I nod. “Sounds about right, yes.”
She grins at me. “Okay then.” She claps her hands together briefly. “This will cure my hangover like nothing else.”
“Feeling rough?” I grab my keys again and head to the door.
She’s not moving. “You’re going out in that?” she asks.
I look down at my white t-shirt and grey sweatpants.
“What about it?”
“People will see you.”
I frown at her, confused. “I was just outside in this.”
“Yeah. With your dick print all over the place.”
I glance down. I don’t see the problem. “Dick print?”
“Yes,” she says emphatically, and motions her hands at my crotch. “Very impressive too. Don’t you know the tabloids are dying to print pictures of you like this? Plus, I’ll be with you in the photos. That won’t look good.”
Impressive? My dick print is impressive?
Fucking hell, this better not turn me on, not when she’s staring right at my crotch. “I don’t think you realize that no one is going to care.”
“Oh really?” she says. “They’ll care. If anything, the British and American gossip sites will post flattering commentary about your dick, then they’ll post pictures of me, your brother’s girlfriend, and all hell will break loose. What I’m saying is, if we’re going out there, you’ve got to change.”
After she mentioned my dick, I stopped paying attention.
“Sorry, what? Sometimes my English escapes me.”
She walks right up to me and snatches the keys from my hand, the contact of her skin against mine sending a thrill down my spine. “I’ll be right back,” she says huskily, and then goes out the door.
It takes me a moment to even realize that she’s off to McDonalds without knowing where it is, or what I want.
Then I head over to the full-length mirror to figure what the hell she’s talking about with a dick print. Okay, perhaps now isn’t the best example, not when I’m thinking about the many times she was just talking about my cock.
I slide my hand down the waistband, wrapping it around my length, hissing slightly at the touch. I hadn’t realized how fucking turned I’ve been around her. Fuck, I hope she hasn’t noticed the million erections I’ve had.
With her gone, there’s barely enough time for me to jack off, but I make it work. I’m hair trigger sensitive and I’m thinking and fantasizing about all the things I shouldn’t.
I’m thinking about her lying beneath me on my bed, her tits bare, her body milky white, biting those cherry red lips, staring up at me with those wide eyes. I’m thinking about her crawling forward toward me on her knees, nothing but desire on her mind. I’m thinking about her wanting me as much as I want her. In this equation, there is no Marco. There is no right or wrong. There’s nothing but us.
I’m in the bathroom and coming hard into my hand, just as I hear the door to the apartment open. I clean up and look myself over in the mirror before I step out. My cheeks are flushed but, other than that, I don’t think it’s obvious that I’d gotten off thinking about her while she was out getting food.
“I didn’t know what to get you,” she says, rifling through the paper bag on the counter, grease stains peppering the sides.
My stomach automatically turns. The fast food was for her, not for me.
“But,” she says, waving some greasy puck at me. “The classic sausage and egger seemed the best bet for you. At least, that’s what I hope it is. It was all in Portuguese so who knows. You have some crazy options.”
I sit down at the island and take the greasy sandwich from her. Maybe it’s not the worst thing.
Meanwhile, she’s leaning across the counter and savagely ripping into a breakfast sandwich of her own.
“Oh my god,” she moans, fingers at her lips, eyes pinched closed. “This is so good.”
I can’t help but stare, wishing I’d at least changed out of these grey sweatpants and into something else. I’m hoping my dick is spent enough to behave itself.
She meets my eyes and smiles, mouthful of food.
“Charming,” I tell her.
And yet from the knowing look in her eyes, she knows I actually mean it.
“Sorry,” she says, chewing fast. “I’ve been eating those pastries so often, I’ve forgotten what American fast food tastes like.”
“I assume Marco has taken you to Pastéis de Belém.” Lisbon is famous for these little custard tarts and the city is crawling with places that make “the best ones,” but the one at Belém is at least credited as the start of the pastel de nata craze.
She shakes her head. “No. Is it good?”
Where the fuck has my brother been taken her this last month?
Wait. Don’t answer that.
“It’s the best. There’s always a line and it’s chaos, but it’s worth it. Get him to take you there.”
“Why can’t you take me there?”
I hesitate. “Because Marco has to do something for you.”
“He does plenty,” she says, putting her half-eaten sandwich aside and moving onto the flat potato thing.
This is the part where I should shut up. Just shut my damn mouth and let Ruby and Marco figure their own shit out. I’ve always been so fucking good at letting things go, not caring, acting like nothing really matters except the game, and even then, I’m known as the guy with nerves of steel.
But I’m not that way around her.
I wish I was.
“That’s not what I gathered yesterday,” I say.
She stares at me for a moment, chewing, then puts her potato cake down. “Did I say something when I was drunk?”
“Not really.”
She swallows and sits back, her arms stretched in front of her, a few loose strands of hair falling in front of her face. “I was having a staring contest with a horse, I remember that.”
“You were fine,” I tell her. “I shouldn’t have brought you there.”
Her eyes snap to mine, fire in them. “No, you shouldn’t have. What were you even thinking?”
I open my mouth to protest but she has me there. “I’m sorry. I guess I just wanted the company.”
“Was that your way of making me realize that I’d never have a future with your brother?”
“What?” I shake my head adamantly. “No. Not even a little. That never crossed my mind…why would you think that?”
“Because it was apparent from the moment I stepped foot there that I didn’t belong. It wasn’t just the crowd. I could tell with your mother. Your stepfather. The way they looked at me. The things they said. And I know why Marco never told them about me. Because I’m embarrassing.”
“You’re not embarrassing, I—”
“I am. Okay. To that crowd I am. I’m just a young backpacker. I don’t know what I’m doing with my life and I certainly don’t belong there with that set. Look, I’m okay with it. I really am. I know Marco just wants to be with me because, well, let’s just say he has his reasons.”
I should leave this conversation, change it. But I can’t.
Because I have to know.
“What do you see in him?” I ask, my voice low.
She cocks her head and searches my face for a moment. “You’re asking what I see in your brother? Shouldn’t you know that?”
She’s right. There are a lot of reasons why someone would want to be with my brother, good reasons too, and our strange rivalry shouldn’t cloud that. I look away, feeling ashamed. “Forget I said anything.”
“You don’t think I deserve your brother?”
“That’s not what I said.”
“You don’t think he deserves me?”
I clamp my lips together. I won’t be able to lie.
She stares at me for a moment, gives a slight shake of her head. “You know how to have fun, don’t you Luciano? Or has it always been the game? The team. From day one? No room for anything else.”
Do I know how to have fu
n?
That’s my whole image.
Easy going.
Fun-loving.
Always with a soundbite.
“Do you?” she repeats, and that’s when I know she’s on to me. “Or is it just a mask? Is it just what you want people to see, to hide the scared little abandoned boy you are inside?”
I stand up abruptly. I don’t have to listen to this, from her, someone who is with my brother, someone who doesn’t know me.
She reaches out and grabs my arm, pulling me toward her.
“I know what I said last night. That we’re the same,” she says, her grip tight, a wild desperation in her eyes. “You want to know what I see in him? I see the way he sees me.”
“He’s ashamed of you,” I practically cry out, and it’s too late to take the words back, so I go on. “You’re not like the women he’s usually with.”
“You think I don’t know that? I’m with him because I see what he wants me to be and I want to be that person too. I want to be a better version of yourself.”
“It’s a different version of yourself,” I tell her. “I see the real you.”
Her smile is so damn beautiful and so damn sad. “I know that. I know you do. But I don’t want to be that person. I don’t aspire to be myself. I aspire to be someone different. Someone you wouldn’t want to be with.”
I pull myself out of her grasp and walk over to the window, staring out through the glass, wishing I could just rewind the last month before she walked into my life. Here we are, arguing over nothing, and I’m all tied up in knots over her for no reason.
No reason.
She’s Marco’s girl.
She’s got issues. A lot of them.
Let them figure it out together.
“I think it would be best if you didn’t help me out anymore,” I tell her, my voice hoarse.
There’s nothing but silence behind me.
Eventually I turn around and see Ruby staring at me.
“Did you hear me?” I repeat. “I don’t think I need an assistant. I probably never did. It’s just making things more complicated than it should be.”
She presses her lips together, looking off. Then she shrugs. “Okay then.”
She’s mad. I have to let her be mad.
But then she starts walking toward me. Stops a foot away, arms folded across her chest. “Have you ever stopped to think why it’s complicated between us?”
Yes.
All the time.
“You belong with Marco,” I tell her firmly.
Lying through my teeth.
I swear I see anguish pass through her, as if my words hurt.
Then she swallows, nods, looking away. “Yeah, I think I do.”
So much being said without even saying it.
“I better go,” she says, giving me a small smile. “I’m going to walk back to the hostel. Enjoy the day. I got a text earlier from Marco, so maybe I’ll go out with him when he gets back.”
“Good.”
A half-smile, humorless. “Good. Anyway, I’m sure I’ll see you around. Or not. Just know if you need any help, I’m here. Okay?”
Fucking hell, I hate how this is going. Like it’s ending before it could ever get started.
“Okay,” I tell her.
I watch as she leaves my apartment.
The door closes.
* * *
The sound of the door opening brings me awake. I sit up in bed, hearing Marco’s voice get closer.
“Luciano?” he asks.
The door to my bedroom opens fully and I blink to see him standing in the doorway. He flicks on the lights.
“What’s wrong with you?” he asks. “Why are you sleeping? It’s almost dinner time.”
He comes in the room and starts looking around, as if he’s searching for something.
Or someone.
I wipe that thought from my head. I did nothing wrong.
So why do I feel guilty?
“I had a nap,” I tell him, fighting through a yawn. “Didn’t think I’d sleep that long.”
“Late night?” he asks, facing me but his eyes are still darting around the room.
“Not really,” I tell him. I get out of bed and stretch and then walk past him into the apartment, glancing at him over my shoulder. “You look tanned. Thought you’d look more rested though. Want a beer?”
“You have beer?” he asks incredulously. “Is that allowed on your diet?”
I smirk, opening the fridge. “No. But I decided to say fuck it.”
I pull out two bottles of Sagres that I got this afternoon after Ruby unceremoniously left.
I crack open the beer, the sound distinct in the quiet of the apartment. “So, how was your trip? I thought you were going to stay a few more days on Capri?”
He shrugs and opens his beer. “I got bored.” He has a long gulp, wiping the back of his hand over his mouth. “So. Where’s Ruby?”
His tone is light but his eyes say otherwise.
“I don’t know.” I give a lazy shrug. “At her hostel, maybe. Haven’t you talked to her?”
“I did this morning.”
I don’t know where he’s going with this.
“She was with you last night,” he says.
Ah.
I glance at him, keeping my face impassive. “And?”
“You weren’t planning on telling me that, were you?”
“Why should I?”
“I don’t know, Luciano. She’s supposed to be your assistant, not a date.”
I stare at him for a moment. He’s searching my face for something worse than the truth, and I know now that his father told him, and that he probably put some ideas in his head.
“I didn’t feel like going alone,” I admit, which is the real truth.
“That’s not part of your job. She’s supposed to help you.”
“She was helping me. You know I hate those events.”
“And yet you’ve done them for years and you’ll do them for years after. If you’re lonely, go get your own fucking girlfriend to bring along. You had no right to bring her.”
I think that over, gnawing on my lower lip until I taste blood. Part of me wants to apologize, because that’s what I always do to keep the peace. The other part, however… “She wanted to come. You left her all alone Marco. You took off on your trip and you kept extending it and how do you think she felt?”
He has a sip of his beer and looks away. “She’s upset with me, isn’t she?”
I relax a little, the focus coming off of me. “She might have mentioned that.”
He lets out a dry laugh, staring down at the bubbles rising in his beer. “She’s so hard to figure out, you know? She acts so free, like she doesn’t care. I honestly didn’t think she’d even notice if I left.”
“Well, she noticed.” I pause. “The question is, did you notice?”
“Of course I did,” he says.
“Not enough to come back early.”
“I did come back early. I’m here right now. Why the third degree, brother?”
“I’m not giving you the third degree. But, between the two of you, I’m feeling like a relationship counsellor.”
“So, she really is mad, huh?” He leans against the counter and sighs. “I could tell from the way she responded to me, like she didn’t really care. Usually she’s so… you know, enthusiastic. But shit, we’re not supposed to be that serious.”
“You care enough about her to have her working for me.”
His eyes narrow slightly. “Yeah. That was probably a mistake.”
“I agree.”
“What?”
“I told her I don’t need her services anymore.”
“Why did you do that?”
“Because I don’t. If you want to give her money, find another way.”
I expect Marco to push back against that, but he doesn’t. He just nods and walks over to the fridge, opening it.
“Father wasn’t impressed,” he says.
“He called me this morning to talk about her,” he goes on, pulling out two more beers. There goes my Saturday. “Said that it looked bad that she was there with you, but it made more sense than if she was there with me.”
“He had some unflattering things to say.”
That was putting it mildly.
“I’m sure he did,” he says.
The strange thing about Marco is that he knows his father is a complete asshole, even to him, and yet it has no effect on their relationship at all. He still holds him in the highest regard. Sometimes I wonder what that says about him.
He hands me the beer, even though I have yet to finish the first one. “It got me thinking. It’s funny, because I was thinking of breaking up with her when I got back, but this changes everything.”
“You were?”
Damn if this small light inside my chest isn’t snuffed out.
“Yes.” He drinks. Seems to weigh something in his mind. His expression is sheepish when he looks at me. “I cheated on her.”
That light inside my chest flares with anger. My jaw clenches shut.
“I regret it now,” Marco says, even though he doesn’t sound remorseful. “But you know how it is. You’re out with your boys, you want to have some fun. So I had my fun. I was planning on heading straight to her little backpackers joint and telling her the truth, calling it off, but now…after talking to my father, I don’t think so.”
My mouth feels full of chalk. I can barely swallow.
How he can so casually, so callously, do that to her?
“What changed?”
“Guess I just want to prove him wrong, that’s all. Believe it or not Luciano, but you’re not the only one who enjoys pissing him off.”
“I don’t enjoy pissing him off.” Everything I’ve ever done has pissed him off, so the whole thing gets pretty boring after a while.
“Anyway, I thought maybe it would be fun to show her off. You know at the end of the month there’s the ceremony for the Footballer of the Year Award. I know you’re not nominated, but you’re going. If you weren’t planning on going, as your agent, I’m making you go.”
“I always go.”
“No,” he says, shaking his head. “You’re a different man since your injury, I can feel you pulling away from the game. You were once the party animal, now look at you. I can barely convince you to drink two beers with your brother.” He nods at the half-finished one in my hand.
The One That Got Away: A Novel Page 9