Her gaze grows more skeptical. “Are you one of the sisters?”
“I am,” I say as a shivery rush courses through me. I still have to pinch myself sometimes.
Working in the theater is different than I thought it would be—which really means it’s no different at all. It wasn’t some big transformation, like the caterpillar turning into the butterfly or anything. I guess when it happened to Brett, I was just so in awe that it looked that way to me. But I’m no different. I’m just me . . . except maybe stronger.
The girls file into the room and head for the karaoke machine as another boy and girl arrive. They join the others at the machine and, as I move to the door to close it so no one will feel embarrassed, I look out into the gym and see Alessandro just emerging from the locker room in a snug gray T-shirt and black athletic shorts, with a towel slung over his shoulder. He loops the towel over the ropes of the boxing ring and takes a jogging lap around the gym before stopping at the ring again and stretching.
“Are we gonna use the mic?” the blond girl asks from behind me, shaking me out of my I-can’t-believe-that-gorgeous-hunk-of-man-flesh-is-mine daze.
I suck the drool off my bottom lip and close the door, then turn back to find the group staring at me. “This is a small room, so you can use it if you want, but I don’t think we need it.”
The kids start choosing their songs and the three girls who came together decide to sing a Taylor Swift song I recognize but don’t really know. One of them, the Latina girl, has potential. The others are just sort of screeching.
Through the window beyond them, Alessandro has boxing gloves on and he’s working a punching bag. He’s pulled off his shirt, and the sight of his rippling muscles sends the muscles in my groin rippling. I force my eyes back to the girls as they finish and work really hard not to stare out the window as Alessandro climbs into the ring with Alex.
The girls each do something solo, then the other girl, who showed up with the boy who it turns out is her brother, takes her turn. They all pick the more current hop-hop stuff that’s on the machine. Her brother comes up next and raps something I’ve never heard before. Then Tony gets his turn. When the music he chose starts and the first piano chords of “Suddenly” from the Les Misérables movie flow from the karaoke machine, I’m sure he must have pushed the wrong button. But then he begins singing . . . and my jaw hits the table. His voice is rich and pure and nothing like I would have expected from a wiry, shy sixteen-year-old kid. Just listening to him sends goose bumps rippling over my skin.
The other kids are whispering to each other and snickering, and I so want to yell at them to shut up, but instead, I lift my palm in warning when the blond girl looks at me, and she shushes the others. Tony, thankfully, isn’t looking at them. His head is tipped down slightly and his eyes are closed. When he finishes, he opens them and goes back to his chair and sits as if he didn’t just rock my world.
“That was amazing, Tony,” I tell him and Rapper Boy snickers again. I look at the group. “How many of you are in junior high?”
The three Taylor Swift girls raise their hands.
“Excellent. And high school?”
The others either raise their hands or, in Tony’s case, I get a shrug and a glance.
“Are you guys involved in music programs at your schools?”
I get a few mumbled yeahs.
“Great. Most schools still have at least a choral program, and many have drama, so if you wanted to do musicals, that’s a good place to start,” I say, looking straight at Tony. “There are also community drama programs outside of school.”
That catches Tony’s interest and he glances up at me, but then drops his gaze again when he sees me looking.
“If you’re thinking you want a career in music, there are lots of options,” I continue. “You could always try to find a job teaching music, or if you wanted to sing in the theater, there’s Broadway here, but there are also theater communities all over the country if you wanted to live somewhere other than New York. There are a hundred ways to make music a part of your life. You can write music or perform it, you can sing in open mics, community groups, or churches,” I say, gesturing out the window at the gym . . . not that this is a church, really. “Or you can . . .” but I trail off as my eyes catch on Alessandro again, in the ring. He’s sparring with Alex and the sheen of sweat over his chest and abs, the ripple of his taut muscles, the way he moves . . . it’s just so . . . yummy. “ . . . you can sing in the subway,” I mutter mindlessly.
There’s a snicker. I pull my eyes away from Alessandro and find the group grinning at me. I clear my throat. “So . . . how many of you think you might want a career in music?”
All four girls raise their hands while Rapper Boy sneers and jabs his sister and Tony fidgets in his chair. He glances up at me and I give him a tiny nod.
“If you guys want to choose another song, go for it,” I tell them, and the three girls leap out of their seats and pounce on the machine. For the next hour, I listen and give whatever pointers I picked up while training for Idol. I can’t help my eyes flicking toward Alessandro, though, and something kicks in my gut when I see Marie standing at the side of the ring, watching. The dance girls in their tights and leotards are starting to set up the half court, carrying the dance bar onto the court from against the wall. Alessandro and Alex finish up in the ring and Alessandro pulls off his headgear and gloves, then towels off all that sweat that I really wanted to lick. Once his shirt is on, he combs a hand through his gorgeous hair and ducks between the ropes to where Marie is waiting. She presses up onto her tiptoes, and he smiles as he leans down and kisses her.
Chapter Thirty
IT’S ONLY A peck on the cheek, but it makes me want to do things to her, even though Alessandro insists they were never serious, and he broke it off with her the first night we were together. They talk for a few minutes, then Alessandro says something with a gesture at the window of my room. They both turn to look, and that’s when I realize I’m standing with my palms pressed against the glass, watching, as if I’m trapped in some giant terrarium or something.
I spin quickly away as Rapper Boy finishes whatever it was that he was doing and force myself to relax. Just because they dated doesn’t mean there’s anything between them still. And, as I think it, a wave of calm hits me and I realize I trust him. I trust Alessandro. I trusted him once before and he broke my heart. Even though I think I’ve always known it wasn’t his fault, I’ve still blamed him. But I don’t anymore. I’ve forgiven him.
“Great. That was great,” I tell Rapper Boy. I swallow and look at Tony. “Are you going to take another turn?”
He shakes his head without looking up.
“Okay.” My eyes scan the group. “Well, thanks for coming, I guess. I hope you guys had fun.”
“Are you going to do this again?” the blond girl asks.
I shrug. “If Alessandro sets it up.”
“Alessandro?” the Latina girl asks.
“Padre,” I say, glancing out to where he’s working with the boys at the free weights.
The three girls bolt out the door to where he is, while the brother-sister leave without a word.
“Tony. Hold up,” I say as he slouches past. “Have you seen Les Misérables?”
“My grandma has the DVD,” he says, looking at the floor between us and shoving his hands in his pockets.
“You like it?”
He just stares at the floor and nods.
“I wasn’t joking,” I tell him. “Your voice is amazing. Have you taken lessons?”
He shakes his head.
“Have you done any plays or acting? At school, maybe?”
He shakes his head again.
“You should. I could help you find a community theater group if that’s something you want to try.”
“How much does it cost?” he asks, finally opening his mouth.
“It depends. Most of them are free to participate in, but if there was a costume fee or s
omething, maybe the church could help you. I’ll talk to Padre.”
“Okay,” he says and I feel suddenly hopeful. He’s so shy that the stage thing might be hard for him. But it might also really help him—draw him out of his shell and make him see how good he really is.
He hangs his head and shuffles out through the side door he came through as Christian catcalls him again from the free weighs.
I scowl at Christian and he smirks back as I make my way to Alessandro.
“You have a fan club,” he says with a glance at the three girls, who are skirting the half court past the dance class that’s just starting.
I feel my face scrunch. “Really? They didn’t seem to like me much.”
He smiles. “They’re demanding that you come back.”
“What do you know about Tony?” I ask.
“I’m glad he came. He’s a really good kid, but he lives with his grandparents. They do what they can for him but they don’t have a lot of money.”
“He’s got an amazing voice. He needs to do something with it. I want to help him find a community theater company.”
“I think that’s a wonderful idea.” For a second he looks like he wants to kiss me, and I lean in just a little, but then he loops his towel around his neck. “I just have some scheduling I need to work out for next week and then I’m finished here. Are you free this afternoon?”
“Yeah. We’re dark tonight.” It’s a little bit of a stretch. We haven’t officially opened yet, so “dark” just means we don’t have rehearsal, but a little rush zings through me at being able to say that. We’re dark tonight. We. As in: me and the rest of the cast. Our director is a hard-ass, but in a good way. She expects perfection. Preview performances start next week and she’s been riding us pretty hard, but tonight, we’re off.
I step closer to Alessandro and . . . mmm. The smell of his sweat is making things happen between my legs. I want to lick him in the worse possible way.
“Hilary,” he warns, his voice low.
I open my eyes—I didn’t realize I’d closed them—and I’m inches from the crook of his neck. I inhale his scent deeply, then back away. “So . . . were you wanting to do something?” Me, please. Say you want to do me. “This afternoon?”
He smiles, slow and easy. “There’s something I want to show you.”
“When?” Say now. Please say now.
“As soon as I get cleaned up,” he says, plucking at his T-shirt. And I totally want to suck the sweat off that shirt.
“I’ll be waiting . . . unless . . .” I flick a glance around at the kids, then lean closer. “Unless you need help in the shower,” I say low in his ear.
A smile twitches his lips. “As appealing as that sounds, there are likely children in the boys’ locker room.” His hand slides up from my waist and his finger traces the curve of my breast stealthily as he turns away. “But hold that thought.” He says it all cocky, without looking back, and the tingle between my legs spreads.
AN HOUR LATER, we’re waiting for the Roosevelt Island tram.
“Are we on repeats now?” I ask. “We can’t have run out of things to do yet.” Until my rehearsals cut into our Thursdays, we’d gone to watch the David Letterman Show at the Ed Sullivan Theater, walked the High Line, taken trapeze lessons on Pier 40 (which was where we were headed the day I, stupidly, told him I couldn’t see him anymore), and wandered parks we’d never been to before. And, yes, we also went to the Empire State Building.
Maybe the Statue of Liberty for his birthday tomorrow? It’s the only thing I can think of that we haven’t done. But that feels sort of lame.
He smiles. “There’s something we missed last time.”
We find seats at the back of the tramcar and I nuzzle his neck as we rise out of the city. “I was really hoping for some alone time,” I whisper. “You know you get me all hot when you box.”
A cocky smile pulls at his mouth and it makes me ache harder. But he doesn’t say anything.
He takes my hand and we flood out of the tram with the herd and walk up the main street.
“This is a nice place,” he says.
I look around at the condos and apartments with all the green around them. “Yeah. Quiet.”
He starts up the walk toward one of the condo buildings. “Peaceful,” he agrees, fishing something out of his pocket.
“Where are we going?” I ask, squinting at the building and then at him as he pulls out a key.
“In,” he says, shooting me a grin. He slides the key into the lock and holds the door for me.
I step through, feeling suddenly disoriented. “What’s going on?”
He presses the elevator button, then pulls me into his arms and kisses me. And that’s all the answer I get. The elevator comes and he escorts me inside, then presses 9. When the doors open again, he directs me to the end of the hallway and slips his key into the lock of a door there. Number 904.
The door opens into a big, bright, open room with plush white carpet, and a large kitchen off to the left. But what’s right in front of me is Manhattan. This is obviously a corner apartment, because two full walls of the main room are glass. One looks across the East River at the Upper East Side. The other wall of glass looks south, toward the tram and the Queensboro Bridge.
“Wow . . .” It’s the only coherent thought my mind can form. I pull my eyes away from the breathtaking view and squint at Alessandro. “Whose place is this?”
He looks at me for a heartbeat, as though he’s trying to gauge my reaction. “Mine.”
It takes me a second to absorb that. “Oh my God.”
He reaches for my hand and gives it a gentle tug, coaxing me through the door. I step deeper into the room and look around. “This is amazing. How can you afford this? Rents here have to be crazy.”
“I bought it. The victims of the 9/11 attacks were compensated well. I’m choosing to invest it in a little piece of New York.”
The bottom drops out of my stomach. “Holy shit. You’re rich?” I knew his studio in the West Village couldn’t be cheap, but . . . “Why didn’t you ever say anything?”
He turns one arm out in an almost shrug. “There’s really nothing to say. The first I knew of the money was when my mother signed all of her accounts over to me just before I came back to New York. I tried to give it to my grandparents in Corsica, but they refused to take it. I’m investing it until my mother has need of it.”
I move to the sliding glass door to the balcony that looks across the river toward the Upper East Side. It’s sunset over the city, the sky streaked with crimson, gold, and gray. “This is incredible.”
He steps up behind me and slips his arms around my waist. “You are incredible.”
I turn in his arms and the smolder in his gaze goes right to my groin. He looks a little dangerous when he wants sex, like a starving wolf.
In one beat of my racing heart he has me pressed between his hard body and the window. And he is starving, because his kiss devours me. His mouth moves hungrily on mine, his teeth nipping my lips and his tongue tasting every part of my mouth.
An intense sex rush ripples through me. This is a different Alessandro. A bolder one. I like him. A lot.
His fingers slip behind my neck and find the tie of my dress. He pulls it loose and backs away just long enough to let it slide off my body into a puddle at my feet, leaving me standing here on display for all of Upper Manhattan in nothing but a white lace thong and heels.
But the thong doesn’t last long.
His touch sets every inch of me ablaze as his fingertips slowly trace the lines of my body, over my neck, my shoulders, my breasts, along the curve of my ass and under the elastic of my thong. He teases me, his fingers caressing lower, but not as low as I want them. Finally, I can’t stand it anymore. I grab his wrist and push his hand between my legs. He chuckles, but gives me what I want, stroking my sensitive spot on his way deeper. His fingers plunge inside of me and come out slick. He teases the bundle of nerves between my legs a
gain, and I gasp as my whole body turns electric and convulses. His hand glides out from between my legs and he brings it to his mouth, slipping his long fingers between those irresistible lips.
“I’m going to eat you alive,” he growls.
And suddenly there’s no air.
He eases my thong over my hips and lowers me to the carpet, and the next second his mouth is on me, sucking, licking, his tongue plunging inside me. I fist my hands in his hair and pant with the rhythm of his tongue as he teases me into a total sexual frenzy.
“God!” I pant, right on the edge. But I fight it. I don’t want to come this fast. I want more of this. I never want him to stop.
But I can’t contain the beast. It claws its way out of me and I cry out with the body-wrenching ecstasy as I convulse with my release.
He slides up my body as I catch my breath, his lips and teeth nipping and grazing over every inch of me. His tongue darts into my belly button and he licks his way up to my breasts, where he gives suck, forcing a low moan up my throat. He wasn’t kidding when he said he was going to eat me alive. When he reaches my mouth he kisses me deeply, and the taste of my arousal on his lips and tongue starts a tingle in my groin again.
Sex with Alessandro has always been amazing, but since the day he came back, it’s been earth-shattering. Something beyond words happens when Alessandro and I are together. It’s like what we’re doing is too big to contain on Earth, so we have to take it to the stars. He takes me there and rocks my world as we’re soaring over it.
I think it’s because I love him. Now I just need to let go of that last shred of fear and tell him.
I’m a wet noodle of contentment, and yet, as his kiss deepens, I know I want more. My hand slips to the fly of his jeans and I drag it down as he pulls a condom from his pocket. He kneels beside me, fixing it in place, then pulls me astride his lap. I lift my hips, and lower myself slowly onto him, and moan as he starts to rock against me, feeling him so deep inside me as my weight settles onto him that it truly feels like we’re blending into one. I work the buttons of his shirt and let it fall open because I want to see that spectacular body. I want to watch his ripped pecs and abs ripple as he moves under me.
A Little Too Much Page 29