by Sam Mariano
I nod, glancing into my driver’s side window. “I can’t really stay and chat. I have to pick up Casey.”
“I know. I’ll keep it short.” Shoving a hand into his right pocket, he glances down at our shoes, then back at me. “Tomorrow’s Saturday.”
“That does usually follow Friday, yes.”
“Your mom’s off, so… I figured you wouldn’t have to watch the kids.”
“It’s weird that you know that,” I point out.
Smirking, he ignores my commentary. “Why don’t you come out with me? We can grab dinner or a movie or something.”
My heart stalls, then drops like a rock. “You mean a date?”
He makes a face that’s not altogether flattering, considering we were lip-locked earlier today. “We don’t have to label it.”
Oh, good, a label-hater. Glancing off in the distance, I say, “I don’t think so. Earlier was really nice, but also really unexpected, and I don’t really know you that well…”
“That’s fair. Of course, you could get to know me if you came out with me.”
That’s a good point, but I don’t know how to explain that I’m hesitant to trust myself alone with him. What if he kisses me and it sends lightning bolts through my brain again? What if we’re alone in his car and I don’t want him to stop? What if he doesn’t?
“I don’t understand what happened back there,” I say, as honestly as I can. “And I don’t know if we should do it again. Ever.”
“Why not?” he asks.
“Because… we’re not even dating,” I state, since I guess it’s the simplest explanation. I don’t want to bring up the fact that he sort of murdered my neighbors, and definitely broke into my house to scare the shit out of me, and absolutely followed me home from school yesterday, if not to intimidate me and find out which schools my siblings were at, still for some reason.
I don’t want to point out that I know he’s dangerous, and maybe nurturing a relationship with him doesn’t seem like the smartest move. Can’t admit that when he kissed me, my brain completely crashed and I turned into a lust-monster despite all that.
I don’t know what I’m most afraid of, but the fact that there are a host of options to choose from? Probably a good indication I should take a big step back. Especially since immediately on the heels of asking me out, he whips out “let’s not label it.”
It would be my luck we’d go out, he’d kiss me, I’d lose my mind and let him take my virginity, and then come Monday at school I’d see him in passing, flirting with someone else.
He’s not inside my head though, so he’s searching for some acceptable placation to offer me. “I just… I don’t really date.”
“Exactly.”
He frowns, uncomprehending.
“Look, I’m not going to pretend I’m not drawn to this whole ’bad boy’ thing you’ve got going on. I am. I have a type, and you’re sort of like… the bad boy on steroids, because it’s not just an air of danger, you’re actually dangerous. You’re the real deal. And I’m attracted to you anyway, obviously. Even though you’ve scared the shit out of me and made me lose… just, countless hours of sleep, and that probably means there’s something wrong with me. But I’ve seen my mom turn herself inside out over guys like that, guys who come at you with all they’ve got, but can’t be held. And I know it’s stupid, no matter how exciting it feels in the moment, and I know it’s asking for trouble, and that’s with guys who… don’t have your last name. With you, it’s not just unhealthy, it’s also legitimately dangerous.”
I force myself to look at him after spilling all that, expecting him to be insulted, annoyed, maybe defensive. Instead, he’s pensive, frowning off at a spot beyond me. “I can’t argue with that.”
If I feel disappointed, it’s because I descend from a long line of stupid fucking women.
“But it’s not dangerous if we don’t label it.”
Shaking my head, I say, “How do you figure?”
“Look, I’m not saying we could last forever. I’m not even saying it’s a good idea. But I like you, and it seems like you’re drawn to me—”
“And a moth is drawn to a flame,” I interject.
“But, why couldn’t we just… try it out for a little bit? Doesn’t have to be anything serious. You’re not stuck with me. I won’t dump you in a ditch if it doesn’t work out.”
Shaking my head at the sheer lunacy of such a proposition, I say, “Why?”
Vince stares at me, that vulnerability from earlier dancing in his eyes again. I can tell he wants to say something, but he’s struggling to get it out, and damn me to hell, it gets me. I wait, skittish, but convincible.
He swallows, looking away from me, then meets my eyes again. “You know awful things about me that no one knows. That no one may ever know… and you still care if you hurt my feelings.”
I can almost hear my brain emit a cry of defeat as my heart swells, seeing something in him that needs me.
Stay strong.
Poor brain tries one last time, but it’s no use—not with those big, brown pools imploring me to give in.
Don’t do it, don’t do it, don’t do it!
When my mouth opens, dumbassery spills out. “What time?”
But then his handsome face lights up, and my heart fills with anticipation. I really like seeing that look on his face, knowing I put it there.
“I’ll pick you up at six.”
Despite the certainty that this is a very bad idea, I can’t help smiling as he winks at me and heads off for his car.
---
Scowling at my reflection, I rip the shirt over my head, tossing it in the floor with the others, and race to my closet. I settled on a pair of snug jeans and tall brown boots, but I can’t seem to find the right shirt. It doesn’t help that I really don’t know what we’re doing.
“Not that one either,” I murmur, violently sliding plastic hangers across the pole in my closet.
There’s a rap at the door and I gasp, grabbing a shirt and yanking it on. “Don’t get it!” I call out, not even wanting to deal with my mom. “I’m coming!”
I pause at the dresser to check my reflection real quick before darting out of the bedroom. The door closes behind me just in time to see my mother open the door, despite my attempts to stop her.
I sigh to myself, hoisting my purse on my shoulder and heading toward Vince.
“I’m Mia’s mom, Shelly,” she says with an overly enthusiastic smile.
Nodding once, hands shoved into his pockets, he says, “Vince.”
“Vince, that’s a good name. You know each other from school?”
Sliding past her, as if putting myself between them can erase the exchange, I say, “We’re leaving.”
“Well, okay, but I guess I should probably give you a curfew or something, right?”
“No need,” I assure her. “We won’t be out late.”
“This is so weird.” Looking past me at Vince, she says, “Usually I’m the one going on dates.”
It amuses me how she says that like that’s the normal order of things. Without any further damage, I manage to get us out the door, but my face is already warm. I had hoped to at least start our is-this-a-date? without flushed cheeks. High hopes, I guess.
Vince surprises me by opening the door for me when we get to his car. His eyes move over my body, a cute little smirk grazing his lips. “You look nice.”
“Thank you,” I said, my eyes moving quickly over him, too. “So do you.”
Turns out we’re doing dinner. I decide I may have preferred the quiet of a movie theater, but we’ve already pulled into a well-lit parking lot of a steakhouse I’ve never been to. I don’t know why I figured we’d get Italian, but I don’t mention it.
I feel girly and awkward as we sit at the tall table across from each other, my fingers dancing across the white linen tablecloth, looking for something to do. I need something—anything—to distract me from the reality of what I’m doing right now. Having di
nner with the guy who, just a few nights ago, pinned me against my kitchen counter and wrapped his hands around my throat, making a threat he may actually be capable of following through with.
Yeah. Good call.
I’m also legitimately terrified this goes well. If it goes well, he may kiss me, and I’m afraid of him kissing me again, maybe more than I’m afraid of anything else he might do.
“So…you have a big family.”
His smile dims and I fight a cringe, wondering what could possibly possess me to lead with that.
“Yeah, pretty big,” he verifies.
“That’s cool. I don’t. There’s my mom and my siblings, but we don’t have a lot of extended family, none in the area. I have an aunt who used to live here, but she moved.”
I hear myself being boring. I want to stop, but words just keep tumbling out of my mouth like gumballs from a broken vending machine.
“Your family—um, are they all, I mean—uh…” How does one ask about the mob?
“Bad?” he guesses, with an almost sympathetic smile.
I look around, at a loss. I sort of just want to get up and leave. I’ll have to change schools, so I never have to look at him again.
Chuckling, Vince says, “You don’t have to be so nervous, Mia. It’s not even a real date, remember?”
I’m not sure why he thinks that makes me feel better, but I’m not comfortable enough to say so.
I must still be looking like I’m seeking an emergency exit, but he goes ahead and answers the question I didn’t completely ask. “Yeah, they’re all pretty much… involved. I really don’t want to talk about them tonight, though.”
“Does anyone know what I saw?” I blurt.
His face clears for a moment, goes completely blank, before a hint of caution breaks through. “No. Nor can they—ever.”
I nod, not exactly comforted, but it makes sense.
Luckily, the waiter comes over and saves us from our own conversation, taking our drink orders and telling us the specials. He tells us he’ll give us a few minutes to look over our menus, then heads off to grab our drinks.
I turn to the safety of my menu, wishing I could shake my nerves. Maybe subconsciously I figure if I bomb this not-date hard enough, he won’t ask again.
Won’t kiss me again.
Won’t turn me into an unthinking lust-monster again.
Won’t draw me any deeper into his crazy life.
We order when the waiter comes back, but his departure then means he won’t be coming back to save me again soon, and I’m on my own here.
Vince moves the rolled-up silverware off to the side, then glances up at me. “So, are you this comfortable on all your dates?”
I can’t help rolling my eyes. “This isn’t a date, remember? Can’t fence you in,” I joke—but only kinda. I do sort of resent that. It’s all the more reason to make sure he doesn’t kiss me again. I don’t even know why I agreed to this nonsense.
No, that’s not true.
That damn peek at vulnerability.
“I am normally much smoother than this, actually,” I inform him, lifting my eyebrows.
There’s a playful gleam to his eyes as he says, “With Bradford?”
“No, we never got to go out. I was trying to call him… that night, but….” I clear my throat. “Well, I obviously got sidetracked.”
Vince isn’t impressed with my taste in guys, which is pretty funny. “What’d you see in that guy anyway?”
It seems stupid now. I can’t explain it. I sigh and offer a shrug, hoping that suffices.
His eyebrows shoot up and he doesn’t look completely satisfied, but he doesn’t press. “You still wanna call him?”
“I wouldn’t be here with you if I did,” I tell him honestly.
“He still watches you in class sometimes.”
I frown, pushing the straw into my cup and taking a drink of my Diet Coke. I haven’t picked up on a shred of interest from Jace since Vince stole the seat next to mine, so I can’t imagine that being true. Also, not-date or date-date, this seems like an odd thread of conversation.
“What about you?” I return pleasantly. “Not-dating a harem of other girls?”
He smiles, shaking his head. “Just you.”
That pleases me, even if it shouldn’t.
Sooner than I expect, the waiter brings our salads, and thankfully we have something else to focus on. I have a whole host of questions I’d like to ask him that I know I shouldn’t, and the instinct to push him away is still pretty strong.
His phone goes off halfway through the salads, but he doesn’t answer.
There’s more silence than I expect, but it’s much more comfortable than I would’ve thought it would be. I like watching him when he doesn’t notice. There are questions I have about him that I can’t ask, and in those quiet moments, I seek an answer.
How can someone do what he did and then go on about their life? We’re the same age, and I can’t even fathom having someone else’s life in my hands, let alone taking one. Just the possibility of Vince threatening my family was more than I could take—how does he handle the weight of the guilt? Doesn’t he feel it? Doesn’t it crush him, as he lies in bed at night, trying to sleep?
Has he done it before?
Will he do it again?
Is he a monster?
Noticing my newly solemn mood, Vince asks, “Everything okay over there?”
I glance up at him, nodding, but I wish I hadn’t let my mind wander there. “What’s your biggest regret?” I ask him.
I hear his fork drop onto his salad plate, but I don’t look up. I expect him to tell me I already know, or to get mad that I would bring it up. If I helped kill someone, I probably wouldn’t want anyone to bring it up on a date.
I do not expect him to state matter-of-factly, “Being born.”
Wide-eyed, I jerk my gaze up to his. He doesn’t look especially depressed, like you might expect of someone who says something like that. He takes a drink of his own pop, as if unbothered.
“Being born?” I question. “That’s your biggest regret.”
“Being born into the family I was born into, specifically,” he says, nodding once more. “But if it came down to being born to them or not being born at all, I wouldn’t choose the former.”
A little stunned, I say, “Wow.”
He shrugs, unapologetic.
“You must really hate them,” I say, feeling awkward to word it that way, but what else could I surmise from what he just said?
“I don’t hate them. It’s just… a trap. A prison. In this day and age, most people don’t have a path set out for them before they’re even born—before they’re even conceived. Most guys would be able to sit here with you tonight and call it a date. They wouldn’t have met you the way I did. They could be normal, offer you whatever they felt like offering you. I don’t have that kind of freedom.”
I’m surprised by his openness, even if I don’t understand all of it. “You don’t think your family would approve of me?”
“Doesn’t matter if they would,” he says, simply. “I’d never let them meet you.”
A knot forms in my stomach. “Never? Not even if we… moved past not-dating and actually….?”
He’s already shaking his head, but he looks a little sad. “That can’t happen.”
A spark of anger ignites within me. “Why? No one in your family dates?”
Instead of answering me, he asks, “What’s your biggest regret?”
I want to say trying to call Jace Bradford, but it’s too mean. I’m also not sure it’s true, as insane as that is. Even as he’s sitting across from me adding foundation to the idea that nothing can ever last between us, I feel myself wanting to draw closer. Wanting to know him. Wanting to be the special person who makes it past his defenses.
Finally, with a faint sigh, I say, “I don’t think I’ve done it yet.”
Chapter Seven
I manage to end the not-date with my virgini
ty intact, and even though I know logically that’s not much of an accomplishment, it feels like one.
I didn’t let him kiss me.
He wanted to, I could see it, but I was too afraid. Too much about him acts as a siren’s call to me already, and I couldn’t risk it.
As I hurry inside the house by myself, shutting the door behind me and leaning heavily against it, it doesn’t feel like a win. I wanted a kiss. It was a weird not-date, nothing like I’ve been on before, but there’s something so raw about Vince, so unexpectedly forthcoming.
I want him. Physically I can accept that—I’m human, and he’s a damn good-looking guy—but I’m terrified of wanting him on any other level.
It’s a bad situation, and I need to get out of it.
But also… I don’t know if I want to.
I spend yet another night losing sleep over Vince Morelli. It occurs to me around three in the morning that we should probably exchange phone numbers. The way things are going now, the only way I get to hear from him is in school or if he decides to show up.
Monday morning rolls around and I feel weirdly excited to go to school. I’m tired, having slept like crap all weekend, but I’m eager to see Vince.
“Guess who’s going to Costa Rica, baby.”
I shove my after lunch books into my locker and look over at Lena as she beams at me. “Me? Say it’s me and I’ll be your best friend forever.”
“No.”
I roll my eyes, closing my locker door. “Well, good for you,” I say flatly.
“No, not me! My mom and dad—they’re going away for the weekend, and we are having a party.”
“No,” I say, shaking my head. “I’m not helping you with that.”
“You have to. Why are we even best friends if you’re not going to help me throw a party? I mean, literally all you have to do is pick up some bags of chips or some shit. I’ll get the alcohol.”
“I don’t have any spare money to buy chips.”
“I’ll give you the money,” she says, rolling her eyes. “We haven’t gotten drunk together since Macedonia’s graduation party over the summer—and that barely counts, since your weak ass got drunk on two beers.”