Now she sat and pulled on her underwear, straightened her skirt, and rubbed her chin in case she’d smeared lipstick around her face while kissing Enzo. She could hear him cursing in Italian, now in the bedroom.
“Enzo?” she called. “Let’s just eat. It doesn’t matter.”
He appeared from the bedroom, his sharp face a bit red. “It does matter,” he said, coming back to the couch. “Come here, bella mia. Let’s pick up where we left off.”
When he tried to slip an arm around her, she moved away. “Next time,” she said. “I already told you it wouldn’t happen this time.”
“But you told me to get a condom.”
“I got carried away.” She bit her lip and gave him a pleading look. For some reason, she felt ashamed to admit that, but Enzo smiled.
“Let me carry you away again.”
“I’m not going to do it without a condom. I don’t even know how many people you’ve been with.”
“You’re going to ask now? We’ve only just met.”
“So it’s okay to do it, but not okay to ask how many other people you’ve been with?”
“Usually that is a question for later, if anyone cares about it. But I don’t care. I don’t want to know. I want you, not the history of your other lovers.”
“It’s kind of a package deal,” Maggie said, standing. “Can we just eat?”
He stood and ran his hand through the tuft of hair that always stuck up in front, above his forehead. “I’ll find something.”
“I thought you cooked for me.”
“I didn’t cook,” he admitted. “I only said that to get you up here. I thought you knew that.”
“What? No!” she said, slapping at him. “You pig.”
He laughed, and then she was laughing, too. “I can’t cook at all,” he said. “Anything I cook…mi fa cagare. I would probably kill us both if I tried.”
“So you thought you’d just invite me up and sleep with me and not even feed me?”
“I’m sure my roommates have some pizza in here,” he said, opening the refrigerator.
“That is deplorable behavior, if you didn’t already know,” Maggie said. But strangely enough, she wasn’t offended or mad about it. It was kind of funny, and just so…Enzo.
“Look, pizza.” He presented a small takeout box, as proud as if he’d made it himself from scratch.
Maggie shook her head and rolled her eyes, but she couldn’t stop herself from smiling, too. No one had ever wanted her enough to be devious before. While Enzo warmed up the pizza in the microwave, she sat down at the cheap kitchen table. Had she gotten so carried away she almost slept with a guy on his couch, on their first date? What had come over her?
Enzo set down two chipped white plates with two slices of pizza, then poured white wine into the two glasses they’d used for the grappa. This wasn’t at all what Maggie had envisioned. She’d thought he’d cook her a nice dinner, maybe light a candle, and they’d talk for hours. And maybe make out a little. No matter how appalling he acted, she couldn’t stop herself from finding him unbearably desirable.
She nibbled at her pizza while he took a huge bite. “So…so how many girls have you dated, anyway?”
Enzo took a swig of wine. “I don’t know.”
“You don’t know how many girls you’ve dated? I heard you dated an American before.”
He smiled with his cheek full of pizza. “You asked your roommate about me?”
“No,” Maggie said. “She just told me.”
“It’s okay, you can admit you’re crazy about me,” he said. “I already know.”
“Did Kristina tell you that? Because she tends to exaggerate.”
“I don’t think she was exaggerating,” he said. “I think you want me as much as I want you. You only need to stop thinking so hard and do what your heart wants. That’s the only way to be happy.”
Maggie wasn’t sure it was her heart that wanted him. It seemed more likely that it was only her body that wanted him. Now that she had time to think about it, maybe she was a bit offended that he hadn’t put more effort into their date, especially considering he thought she’d dumped Weston for him. If he really thought that, shouldn’t he have gone all out for her?
“You’re not going to tell me how many girls you’ve slept with before?”
“I don’t know,” he said. “I only know that you will be the next one.”
“You don’t know that,” she said. “I don’t even know if I’m ready to be with someone else.”
“Yes, you do. Otherwise, you would not be here.”
“That’s a little presumptuous.”
“No, it’s true.”
She bit into her pizza a little harder than she’d meant, and her teeth clashed together painfully. He was infuriating. And it annoyed her even more that he was right. If she wasn’t at all ready for this date, she wouldn’t have come. She knew what Enzo was like. The possibility that something might happen had certainly crossed her mind. That’s why she’d promised herself she’d be good, had decided beforehand that she wasn’t going to sleep with him yet—because she knew she wanted to.
For a while, neither of them spoke. Enzo finished his pizza and wine, got another slice of pizza, and refilled their wine glasses, though Maggie hadn’t drunk hers yet.
“Drink up,” he said. “I’m still hoping we can have a little fun later.”
“I don’t need wine for that.”
“Have you ever been drunk?”
“Of course I’ve been drunk,” she said. “Last year, I had three drinks at Kristina’s birthday and passed out in her car in the parking lot because she wasn’t ready to go home.”
“Three drinks and you pass out? You’ve already had two tonight.”
“Which is why I don’t need this.”
“Maybe you do,” he said, pushing the wine closer to her. “I’d like to see the drunk Maggie. Maybe she will be more fun.”
“Is there anything you actually like about me?” she asked. “Besides the fact that I’m American?”
“I like everything about you,” he said. “You are the sexiest girl.”
“Yeah, if I wear short skirts and makeup, and smile more, and drink more…”
“That only makes you more sexy,” he said with a smile. “And I can ask you the same. What do you like about me, besides that I’m a sexy Italian, so different from your boyfriend back home?”
Maggie didn’t know how to answer that. Maybe that was all that she liked him for. She certainly didn’t see anything in him that made her want to marry him—he wasn’t any of the things she had chosen Weston for. He was crude and obnoxious and not even terribly handsome. What was she even doing there? Had she really given up a future with Weston for this jerk?
She took a big swallow of wine. Maybe Enzo was right. Maybe that’s all she liked him for, and she might as well be what he liked her for. Except he didn’t like anything she already was. He liked the girl he thought she should be. And she wanted him to. If he didn’t like her, she’d dumped Weston for nothing. So she swallowed some more wine, grateful for the relaxing warmth that spread through her body and across her face.
Enzo wasn’t any of the things Weston was, but that’s why she liked him. He was fun and direct. He said what he wanted to say, not what others expected him to say. He didn’t care what people thought of him. That’s how she wanted to be, too. And after finishing her glass of wine, she didn’t care as much, either. So she asked for another piece of pizza, too, even though he hadn’t offered. Even though she wasn’t that hungry, and she was probably only eating it because she was drunk.
She felt strangely separate from her body, which swayed clumsily, overlapping with the real her. “I think I should go lie down,” she said, rising from her seat. Her thighs jostled against the edge of the table, and she set her palm down to steady herself. “And you better not do anything to me once I fall asleep. That’s called rape.”
“I’m offended you think you have to tell me t
hat,” he said. “Come on, you can lie down in my room. Are you really drunk?” He laughed and put an arm around her waist, leading her down the short hallway. “I can’t believe that little bit of grappa and a glass of wine has you so loose.”
She bumped against him and almost careened into the wall trying to get through the doorway. Laughing, she fell onto the bed. “Now you see why I don’t drink a lot? How fun is this? I’m about to either get sick or pass out.”
“I still think you’re fun,” he said, rolling her over. He lowered his weight on top of her, stroked her hair back from her forehead, and kissed her. “I think we can have all kinds of fun.”
“But you don’t have a condom.”
“I found one.”
“What?” she asked, laughing. “Then how come you didn’t tell me before?”
“You didn’t give me a chance,” he said. “As soon as I found it, you said you’d changed your mind.” He started kissing her, and she still felt sloppy and dizzy, but she tried to push down the feeling so she could concentrate on what was happening.
“Stay with me,” he said, his lips traveling down her neck. She tried to stay with him, focusing on the feeling of his hands in her hair, on her bare legs, between them. The warmth of his tongue, the wine and pizza tinge to it. He tasted like Italy. His hands were moving over her body, and all she wanted was more of them on more of her, all over her, all at once. To give her that one moment of bliss that obliterated the whole world.
“Get the condom,” she gasped. Only one thing remained, the need for relief. Again, he pulled her underwear around her knees, and this time, she didn’t stop him. She undid his pants and pushed them down, and he sat up to put on the condom, then rolled onto her.
“There is no other girls,” he said, his full lips so soft on hers. “There is only you, and there’s only ever been you, and there only ever will be you. You are the only girl who matters.”
She lifted her hips against him, tugging at his shoulders, his arms, his hips. “Now,” she whispered, and he slid into her easily, quickly. She was so ready from his touch, she thought she might finish before he’d even started.
But then it started to fade. They didn’t move together like she did with Weston. She was too aware of each movement, the hurried urgency, an elbow bumping a chin, a grunt, a bit more fumbling, an awkward laugh. There was some disagreement about where they should be positioned that she’d never had to deal with before. She and Weston had learned each other together. Enzo and she already had their separate ways, their preferences set by others. He tried to move her legs into a position she didn’t like, then she tried to get him to move the way she liked, and by the time they fell into a rhythm, she’d lost her momentum.
Things were getting dry and uncomfortable down there. He kept telling her to stay with him. She kept telling him to finish up. “Not yet, not yet,” he said. But finally, he relented and did so without making a big deal about her lack of orgasm, which she appreciated.
On the rare occasions that Weston hadn’t gotten her off, he took it so personally, as if it were a flaw in his character. He either wanted to talk about it and figure out where he’d gone wrong, or he’d approach it with almost comical determination the next time. Sometimes, she just couldn’t quite get there, and she was okay with that. It only happened on occasion, and it didn’t bother her until the inevitable moment when Weston would start stressing about it.
Enzo rolled off her and went off to the bathroom. Maggie pulled up her underwear and pulled down her skirt, which was nearly soaked with his sweat. Why did she always end up with excessively sweaty guys? She heard the toilet flush in the other room, and then Enzo dove back onto the bed, still wearing his shirt but nothing on the bottom, which made her giggle. “What is funny?” he asked.
“Nothing,” she said, giggling some more. “I think I’m drunk.”
“I’m a little tipsy, as well,” he said. “Let’s lie here a moment, and then we’ll go again. What do you say?”
Maggie perked up a little at that. Maybe they’d have better luck the second time around. She lay her head on Enzo’s arm and cuddled up to him, ignoring his pungent odor. The next thing she knew, she was waking up to the sound of voices outside. Her eyes were so dry and scratchy she couldn’t even see. For a minute, she didn’t know where she was. And then she remembered.
She stumbled into the bathroom, trying to blink moisture back into her eyes. It was still nighttime, and she was still a little drunk. In the mirror, a girl with a lot of smudged makeup stared back at her, looking harsh and haggard. She tidied up her face as best as she could. Emerging from the bathroom, she glanced around. Enzo wasn’t in the living room or the kitchen. The empty box from the pizza sat open on the table. She peeked out of the apartment, suddenly feeling guilty, as if she were the one sneaking out while he slept. When she made her way down the stairs and onto the porch, she found Enzo and his roommates sitting on the steps.
They all held bottles of beer, and Danilo was smoking a cigarette. He nodded at her. Flavio said something in Italian and clapped Enzo on the back, and they all laughed. Maggie didn’t have to know the language to understand the meaning of his words. She felt like she was in a dream, and at any moment, she’d wake up in her bed at Mary’s. The next morning, she’d tell Kristina about her dream on the way to class.
“Sit down, have a beer,” Enzo said, patting the step beside him.
She sat, not sure what to say. So she’d have something to do with her hands, she accepted the beer. While the guys talked about something she didn’t care about—soccer, she thought, though they were calling it football—she picked at the label on her beer. She didn’t like beer.
“I think I want to go home,” she said to Enzo a while later. Her beer was warm and still three quarters full.
“I’ll get you a cab,” he said.
Maggie sat yawning and staring down the old, narrow street until the cab arrived. Enzo walked her to the cab, and she got in. He didn’t get in with her this time. And why should he? He was already at home, hanging out with his friends. It would be inconvenient to ride to Mary’s and then come back. Still, she scooted over to the far side of the seat, just in case. He leaned down and looked in at her.
“We’ll do this again soon,” he said.
“Okay.”
“I’ll call you.”
“Okay.”
After a second, he closed the door, and the cab drove away. Maggie stared out the window at the streets blurring past, the lights, the cats that hung around everywhere in Rome. The cars and scooters and pedestrians still out. She looked at the clock on the dash. It was three o’clock in the morning. In Arkansas, it was eight o’clock the evening before. In Arkansas, this hadn’t yet happened. Weston was doing whatever he was doing, and Maggie hadn’t slept with someone else.
Chapter Fifteen
“And then he said he’d call me,” Maggie said the next day, concluding her story of the date. They were at a café near the university that Ned liked, having a late lunch after finishing the day’s classes.
“Ouch,” Kristina said, wincing.
“Is that bad?” Rory asked, sipping her bottle of Coke.
“Depends,” Kristina said. “If he calls, it’s not bad.”
Maggie shrugged. “It feels like it wasn’t me. I would never do that. Except with him, I did. Ugh, I don’t even know if I want him to call. I don’t even like him half the time.”
“I can’t believe you slept with him on the first date,” Kristina teased, a smile breaking over her face. “Who knew our uptight little Maggie was such a slut.”
“She’s not a slut,” Rory said.
“I’m joking,” Kristina said. “You’re totally the furthest thing from a slut, Maggie. That’s why it’s so funny. It’s so unlike you.”
“Yeah,” Maggie said. “It doesn’t feel real. What am I going to tell Weston?”
“Um, nothing,” Kristina said. “You broke up with him. It’s not cheating. What you do is your
business.”
“I feel like I should tell him.”
“Am I getting this right?” Ned asked. “You want to call up your ex and tell him you slept with some other guy a couple days after you dumped him? Dude, that’s cold.”
“Don’t be mean to her,” Rory snapped.
“No, he’s right,” Maggie said. “I’m a terrible person.”
“You’re not a terrible person,” Ned said. “But shit, don’t do that to the poor guy. He doesn’t want to know that.”
“He’s right,” Kristina said. “You’ve moved on. Don’t rub it in his face. And now we can go out with our guys together! We’re going to have so much fun for the rest of the trip. What do you want to do on Friday?”
“Are you sure you want to go out with this guy again?” Rory asked. “It sounds like he kind of took advantage of you.”
“She only had a couple drinks,” Kristina said. “It’s not like she was passed out.”
“I don’t know what I want,” Maggie said, biting into her pizza. She hardly felt it burning the top of her mouth.
“That’s a first,” Kristina said.
“I know,” Maggie groaned. “It’s like I’m not me anymore. I don’t know who I am. I just want someone to tell me.”
“Like Weston did,” Kristina said. “But you have to get away from that. Forge your own path. Claim your destiny.”
“This isn’t a superhero movie,” Maggie said. “I don’t believe in destiny. But it would be nice to know what the hell I’m supposed to be doing. I mean, I didn’t even do my homework for today. I actually forgot my homework. Do you know the last time that happened?”
“Never?”
“Exactly. It has never happened. My life is falling apart. How did this happen to me?”
“Maybe it’s time to fall apart,” Kristina said. “That way you can pick up the pieces and put them back the way you want. A brand new Maggie. That’s what you’ve been saying.”
“I know.” She didn’t know how to tell them that maybe she’d had enough already. It wasn’t as fun and liberating as she’d expected. She hadn’t expected to sleep with Enzo, or to have to wonder if he’d call her afterwards. He’d been so into her. And now she didn’t know what to think. She didn’t want to care if he called, but she kept checking her phone. Had she made a terrible mistake?
When in Rome...Break His Heart Page 10