I came to Madrid thinking I knew exactly what I wanted. But now, with the scent of Rafa’s aftershave wafting between us as the breeze from the open window teases the hair at my temples, lines of sing-songy Neruda floating through my head, I’m not so sure anymore.
Rafa is quiet. He firms his grip on my leg; his way of saying I’m here if you need me, I’m here if you want to talk. But I don’t. It is up to us now to decide what does or doesn’t happen next.
I dread the moment the ride ends, because it means this instant of suspended bliss—when we can revel in the things we feel without worrying about what to do with them—ends, too. I love just being with Rafa; it’s so nice. Easy.
Which is going to make it hard to pull away. I have to pull away. For a handful of very good reasons, my friendship with my bestie chief among them, I have to pull away.
The driver swerves to a stop outside a familiar blue door on Calle de Villanueva. For a heartbeat, neither of us—Rafa and I—move. The coughing hum of the engine fills the silence that swells around us.
He presses his lips to my hair. “Can I see you tomorrow?”
I blink, straightening in my seat. Rafa’s arm falls away. I tug at the hem of my skirt. “That’s probably not a good idea,” I say. “I’m always getting carried away with you.”
“That is what is supposed to happen, yes, when you like a person?”
Reaching for the door handle, I swivel my head and meet his gaze head on. He is gorgeous. I take a breath, let it out.
“Rafa, I—”
He doesn’t let me finish. He dips his head and presses his lips to mine. I close my eyes. It’s a short kiss, a sweet one, and it leaves me reeling.
“You are always doing the thinking too much,” he says. “Tomorrow. I want to see you.”
I may or may not intentionally flash Rafa with a little butt cheek as I climb out of the car. I turn back to face him. “Quizás,” I say. Maybe.
Rafa makes the driver wait at the curb until I’m inside the building. I close the door behind me and fall against it, listening to the sound of the taxi fade as it speeds down the street.
In bed I lie awake, trying to breathe around the fluttering of my feelings.
I can’t.
I shouldn’t.
But I think I’m falling for Rafa.
Chapter 15
I wake up with a headache and a sour taste in my mouth. The tacky remnants of my eyeliner and mascara make it impossible to open my left eye. I bet I look like a scary clown gone wrong.
Awesome.
I throw back the sheet and sit on the edge of the bed. I wince at the twinge of pain between my legs. I am sore.
Rafa.
Ohmigod I came in a sink in a club bathroom last night while Rafa fingered me against the wall. I remember totally abandoning myself to the moment, unafraid and unashamed. I also remember the soul crushing orgasm I had in his arms.
My vagina really did fall out of my skirt.
Ohmigod.
The things I felt then—the desire, the confusion, the bliss—bloom inside my chest, elbowing for room, each one demanding to be felt first. My heart is racing; I struggle to catch my breath. God my head hurts.
Rafa likes me. And despite the promise I made to myself that I would protect my heart at all costs—despite the fact that he’s caught Maddie’s eye—I’m pretty sure I like him back.
I glance over my shoulder. Maddie is bundled beneath the thin cotton blanket, silent as a mouse as she snoozes. Her dark hair is tucked neatly behind her ear; the glittery remnants of our eye shadow dot her cheeks. She is so pretty.
She likes the guy who likes me. My best friend and I like the same guy. Like.
I have no idea what to do.
Locking myself in the calm, cool quiet of the bathroom, I sit on the edge of the tub and check my phone. It’s almost six o’clock—dinner time back home in the States—and for a minute I’m hit by wave of homesickness. Not for Meryton. For home. For my mom’s Sunday night spaghetti and meatballs—funny how Rafa and I both love our moms’ balls of meat—and for our sweet little weenie dog, Lucy, who always sits at my feet because I sneak her bites under the table.
I wonder what my mom would think of Rafa. I bet her eyeballs would pop out of her head. He’s gorgeous, for one thing. He’s charming for another. And kind, and funny, and Spanish, and he smells like sex and he’s a great dancer…
Speaking of—I have a text from Justin Timberlake, sent earlier—much earlier—this morning.
Can’t sleep. Thinking of u. I know u r scared that u’ll get hurt. But don’t u c you are hurting now? I can stop ur hurt. Let me teach u to feel good. Quiero ser novios, Vivian.
Butterflies take flight in my chest.
I love how the Spanish language has shortened our unwieldy “boyfriend and girlfriend” into one delicious little nugget of a word—novios. I want to be boyfriend and girlfriend. Rafa is telling me he wants to be my boyfriend.
(!!!!!!*!#*$**!@#$*!*#!)
My first thought is a resounding, neon-pink, confetti-strewn YES. Yes, I want to go out with the sweetest, hottest guy I’ve ever met. Yes, I want him to teach me everything he knows. Yes, sex. Yes, yes, yes to the way he makes me feel.
I’m smiling so hard my lazy eye cracks open. I blink away specks of dried mascara as I hold my phone in my lap. What happened between Rafa and me in the bathroom last night proves I can’t run from the things I feel for him.
I don’t want to run anymore. I want to see Rafa today and every day after that.
Maybe Rafa is right. Maybe I should stop thinking so much about the future and live, wildly, in the present. Maybe things will work out, and my heart won’t lie in a thousand broken pieces on the floor when this semester ends. Maybe Rafa is worth the risk, even though my past tells me otherwise.
But then I think wait, wait a minute. Wait.a.minute. What about Maddie? I haven’t been honest with her about what’s going on with me and Rafa. I told her our relationship was strictly business, which led her to believe it was cool to go after him herself. But now it’s obvious I like Rafa and Rafa likes me—only me—and because of that, because I lied, she’s going to get hurt.
Like an asshole, I let my friend believe that the guy who was falling for me might be available to fall for her. I set her up for heartbreak. And then, as if that isn’t enough, I hooked up with him. Him, the guy she’s crushing on because I told her he wasn’t crushing on me.
In my defense, I never intended for last night’s hook up to happen. I think it’s fair to say Rafa was the instigator in our bathroom situation.
But I could’ve stopped it and I didn’t. I didn’t want to stop it. And that fact—along with the fact that I’ve been lying to Maddie all along—could very well destroy our friendship.
I can’t to lose Maddie as a friend. We’ve been best buds for years now, and she’s stuck by my side through thick and thin; through bad guys and good grades and everything in between. She’s excellent. She saved me after the Keith thing blew up. I would never let a guy come between us. Chicks before dicks, always. Now, more than ever. I want Maddie to be happy. If I gave into the things I felt in Rafa’s arms last night, and I said yes to him, and we started dating, I feel like I’d be rubbing it in her face—the fact that Rafa likes me and not her. And I don’t think that would make her very happy.
I love her.
But I also really, really like Rafa. Like, really. I haven’t liked a guy—or been liked—this much, this intensely, ever.
I don’t know what to do.
I look down at my phone.
Hi, I type.
Rafa replies right away. Hello Vivian. How r u feeling?
Hungover.
Me 2, he says. Want to get a falafel? I know very good place near Plaza del Sol.
God he’s relentless. I want to see him. But then I also want a little space. Time to think—he’s given me a lot to think about.
Going to hang with Maddie tonight, I type. Maybe tomorrow after tutori
ng?
Vale, he replies. U still have not responded to my question.
Question?
I asked u 2 b my girlfriend. Waitíng not very patiently 4 ur answèr.
My thumbs hover over the keypad. Way to put me on the spot, I type.
He does not respond.
I will think about it, ok? I type.
Vale, he replies. U sure u r ok? Want 2 talk?
I don’t know what I want.
But I do know I have to tell Maddie.
***
“So, hey,” I say, glancing over my shoulder at Maddie as I rinse my dinner plate in the sink. “Want to take a quick walk through Retiro? The sunset looks like it’s going to be super ridic tonight.”
Maddie picks at her food. She looks a little green. “Sure. Although I gotta warn you, I don’t think I’m going to last very long. I had way too much to drink last night. Plus I still have some homework to finish up.”
“Same here. I promise to keep it short,” I say.
***
We walk into the park at dusk. I wasn’t lying about the sunset; the sky glows pink, the clouds on the horizon lit with the fiery warmth of the day’s last light. The air is cool, crisp with the first hint of fall. It would be a gorgeous night if I didn’t feel like I was about to vomit.
Maddie and I make for the formal gardens, our footsteps crunching on the gravel path. My heart is pounding. I glance at Maddie. I can’t tell what she’s thinking; she seems distracted, actually, or maybe she’s just zoned out from being so hung over.
I clench and unclench my hands at my sides.
“You’re walking too fast,” Maddie says.
“Sorry,” I say, slowing my stride.
We walk in silence as I work up the courage to tell her. I don’t want to upset or disappoint her. But I also don’t want to keep things from her, either.
I take a deep breath, let it out. My hands are shaking now.
“Maddie,” I say. “There’s something I need to tell you.”
She gloves her hands in the cuffs of her sweatshirt and crosses her arms. She doesn’t say anything.
I swallow, hard, willing myself to continue. “Last night, at Ático. I was with—”
Maddie lets out a choked sob. My body turns to ice. Does she already know? I stop and face her. Her eyes are screwed shut.
“Maddie? Mads, oh my God, are you okay?”
She holds her sleeve up to her eyes. Through the fabric of her sweatshirt I can see her hand is shaking, too. Tears roll down her cheeks, gathering specks of glitter as they go.
“I’m sorry, Viv,” she says, sniffing. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to interrupt.”
“No,” I say. “No, it’s okay. What’s going on?”
“My parents,” she breathes. “I talked to my mom while you were in the shower. It’s not good.”
My stomach does a backflip. “Oh shit. Here,” I say, nodding at a nearby bench. “Let’s sit.”
Maddie sits heavily on the bench. I sit beside her, my thoughts racing. What in the world do I do now?
She sniffles, wiping her cheek on her shoulder. Her bare legs are covered in goose bumps. “So, turns out my dad went to his first AA meeting today. He’s an alcoholic, Viv. My dad is a freaking alcoholic.”
That word—alcoholic—drops like a dead weight between us.
“Holy shit, Maddie.” I suck in a breath. “I don’t know what to say. I am so sorry.”
She’s crying now, really crying, her shoulders shaking in time to her sobs. I hold her against me, feeling my own throat tighten in sympathy. Maddie’s family is really falling apart. It’s sad, and it’s scary.
“That’s why my mom left,” she says when she can finally breathe again. “Well. Part of the reason. But I guess he’s had a problem for a while now.”
Maddie tells me about her suspicions, how her dad would fall asleep in his chair at dinner, his chin lolling on his chest; how her brother had to help her mom carry him into the house one night after a party at their neighbor’s. “I’m angry at him,” she tells me, “but I feel sorry for him, too. And feeling sorry for your dad sucks.”
The tears keep coming. She talks. I hold her and I listen.
“I love him and I hate him. And I am so glad I am not there right now,” she says, scoffing. “I don’t know what I would do if I had to see him.”
“It would be awful,” I say. “But you would deal with it. You’re stronger than you think, Mads.”
“I don’t know if I’m strong enough for this shit,” she says. I wipe the mascara from underneath her eyes. “Thanks, Viv. For listening. And for being here. I feel kinda bad, unloading on you like this.”
The fact that she feels bad makes me feel even worse.
“Seriously,” I say with a grin. “Shut the hell up. I’m your wife, remember? We share a marital bed. It’s my job to listen to your shit and put up with you.”
Maddie laughs, leaning her head against my shoulder. She lets out a long, low breath. “I love you. You know that, right, Viv?”
My throat is so tight I can’t breathe. Would Maddie be saying this if she knew what I did last night with the guy she likes? If she knew I lied to her about the way I felt?
“I love you, too, Maddie,” I manage.
She takes my hand. “I’m lucky to have you with me this semester. I wouldn’t make it without you.”
“Thanks,” I say.
I am at a loss. Maddie is hurting. The last thing I want to do is cause her more pain.
“I wouldn’t make it without you,” she repeats, “and I wouldn’t make it without Rafa. I really like him, Viv. Like, more than a crush. I thought for sure we were going to hook up last night, but then he, like, just disappeared off the dance floor. I mean, we were pretty drunk, so maybe he got sick or something. But I was really looking forward to finding out if he’s a good kisser. They don’t make them like that in America.”
The breath leaves my body. If there was ever a time to tell Maddie about the bathroom orgasm incident, this would be it. But I’m so afraid. Afraid of hurting her, of losing her as a friend. Afraid of losing Rafa, too.
What if she freaks out? She has every right to tell me to go fuck myself. But even if she doesn’t—even if she forgives me, and our friendship survives intact—I highly, highly doubt she’ll be cool with me saying yes to Rafa’s novios proposal. As if finding out that her dad is an alcoholic isn’t enough—now her best friend wants to date the guy she likes, the guy who chose me over her?
How’s that for twisting the knife?
It would be the ultimate insult. The ultimate betrayal. I can’t be Rafa’s girlfriend without hurting Maddie. I’d be rubbing it in her face, my beautiful, budding romance, while she cries herself to sleep.
I can’t do that to her. As much as I want to be Rafa’s girlfriend, I can’t keep hurting my friend. I just want to be done with this whole love-triangle-in-reverse thing so I can go back to being besties with Maddie.
But first, I need to tell her about what happened last night.
“Eh,” Maddie says, wiping her nose on her sleeve. “I’ll figure him out. Anyway. You said you had something you needed to tell me?”
My pulse thumps in my ears. Heat floods my face.
The words come fast, stumbling incoherently over each another. “Um. Yeah. Yes, actually. I, um. I hooked up with Rafa last night in the bathroom at Ático. Maddie, I think I’m falling for him. And I feel so, so horrible about—well, about everything. About not telling you the truth. It’s all horrible, and I am sorry. So fucking sorry, Maddie.”
Chapter 16
Monday Afternoon
The bell jangles above my head as I step into the café. It’s raining cats and dogs—or, as Madrileños say, llueve a mares, it rains like the seas—and my sneakers and jeans are soaked through. I shiver at the sudden gust of air conditioning.
Rafa is waiting for me. He looks up at the sound of the bell. He waves from a high table set with two beers and a plate of pastries.
He stands, smiles. That kind, killer smile that turns my stomach inside out.
He looks so hopeful. So happy, as always, to see me.
Don’t cry don’t cry don’t cry.
I cried all night. I cried twice during class. I cried on the Metro ride over here. I promised myself I wouldn’t cry in front of Rafa.
“Como estás?” he asks, warmly. How are you? He leans in for his customary kiss kiss, but instead of pressing his lips to my cheeks, he cups my jaw in his hand and kisses me on the mouth. By now it’s familiar, the feel of his lips on my lips, but still the loveliness of it makes my skin pulse; still it’s a rush as I rise to my tiptoes to meet him. His palm is warm against my face. The kiss is soft, a little hungry, possessive.
It’s the kind of kiss a guy gives his girl.
I came to tell Rafa that I can’t be his girl. I should have known he would make it difficult.
It’s impossible to pull away, to not fall into his kiss, into the desire roaring inside me. Why does he have to make me feel so wonderful? So wonderful and so, so turned on. I am out-of-my-mind, wildly, madly attracted to this man. One kiss and I could wring out my underwear.
Fuck.
Rafa releases me. I look down at my feet, trying to calm the frantic beating of my heart. The familiar scent of his aftershave wafts off his French blue button down.
He tips up my chin with his first finger. Are you all right? he asks in Spanish.
Has his gaze always been so intense? I feel like he can see everything I’m trying to hide.
I look away, unprepared for the onslaught of his concern. His interest.
Digging in my bag, I say, “Tengo buenas noticias.” I have good news.
I put the exam on the table. A B+ on my first in-class Economics test.
“Your tutoring is working,” I say. “In a pretty huge way. Even the professor congratulated me when he handed it back. He said to say hello to you.”
Rafa grabs the beers off the table and hands one to me. “You deserve it,” he says. “You’ve been working hard. Felicitaciones.” Congratulations.
We clank bottles and I take a long, hard pull as I slide into the seat opposite Rafa’s. There’s a moment of awkward silence as we get settled in our chairs. I want to talk to him, really talk to him, about last night, about what happened with Maddie, but right now I can’t breathe around the lump in my throat.
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