleasure pulses through me like a sonic boom. Time starts up again, and he’s so huge inside me and on top of me, everywhere at once. His body tenses, and I feel him pulse with pleasure.
When he slows down and rolls off to the side, we’re both gasping and trembling.
I’ve never felt so thoroughly satisfied.
In fact, I don’t know if I ever need to have sex again, because this has been immensely satisfying.
I roll over and tell him this.
He starts to laugh. “What are you talking about? I’ve ruined you for sex?”
I stroke his chest lazily. “Not ruined me. I just mean… that one was perfect, and I can’t see how it could possibly get better.”
He’s still laughing softly, and pretends to wipe tears from his eyes. “I’d be insulted if I didn’t feel the exact same way.”
“I know, right? It’s like you just ate Thanksgiving dinner, and you think you’ll never be hungry again.”
“You say that, but then after a few hours, you’re rummaging in the fridge to make a sandwich.”
I shake my head. “I can’t even imagine.”
“You can’t?”
I’m on my side, facing him. He reaches up and strokes down the side of my body, from my shoulder to my hip.
His fingertips send warm shivers through me.
“That feels nice,” I whisper.
“Don’t laugh, but all that talk about Thanksgiving dinner is making me hungry. What do you say to a late night snack? Dessert is still waiting in the fridge.”
My skin is cooling now. I grab the blankets and slide under them.
“Can I eat dessert in bed?”
Luca pretends to be horrified. He gets up and excuses himself to go take care of things in the bathroom.
He comes out a few minutes later with a robe on.
“Stay right there,” he says. “You can have dessert in bed if you promise to be really careful.”
“Of course.”
Shaking his head and muttering about me being a bad influence, he leaves the bedroom.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Graffiti.
I’m at the flower shop, and I’m not happy.
It’s Monday.
Over the weekend, some little jackweed has tagged the front of the shop with lime green spray paint.
With a few curse words, I open the store and head to the back room for the supplies. I could spend a few hours trying to remove the paint with chemicals, or ten minutes painting over it. I grab the paint.
Out front again, I give the paint can a shake, then get to work with a brush. People walking by find this fascinating. I’m not sure why me applying paint to the bricks is so much more interesting than me out here setting up the flower display, but it is.
People stop to say hello and ask what I’m doing. I think it’s rather obvious, but I patiently explain.
The ten-minute job is threatening to take an hour, with all the people who stop by to chat.
I’m just over halfway done when Mr. Jackson, the owner of the pub, stops to chat. He’s harmless enough, just old enough to think he knows everything, but young enough to try to flirt with me.
“You’d better stock up on paint, Tina,” he says. “Things are sliding downhill around here, and they’re liable to get worse. I’m getting a new safe put in, for the cash. It’ll be on a timelock. And I’m getting metal bars on the back door.”
I look up from my work.
He’s staring intensely at me.
I check myself to make sure I don’t have any visible cracks for Mr. Jackson to look down.
“Why all the security?” I ask. “Has there been some crime wave I don’t know about?”
He points to the graffiti with the toe of his black loafer.
“This is just the beginning.”
I return to dabbing fresh paint over the graffiti.
“We get tagged once a year. I wouldn’t worry about it.”
“I’m sure you’ll be under protection,” he says, his voice ominous.
I turn and look up again. I can see from his face that he’s begging me to ask him to explain.
I’m so out of touch. There’s probably a lot going on here on Baker Street that I have no clue about these days, because my mother’s been doing her Eat Pray Love thing. She used to keep up on all the local business gossip.
Mr. Jackson raises his eyebrows higher and higher, waiting for me to bite. Finally, he says, “Because you’re dating the biker, obviously.”
“Luca? He rides a bike, sure, but what does that have to do with anything? Have you been sending emails to my mother?”
“You should be careful.”
“About what? Luca bought the garage so he could fix bikes. He’s not running an organized crime ring. Once you see the beautiful renovation he’s doing, you’ll be ashamed of yourself for spreading rumors about him.”
My final words are drowned out by the sound of a motorcycle driving past us on the street.
Mr. Jackson glares down the street after the bike. “See, that’s what I’m talking about. This street’s going downhill. We never used to get those noisy bikes up and down this street, and now it’s all day long. Do you know some of them modify the mufflers so they’re even louder? Those people like nothing more than disturbing nice folks trying to have a relaxing beer on the patio.”
“We’ve always had bikes along this street. I’m sure a couple more won’t be a big deal.”
He frowns, clearly frustrated that I’m not taking him more seriously.
“You should be careful who you associate yourself with,” he says.
“Is that a threat?” I turn and look at the graffiti. It is a really large tag, covering half the width of the storefront. “Mr. Jackson, do you know anything about who spray-painted this? Is it some sort of warning, because I’m dating Luca?”
He gets huffy. “I don’t like to get involved in politics.” He stuffs his hands in his pockets and walks away quickly.
I finish painting over the tag. It’s probably been years since we painted this section of wall, and the new paint is brighter. I’ll have to get the roller and do the entire thing.
Two ladies with strollers walk by, slowing to whisper to each other, presumably about me.
I’m starting to feel very self-conscious, so I quickly tidy up and retreat inside.
The whole incident has shaken me up.
I had such a nice weekend, spending most of it over at Luca’s house, mainly in his bed.
My weekend was perfect, and my life seemed flawless.
Now it’s Monday, and the cracks are showing.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
I don’t see Luca for a few days, because he’s been busy getting the garage ready to open on Saturday.
I finally drag him away on Thursday night. He comes to my place, and misses meeting Rory by about ten minutes.
She’s done another great catering job for me. The meal isn’t as elaborate as the first one, but it’s good.
Over dinner, Luca talks about the problems with his contractors. I try to keep up with him, but I don’t want to know about itemized breakdowns of budgets, and who went over on what. The truth is, it all goes right over my head, because Luca switches from one story straight into another, and suddenly we’re talking about a different guy entirely.
I smile and try to be polite. What I really want to hear about is personal stuff, like what it was like to grow up with his dad and uncle.
During a lull, I ask, “Did your father keep motorbikes in the house?”
“He sure did, when he ran out of room in the garage.” Luca’s blue eyes twinkle at the memory. “After things settle down, I’ll take you out to the farm to meet him. I should probably warn you, though, he’s eccentric.”
“If he’s anything like you, I’m sure we’ll get alon
g fine.”
Luca smiles. “And what about your father? He’s out of the picture?”
“Long gone. But he’s a nice enough guy. We see each other a few times a year when he’s in town.” I wrinkle my nose. “He’s always suggesting I should go back to school, or do something different with my life. He means well, but he doesn’t know.”
“You’re comfortable.”
There’s something in Luca’s tone that puts me on edge, like he’s judging me. Suddenly, my cottage feels small. My life feels small, compared to his.
“Luca, I may not be a world traveler and adventurer like you, but I know who I am.”
He leans back in his chair and looks around, his gaze settling on the framed photos over the mantle.
“And who are you, Tina? All those photos are a decade old. And you still won’t tell me about that prom picture.”
I cross my arms. “People don’t get photos printed anymore. It’s all Facebook and stuff. Digital.”
He waves one big hand dismissively. “That’s kid stuff, all that social networking bullshit. Sending text messages. Wasted time.”
“We can’t all be big, burly know-it-alls with a bunch of money and their own houses and garages, now, can we?”
“I earned that money. Nobody handed me anything. And I moved away from home when I was nineteen.”
I keep my arms crossed. “Good for you. When I was nineteen, I held the love of my life while he died in front of me.”
Luca blinks, then looks away.
Gruffly, he says, “I’m sorry.”
“If you think I don’t appreciate the gift of my life, you’re wrong. I feel it every day, this gift. This burden. I’m alive, and he isn’t, and it’s not fair. He was a better person than me, in every way. He gave everything.”
My jaw aches as I hold back the tears.
Luca is quiet, his eyes focused down on the floor.
My body shakes with the sobs I’m holding tight.
“Jonathan never held back, and no matter how bad things got, he always said it was fine. He said he wouldn’t change a thing.”
Luca glances over to the pictures, then back to me.
His voice soft and low, he says simply, “His name was Jonathan.” He licks his lips and swallows. “I’m sorry.”