by R.S. Grey
We’re about to round the corner toward the kids’ dorms when I reach out and yank him back. Well…that’s what I try to do, but my strength is no match for Noah’s size. His momentum drags me forward and my face smashes into his exquisitely toned arm.
“What are you doing?” he asks.
Not Are you okay?
“I’m trying to make sure you don’t give away our element of surprise,” I hiss, working overtime to push away from him and put distance between us.
“Have you considered—”
“Yes I’ve considered everything, now be quiet.”
I butt him out of the way, scoot in front of him, and oh-so-carefully peer around the corner toward the dark hallway.
He steps up behind me, unnecessarily close. His chest presses against my back.
“Well? What do you see? Are they committing all the heinous acts you were imagining? Having an orgy? Shooting up drugs? Learning TikTok choreography?”
Words gurgle up in my throat, but nothing makes it off my tongue because I’m acutely aware of what it feels like to be cocooned by Noah’s body. To my utter horror, it’s not…awful. First of all, he smells like…and his muscles are…and the way he…
I need to force a restart on my brain.
Then, I see it: tendrils of smoke drifting out from a cracked door halfway down the hall.
Those little shitheads! How’d they get cigarettes without me noticing?!
I leap into action, sprint down the hall, and slam the door open before they have a chance to hide the drugs. Obviously, I immediately regret not taking the opportunity to kick the door open with my foot for added finesse. There’re so few chances in life to do that. You have to seize every one fate affords you.
My triumphant “Aha!” is drowned out by Kylie screaming at the top of her lungs.
She drops her steamer—the one she was using to get the wrinkles out of her clothes—and it clatters to the ground. The smoke cuts off.
I have exactly half a second to come up with an explanation and I settle on, “So you see, Noah? These doors are so flimsy! This one just flew open on its own. We need to call Lorenzo right now and have the school replace every last one—”
Noah takes me by the shoulders and drags me back out into the hall.
“Good night, Kylie. Sorry about that,” he tells her before gently shutting the door. “Proud of yourself?” he asks me.
I shrug him off. “Every good detective gets it wrong now and then.”
“You’re a maniac.”
He starts to head back toward the teachers’ hall, and I have no choice but to run to catch up to him.
“And you’re far too trusting. These are middle schoolers we’re talking about! What were you doing in middle school?! Wait, wait—don’t tell me. Practicing tongue kissing on your sweaty fist,” I guess.
“Close.”
“Googling ‘boobs’ then desperately deleting every trace of your search history off the family computer,” I guess again.
He plays like he’s truly concerned. “Were you spying on me?”
“I bet you were the worst.”
He shrugs. “I was a quiet kid.”
I grunt in disbelief. “Oh. Okay. There’s no way you’re going to convince me you didn’t torment every female within a sixty-mile radius. Some things never change.”
We’re back in our hall now. Noah, likely worried I’ll make a break for it and run right back to continue where I left off with my mission, deposits me inside my room. “Not every female, Audrey. Just you.”
We all survive the first night in Rome, no thanks to Noah.
Apparently, the security guard did a few rounds to ensure the kids were all where they were supposed to be. There were no reports of mischief, which Noah gloats about in the dining hall the next morning. I take my muffin and coffee as far from him as possible and stake out a table all to myself.
Lorenzo walks into the dining hall and makes a beeline for me, and I immediately pretend I wasn’t reading a Bravolebrity gossip blog, quickly Googling “BBC World News” and angling my phone screen toward him so he’ll be thoroughly impressed.
“I thought I was taking you to coffee this morning,” he says when he reaches me.
He has a sweet look of dejection on his face that breaks my heart in two.
“You are!” I assure him before pointing to my muffin. “This…this is just first breakfast. I’m like Bilbo. I like to have breakfast, second breakfast, elevenses…”
He laughs halfheartedly, and I know he has no idea what I’m referring to.
Right, well… I awkwardly pick at my muffin.
“Listen, I have a few things I need to see to this morning, and I know you need to check in with your students and make sure they get to their class.” He checks his watch. “Want to meet me in the courtyard in an hour?”
“Okay, sure. Yes.”
He walks away and my gaze flits compulsively to Noah. It’s not that I want him to know Lorenzo was talking to me. It’s just…
Wait. Why is Gabriella at his table, leaning over to talk to him like that? His face is level with her chest. He’s liable to get poked in the eye by a nipple. Oh and now he’s laughing. Well isn’t that nice. What could possibly be so funny, Noah? Let’s hear it!
I stand and decide to take my coffee and muffin to-go. Though I’m mere steps from an exit, I decide I’d like to go a different way for no reason. I skirt around the tables until my path takes me right behind Gabriella.
“So anyway…if you’re down, we could totally check it out. You and me—”
That’s what I hear her say, and though I reduce my pace to an abnormally slow crawl—like somewhere a panel of snails is giving me perfect 10s—I can only do so much before I’m out of earshot again. I don’t catch Noah’s reply.
Well, well, well.
I think they do something different with coffee here in Italy because when I make it back to my room, I’m at level 11 out of 10. I feel like I could tear a textbook right down the middle with my bare hands. I air out my shirt and pace like a tiger. I drop my half-eaten, mostly crushed muffin into the trash and continue pacing.
So is Gabriella his type? Interesting. Okay. So he likes them beautiful. Wow. Groundbreaking, Noah. You are so UNIQUE. Not like the other boys!
I tug off my perfectly good dress and don another. This one is red, bright, short. I pick up a tube of lipstick and apply it with precision, checking my reflection in the natural light from my window. I look nothing like Gabriella. My eyes fill half my face. My features aren’t demure and subtle like hers. They scream at you to take notice. To that point, nothing about me is meek and small. My personality is like a gas, filling any room I’m placed in.
I don’t know why I care about Noah’s type all of a sudden.
It’s the coffee, I remind myself.
They make it stronger here.
And I’m jet-lagged.
Sleep didn’t come easy last night and Jesus, where are they even going to go together?
I need to clear my head. I spend ten minutes getting my room perfectly in order. My bed is made to Waldorf Astoria standards. My panties are neatly folded in my dresser drawers. My shoes are lined up from most to least comfortable. I check my email and get my inbox back down to a gold-star zero. I consult my itinerary for the day and feel my life slip back into place. Everything is neat now, including my emotions.
It’s time to go check on the students and walk them to class. I won’t do this every day, but I want to make sure they know where they’re headed, and I want to confirm they make it to the classroom on time.
Outside my door, Noah’s waiting for me.
He looks up as I step out of my room and his eyes pinball over every inch of me, taking in my dress, my lipstick, my bare legs.
I know he won’t keep his lips zipped.
“A little much for a Monday, no?”
Ah, there it is.
“When in Rome…”
I carefully lock up my room a
nd drop my key in my crossbody purse. I skipped the moneybag today so it wouldn’t clash with my outfit. I’m trying to look my best for Lorenzo.
“You forgot your pants.”
“Ha ha ha. Noah, you’re so funny. I don’t tell you that enough. You’re such a funny guy.”
His eyebrows furrow into one disapproving line.
“So you’re going through with this?”
I act like I haven’t the faintest clue what he’s referring to. I start to walk down the hall and he follows after me, a beat behind. I don’t need eyes on the back of my head to know his attention is on my legs. They’re great legs. Distracting legs. Eat your heart out legs.
“Lorenzo is a little old for you,” he says from behind me. Apparently, he’s in no hurry to catch up.
“I happen to prefer older men,” I toss back. “They’re so mature. They know what they want. They have…experience.”
I wiggle my fingers, making jazz hands to ensure he catches my meaning.
In truth, I haven’t put much thought toward older guys, but this lie serves me well. Noah is my same age. Our birthdays are only a day apart, in fact. Two years ago, someone at work had the bright idea to combine our birthday celebrations because they thought it would be cute (read: cheap). Noah and I had to sit side by side in the teachers’ lounge while a motley crew of Lindale staff sang “Happy Birthday” off-key. We only had the one supermarket sheet cake spaced equidistant between us. We were meant to lean forward and blow out the candles together.
“I’ll tell you my wish if you tell me yours,” Noah whispered as they sang to us.
It was just like Noah to try to sabotage my birthday magic.
“Nice try, but everyone knows you can’t share your wish or it won’t come true,” I whispered back.
“At least tell me if I’m the subject of it.”
I scoffed, adjusting the tight elastic of the party hat eating into my chin. “You think I’d waste my birthday wish on you?”
Of course he was the subject of my wish, which was sweet and charming and consisted of a cartoon anvil dropping from the ceiling right onto his head.
“You’re in my wish,” he admitted like a diabolical mastermind.
Then he leaned forward before they finished singing and, in one fell swoop, extinguished every single candle on the cake.
Since I’m still alive, I can only assume his wish never came true.
“How much older are we talking?” Noah asks me now. “I saw an old man walking his dog this morning. Could barely shuffle along. I’ll bet he’ll be out there tomorrow if you want me to get his number for you.”
I clasp my hands together with glee. “Oh, would you? Please?”
When we reach the student dorms, we call them out into the hall for a military-style roll call.
When we come up one short, my heart lurches in my chest. Then Brandon waves his thumb lazily toward the bathroom.
“Oh, Zach’s still in the shitter.”
“Ew!” The girls gag and squeal.
My expression is unamused. “Language.”
He only shrugs.
Zach emerges from the bathroom not the least bit bashful that we all know what he was just doing. I make sure he’s washed his hands and then we lead the kids to their classroom where a white-haired woman with bright red glasses stands waiting for us.
“Welcome, students! Welcome! I’m Mrs. Zahra. Come take your assigned seats so we can begin.”
The Trinity students have already arrived, and like the cool kids they are, they’ve claimed all the seats in the back of the classroom. Our students shuffle in and begrudgingly take the spots up front.
“Now you both shoo,” the teacher tells Noah and me. “I’ll keep the students here until their lunch break, and I’ll walk them down to the dining hall myself.”
Before we can protest, she closes the door in our face.
Chapter Seven
I expect Noah to split off as soon as we leave the kids. Our chaperone duties are done for the morning so he should be running for the hills, but he’s my shadow all the way to the courtyard. Every time the hallway branches, I hold my breath and wait for him to go in the opposite direction, but he doesn’t.
I look over at him, annoyed, and he acts completely oblivious.
I walk a little faster. So does he.
I round a corner and am about to make it to the door of the courtyard before him, but he rushes ahead and gets ahold of it. Playing the gentleman I know he’s not, he steps back and holds it open wide for me. Not about to accept an ounce of kindness from him lest I become indebted, I try to take the door from him.
“After you,” I tell him with a strained voice as I attempt to wrestle it free.
“Allow me,” he insists through clenched teeth.
I wedge my body between him and the door, and still, the thing doesn’t budge. He’s got a death grip on it.
“What are you playing at?” I ask with accusing eyes.
“You’re going to strain your back.”
“Then let go.”
“After you.”
“You’re such a child.”
“Then what does that make you?”
Left with no choice, I heave a sigh and give up.
Noah and I walk out into the courtyard side by side. We look like we’re a united front when we’re anything but.
Lorenzo is waiting for me, exactly as promised. He’s handsome bathed in the early morning light. I didn’t take the time to notice his outfit earlier, but it’s stylish. Cuffed pants, brown boots, a black shirt, half-tucked. It’s clear he’s taken care with his appearance. His short hair has pomade in it so the front does that dramatic swoop thing.
“Audrey,” he says with a bright smile, approaching me with confidence.
He greets Noah too, but it’s only for a moment, an afterthought, really, as he leans in and gives me a kiss on each cheek, his hands firm on my shoulders.
His confidence rubs off on me, and I gift him a wide smile.
I chance a quick glance at Noah, and he looks deeply disturbed. It’s probably because he’s never seen me look so happy. His little robot brain can’t compute my expression.
This, Noah, is how normal humans behave. Watch and learn.
“So Lorenzo, where are we headed?” I ask, dropping my hand to his forearm to give it a little squeeze.
“There’s a little coffee shop right on the river. I want to take you there and get you a proper drink. Much better than the sludge they serve in the dining hall.”
“That sounds lovely.”
See, Noah? When two adults converse in a normal manner, there’s an exchange of positive feedback, a smile, a nod, a touch or two. Lorenzo will gesture toward the gate and place his hand on the small of my back and I’ll think of something witty to say. His reply will be charming and we’ll both think to ourselves, Wow, this is going well. We’re really hitting it off.
We’ll want a second date as soon as the first one is over.
Noah isn’t paying attention to my lesson though. He’s too busy coming up with questions to delay our departure.
With his eyes narrowed shrewdly on Lorenzo, he asks, “So is this coffee date program sanctioned? Do I get to look forward to a one-on-one with the director as well?”
I know immediately where his brain is headed, but Lorenzo doesn’t.
“I’m not sure what you mean.”
“Noah,” I hiss under my breath.
“I’m just curious if you’re going to ask Gabriella and Ashley out for coffee too. If this is official study abroad business or…”
Lorenzo takes no offense to Noah’s third degree.
He merely shrugs. “I hadn’t thought about asking either of them for coffee, no.”
“So Audrey’s just special?”
I grab Lorenzo’s arm. “Ignore him. His hard drive is short-circuiting.”
Lorenzo’s expression remains open and guileless. “It’s just a cup of coffee. You’re welcome to join us if you�
�d like.”
I immediately contradict him. “No. No he may not.”
There’s a long tense moment of silence, a cowboy standoff sans pistols, then finally, Lorenzo smiles and claps Noah on the shoulder. “I’ll have your dear Audrey back here in one piece before lunch. You have my word.”
I shoot daggers at Noah. Happy now?
His harsh expression doesn’t ease. Whatever his objective was with that little tirade, he didn’t achieve it. He’s as grumpy as ever as Lorenzo leads me through the courtyard gate and out onto the street.
Our date has officially commenced.
Let the good times roll.
The happy jitters should be starting up any moment now.
Hey, butterflies, where ya at?
“You’re walking pretty fast,” Lorenzo tells me.
“Oh, am I?”
He laughs. “Yeah, and we missed our turn back there. Here, let’s double back.”
Right. Crap.
I force a laugh. “Sorry. Just…antsy to get to the coffee shop.”
In truth, I need to burn off some energy. I feel like I could go three rounds in the ring with Stone Cold Steve Austin and still be hungry for blood.
As we walk, Lorenzo talks to me about Julius Caesar and the fall of the Roman Republic, and my impersonation of Girl Listening could get me short-listed for a spot on SNL.
I wish I could march right back to St. Cecilia’s and give Noah a piece of my mind. Who does he think he is embarrassing me like that? I don’t need a minder or a babysitter or a big brother. I’m an adult woman with a stellar track record when it comes to steering clear of creeps. Take Noah, for example—I know to avoid him like the plague. I can spot an asshole from a mile away, and Lorenzo is not one of them.
“Here we are,” he says, reaching to take my hand to stop my forward momentum.
I look down at where our hands touch. It’s jarring, though it shouldn’t be. I just haven’t held hands with someone in a while. I tell myself it’s a sweet gesture for a first date. A little show of interest never hurt anyone. He squeezes it once and then lets it go with a bashful smile.
“Breakfast is on me. But you must try the zeppole donuts.”
“Sounds delicious.”