by R.S. Grey
“Well why don’t we just let that be a problem for Morning Audrey and Morning Noah?” I say, walking my fingertips down the center of his chest. My touch is barely there, teasing and playful before I start to slide it temptingly slowly down to his stomach and—whoops, naughty me, I don’t stop there. I keep going lower. I make it to the dark trail of hair beneath his navel, and that’s when Noah’s good intentions go up in smoke.
Chapter Twenty-One
Noah sits up and whips my pajama shirt right up and over my head with smooth dexterity that makes me swoon. It’s like he’s been practicing the move for years. Then he loops his arm behind my shoulders and tugs me back down to the bed with him. His hand cups my head through my hair. He’s kissing me with a ferocity that feels like we’re trying to start something—a relationship, a fire, who knows. We’re skin on skin and it’s sensory overload. I shiver with want and he kisses his way down my neck to my collarbone. It feels so wonderful to have his mouth there, but it’s even more wonderful when he keeps going lower, giving the same amount of care and attention to every part of me. His hands touch me everywhere, but then mine are prone to wander too. It’s like we’re hopped up on Red Bull Xtreme, too excited to slow down, too enthralled with each other’s bodies to properly take our time exploring one thing before we’re distracted by something else.
When his hands cup my breasts, a deep, satisfied moan escapes his lips. It’s the sexiest sound I’ve ever heard. If I had even one last vestige of worry about Noah’s motive for pursuing me, that moan obliterates it. He wants me in the purest, most basic sense. There’re no hidden agendas, no dastardly plots.
I slip my hand past the waistband of his shorts, and it’s like I’m revving the engine. From there, we’re in a mad dash to have each other. How quickly can we finish ripping each other’s clothes off? Who cares about buttons and seams, just tear through it. Bite it with your teeth. Stretch the neck out and let’s get on with this. We’ll toss these clothes in the trash in the morning.
“Condoms?” I ask, wrenching my mouth from his and coming up for air.
He points to the pocket of his shorts. “I bought a pack of a hundred at the store this morning.”
“Only a hundred? Okay, we’ll pace ourselves.”
So here’s the thing…there’s no time for me to have one of those quintessential What Have I Done freak-outs about Noah and me having sex because we technically don’t stop going at it the entire night. Sure, there are a few bouts of intermittent sleep and a few breaks for hydration purposes. We go halfsies on a protein bar at like 3:30 AM and I think I cobble together an hour or two of shut-eye here or there. But for most of the night, we’re going at it like it’s our sole mission to repopulate the earth and we take our job very seriously.
It’s so bad that when my phone alarm starts its rhythmic blaring in the morning, I’m not sleeping. I’m flat on my back with Noah’s head between my legs. HELLO, I’m not going to cut this moment short. I slam my hand down on my phone, pressing whatever buttons I can find to make it shut up, and then I go back to enjoying Noah’s fantastic mouth.
A second later, I hear something.
“Sweetie?”
I freeze.
Wait. Is that my mom’s voice? Am I so sleep deprived that I’m starting to hallucinate?
“Audrey? Is everything okay?” Her sleepy voice gives way to alarm. “It’s the middle of the night, hun. Are you all right?”
OH MY GOD. In my haste to turn off my phone’s alarm, I must have pressed too many wrong buttons and accidentally dialed my mom.
I scramble for my phone. “Fine! Totally fine! Forgot about the time difference. Sorry! Call you later!”
I jackhammer my pointer finger down on the red END button so many times I think I crack my screen.
Noah can’t quell his laughter. He thinks this is the funniest thing that’s ever happened.
He’s smiling against my inner thigh even after I groan at him to cut it out.
I think that’s as bad as it can get, but it turns out the real issue with turning off my alarm isn’t the accidental phone call to my mom—it’s that we majorly oversleep. When I finally check my phone sometime later, I realize we’ve nearly missed breakfast. Food’s not the issue—I could get a bagel down the street—but it’s my day to take the kids to the farmer’s market since I didn’t get to go last week. If I don’t show my face soon, they’ll come looking for me, and that would be the absolute worst-case scenario.
Uh, kids…Mommy and Daddy are…wrestling. COME BACK LATER.
“Noah, we have to get up. We have to.”
He’s sleeping on his stomach, completely exhausted. When I shake him, he groans and rolls over, tucking me deeper into his side.
“The kids are going to come looking for us and what’s our excuse going to be for why you’re in my room—NAKED?”
That does the trick.
He sits up and rubs his eyes, blinking against the bright morning sunlight seeping in through my window. I get momentarily waylaid processing the sight of him like this. Tan, naked, gorgeous. His hair is fantastic and mussed up and I can’t resist the urge to kiss him. Just once.
“No. No more!” I chide myself, pushing my body up and out of bed.
Noah doesn’t move a muscle as I run around my room naked, trying to get my stuff together so I can go take a shower.
“Are you going to move?”
“Sure. In a minute,” he says with a devil’s smile.
“Argh!”
When we stroll into the dining hall half an hour later, it feels like every head swivels in our direction. They know. How could they know?
For starters, Noah and I never walk into breakfast together. It probably looks suspicious that we’re hip to hip with our hands nearly brushing, so I decide to slow my pace and fall back, but then so does he, so I speed up past him. He does too. We look insane.
“Just—okay. Just go. I’m trying to—”
Forget it.
We get in line to get our food and Noah looks at me, practically telegraphing his thoughts with his bedroom eyes.
Remember this morning when you were straddling me? That was fun, wasn’t it?
I jab him with my rolled cutlery. “Keep going down the line, will you? Stop smiling.”
The cook eyes Noah with suspicious annoyance and only gives him one measly slice of bacon that’s been burned to a crisp. Meanwhile, I get a plate full of everything they have to offer. A breakfast fit for a queen.
Noah flicks his bacon, disappointed, and I assure him he can have most of my food.
“What should we do? Sit at different tables?” Noah asks.
“I don’t know. Let’s just…play it cool. We can sit together, right? Adults sit together all the time.”
At a table near the windows, Gabriella and Ashley are picking at the last of their food and finishing their coffees. They smile when they see us approach.
“Hey, you two! We were wondering when you were going to show your faces. Noah, Lorenzo was looking for you. He wants to know if you’re still up for playing soccer today with the kids.”
“Oh, thanks. I’ll try to find him after I eat.”
Gabriella leans toward me. “So where did you two go off to last night? Were you together?”
I scoff and look anywhere but her. “Together? No. I mean—”
“Yes,” Noah says, simply.
A schoolgirl giggle escapes my lips. Lord help me.
“Thanks for taking over our duties, by the way,” Noah tells them.
Gabriella shrugs. “It was no problem. The kids were fine. In bed by 10. I think the Vatican really took it out of them. So…you two went out? To dinner?”
“Uh-huh,” I say before stuffing my mouth with food so I don’t reveal too much. I’m already blushing from head to toe. It wouldn’t take a rocket scientist to discover why.
“And you had a good time? No one suffered any injuries?” Ashley teases.
I do have aches and pains, but not becau
se of dinner. A steamy sex scene montage runs through my head. Noah’s hands gripping my waist. My mouth on his. Curling toes. Happy endings.
“Your hair is a little messed up,” Ashley points out.
“Oh. Is it?”
I try to flatten it down with a few swipes of my hand.
“Yeah, and I think your mascara’s smeared.”
It’s Noah’s fault. He pounced on me after I got back from getting ready in the bathroom. It was only a harmless make-out session and I didn’t think to check my reflection afterward, but now I obviously regret that.
“Thanks.”
I take huge gulps of my coffee, both because I need the caffeine after last night and because the sooner I finish this meal, the sooner I can be free of these questions.
Noah—smartly—pretends he hasn’t been paying attention to the last part of our conversation.
The first chance I have to come up for air, away from Noah, is when I set off with the group of students for the market. Noah and I leave St. Cecilia’s at the same time, heading in different directions.
I look over my shoulder and give him a little wave.
When I turn back around, Kylie is smiling cockily, like she’s just solved her case. I let her enjoy her victory.
When we arrive, the farmer’s market is already bustling with people, but it’s lacking the usual madness we’ve experienced at other tourist spots in Rome. Everyone seems content to be enjoying their Sunday morning, strolling slowly along with no real goal in mind. The sun is still creeping up overhead, half-blocked by a building so that we can enjoy the shade and slightly cooler temperatures while we’ve got them. The crowd is dense enough that I keep a close watch on my small group of Lindale girls, but they’re not prone to wander. We stick together, sampling every bit of cheese and fruit we can get our hands on. I buy us a few sandwiches on freshly baked ciabatta bread and then we stop to peruse a table filled with dainty jewelry.
The artisan is selling beaded bracelets that only cost five euros each, so I can’t resist buying the girls matching ones.
“Four please,” I say, holding up the cash.
“Five,” Lizzy insists, grabbing one more of the bracelets. “You need one too!”
My little teacher heart grows three sizes.
When we pass a table overloaded with chocolate confections, I think of last night and Noah’s and my failed pursuit of a second cannoli. The absurdity of it strikes me all over again. I decide I can’t go back to St. Cecilia’s emptyhanded. This will be our consolation prize. I get two bags filled with assorted chocolates. One to share while we’re here and one to take back to the States.
When we get back to the school, we set up a movie in the common area off the porch: Roman Holiday with Gregory Peck and Audrey Hepburn, a classic none of the kids have seen and perfect given our location. I’ve seen it so many times and know exactly how it ends, but it’s still hard to watch Ann (Hepburn) and Joe (Peck) realize their fledgling love can’t last and their time spent running around Rome together—while passionate—was only a sweet respite from real life, not a lasting love affair. When Ann tells him, “I don’t know how to say goodbye,” we all have tears in our eyes. They share one last kiss and Joe sadly watches Ann go, never once asking her to stay with him. He knows she can’t.
When the credits roll, Millie looks over at me, her bottom lip wobbling. “He just…just let her leave!”
Alice throws herself back dramatically on the couch. “I thought it was going to have a happy ending! Oh my god, I’m so depressed.”
“Ann had the holiday of a lifetime,” I point out.
“But…but they loved each other so much. I want them to be together forever!” Lizzy says, swiping under her eyes.
“What if they never find that sort of chemistry again? What if they threw away their one chance at happiness?”
Dissecting the movie’s plot through the eyes of a bunch of thirteen-year-olds makes it all seem so much more complicated. Maybe they’re right. Maybe Joe should have fought to stay with Ann and make it work. It would have been hard, but who knows, they could have found real happiness together.
I explain this all to Noah later as we’re sitting side by side on his bed, post-sex, eating our way through the farmer’s market chocolates.
To him, it’s black and white.
“She’s the princess of some European country, isn’t she? She can’t just up and leave her royal duties for a chance fling with an American heartthrob. Who, by the way, was lying to her about being a journalist the whole time if I remember correctly.”
I bristle at his cavalier tone.
“So you think he did the right thing, just letting her go like that?”
He’s busy tearing open a foil-wrapped chocolate, barely taking this seriously. “It’s the only way.”
I yank the chocolate out of his hand and drop it back into the bag with the others. Already, I’m scooting off the bed.
“I see how it is. Have a fling in Rome, make the girl fall in love, and then send her on her merry way.”
“What?”
I search about for my shorts. “It’s all fun and games, right? Bag the princess, check it off your list, head home to America. Easy-peasy.”
“Ohhh…this was a test. I get it. I’m Gregory Peck?”
He’s grinning now. He finds my lunacy so damn amusing.
“No!” I find my shorts and start to yank them on. It’s not easy, of course, because I don’t want to let go of the chocolates.
Noah’s up and off the bed now, taking my shorts and tossing them clear across the room. They land on top of his laptop. Then he takes my hips in his hands and pushes me slowly back toward the door of his closet, pinning me in place. “You think I’m going to up and leave you at the airport when we fly back to the States? Check you off my list? Nice knowin’ ya?”
I look away. “I…hadn’t considered that as a possibility until today.”
This is what I get for listening to a bunch of teenagers with raging hormones. I wasn’t worried about the future of my relationship with Noah until we watched that damn movie.
“You’re right,” he says, nuzzling my neck with his nose, trying to get me to lift my chin so he can press a kiss to the sensitive skin just below my ear. “Gregory Peck is an idiot. Should have fought for Ann until his dying breath. I’ll contact Paramount and see about changing the ending of the film.”
I’m smiling now, despite my annoyance. I want to hang on to my anger. With him, it used to be so easy, but now it seems to melt away with a simple kiss.
His hands tighten on my hips.
“I’ll make it all official for us. I’ll buy you flowers and write a note and slip it underneath your classroom door. Will you be my girlfriend, Audrey Cohen? Please say yes.”
His lips are teasing mine now. He can taste my smile. He knows how I feel about him.
We can’t keep our hands off each other.
We’re like this the entire last week in Rome.
Of course, with the kids, during the day, out on excursions, we’re professional. We wear our teacher hats and keep our distance. I spritz children with sunscreen, hand sanitizer, bug spray. I remind them to wash their hands, to use the bathroom, to use good manners. I make sure they’re fed and on time for Latin and tucked into their beds at night. When we tour the Colosseum, and Santa Maria Maggiore, and the Castel Sant'Angelo National Museum, I encourage them to pay attention to the tour guides, to soak up the last few sites in Rome because we’ll be leaving soon. There’s an awareness that creeps in toward the end of the week. A countdown begins. This is one of the last meals we’ll have in the dining hall. This is our last excursion. This is my last chance to take a walk in the morning, by myself, and enjoy my favorite café, my favorite bookstore.
The kids have finally found a footing here. Their homesickness has subsided and they’ve gotten the lay of the land just in time to realize what a rare and wonderful opportunity they’ve had to be in Rome these last few weeks.
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“I wish we could stay forever,” Millie tells me on Thursday as we stroll through the city streets after dinner. Noah and I are out with all the Lindale students. Our goal is to find a gelato shop, but we walk slowly as the sun sets, taking our time, looking in store windows, people-watching, taking pictures.
“I don’t want to go back on Saturday,” Alice laments. “I love it here.”
Kylie agrees. “This week has flown by, and when we get back, school’s going to start so soon. Summer is practically over.”
“You can always come back and study abroad here in college,” I tell them. “You could spend a whole semester here, not just a few weeks.”
On Friday, for our last night in Rome, Lorenzo surprises us all with a scenic sunset boat tour along the Tiber River. He points out landmarks we cruise past as a waiter passes around sparkling Italian sodas in plastic champagne flutes accompanied by light bites. The students are dressed in their nicest clothes for the occasion, and as expected, the Trinity kids might as well be going to the Met Gala with their designer labels and cool accessories. The Lindale kids, meanwhile, are all true to classic middle school form: khakis that are slightly too short paired with wrinkled button-downs, overly gelled hair, rhinestone bedazzled dresses, ringlet curls turned crunchy from hairspray, heavy eyeliner, and drugstore lipstick a shade too bright. The boys angrily tug at their shirt collars and the girls wince in their uncomfortable heels. I love it all.
The waiter passes near me and I happily accept another caprese skewer with balsamic drizzle.
“Oh! I’ll take one too,” Gabriella says. “Thank you.”
She takes a bite then comes to stand beside me at the railing.
“All packed up and ready for tomorrow?” she asks.
“Oh…pretty much.”
I’m downplaying it, of course. I’ve had my luggage sorted for days. I have packing cubes for every type of clothing. I label each one. I optimize space in my suitcase with a tried-and-true system I’ve tweaked to perfection over the years. And most importantly, this time, I’m not going to look like a fool at the ticket counter at the airport. I bought a luggage scale at a pharmacy the other day. I’m at the top of my game.