A Little Too Much (19 page)

I roll my eyes. “Yes, I’m free.”

“Can you be at the youth center by ten?”

“In the
morning
?” I ask, hoping I’ve misunderstood.

His smirk is back. “In the morning.”

“Yeah . . . sure, I guess.” I’m not even sure where I’m sleeping tonight. It sure as hell isn’t going to be at home. Who knows where I’ll be in two days.

He settles deeper into the cushions. “So, what happened tonight?”

It’s like he read my mind. I take a breath, setting my resolve. I can’t tell him. As long as he thinks Brett is still an obstacle between us, I’m safe.

He leans closer. “Talk to me, Hilary.”

“I broke up with my boyfriend.”
Damn
. Why can’t I keep my mouth shut around him?

He stiffens and something in his gaze shifts . . . becomes more hooded. He lowers my hand and reaches for his glass, taking a sip of wine.

I stand and move to the window, looking out over Perry Street. It’s got to be almost one, but there are still people milling about. A group of guys passes two girls on the sidewalk across the street and both groups slow down and check each other out—the traditional NYC mating dance. Alessandro comes up behind me. I can feel the heat of his body, but he’s not touching me. I turn to face him, and he’s so close.

I feel tears rise and pinch my face against them. “It’s just so stupid. I mean, it’s not like I loved him or anything. I didn’t really even like him most of the time. But it was comfortable . . . easy.”

He hesitates before reaching for me and pulling me to his shoulder. I try to find the strength to push him away. But I can’t. I’ve wanted to be right here, in Alessandro’s arms, for so long. I dreamed of these arms after he left. I dreamed he’d come back and hold me and everything would be okay.

And now he’s here.

As the tears start, I suddenly know this is about more than just Brett. It’s about everything. It’s about Mom and Mallory. It’s about butterflies in the park. And it’s about Lorenzo and Alessandro and everything that came after. It’s about all the pain and loneliness that I’ve stuffed down and denied all my life because it made me weak.

Alessandro’s breath in my hair is warm and soothing. He doesn’t say a word, but he hugs me close and kisses the top of my head, stroking my hair and rocking me gently. When I’ve cried myself out, I peel myself off his chest and look up at him.

“Better?” he asks, brushing the tears off my cheek with the pad of his thumb.

I nod, not trusting my voice.

His thumb slows in its movement across my cheek, then traces my lips as his warm gaze locks on mine. He’s so close. My heart pounds at the image of closing the short distance between us and pressing my lips against his. There’s a long second where neither of us moves, and I’m sure I see the same thought flare in his eyes.

“You should stay here tonight,” he finally says, releasing me from both his grasp and his gaze. “It’s too late for you to be wandering around the city, and I doubt you’re planning on returning to your apartment tonight?”

I blow out the breath I was holding. “Try never again.”

“I can sleep here,” he says, motioning to the couch. “You can have the bed.”

“What a gentleman,” I say with a sniffle and a smirk.

He smiles. “Anything for a damsel in distress.”

I follow him to the bathroom. He pulls a spare toothbrush, still in its package, out of his drawer and lays it on the counter. “If you want to shower, be my guest. There are fresh towels here,” he says, opening the cabinet. He leads me to the alcove where his double bed is and I feel an ache in my belly thinking about sleeping in it, surrounded by his spicy scent. He opens the top drawer of his dresser. “Would you like a fresh T-shirt to sleep in?”

And that’s when I realize I’m still in my smelly Filthy’s T-shirt. “Yeah, thanks. That would be great.”

He pulls out a black T-shirt and lays it on the corner of the bed.

“I think I will shower,” I say, because I feel disgusting in more ways than one.

He nods. “If I can steal a minute in the bathroom first . . . ?”

“Yeah, sure. Go ahead.”

He hesitates for a second, then grasps my elbow and presses a kiss to the corner of my mouth. “I’ll be right out.”

Butterflies erupt in my stomach, but then he’s gone behind the bathroom door.

A few minutes later, he’s back. “All yours,” he says with a wave of his hand.

“Thanks.” I take the T-shirt and close the door behind me.

His tub is an old claw-foot with a showerhead mounted on the wall and a curtain all the way around. I pull the curtain closed and turn on the water. While it warms, I quickly peel off my Filthy’s T-shirt and jeans, then climb in. The water feels so good, tiny fingers washing all the shit away. I stand in it for a long time, then reach for Alessandro’s soap and hold it to my nose. It smells tangy—tangerine, maybe—and I recognize it as the scent under his spicy cologne. I lather up and shampoo, then rinse and turn off the water. As I stand in the tub and drip, I listen for Alessandro, but the apartment is quiet. Maybe he’s asleep.

I step out and dry off, then tug Alessandro’s T-shirt over my head. It’s soft and comfortable and smells like fresh laundry, and somehow just that makes me feel calmer. I turn out the light and slip out the door, and find the apartment dark except for the sidelight on the nightstand next to the bed. Alessandro is lying on the couch in a slant of moonlight, bare-chested with a sheet over his lower half, where I see a Calvin Klein waistband poking out. The sight stalls my feet . . . and my heart.

I wasn’t imagining the body. He’s lean and sculpted, but not bulky. Those pecs are truly spectacular . . . and the cut abs. But it’s the arm tucked behind his head that draws my attention and makes my heart thump back into rhythm: the thick vein snaking along his forearm and up his bulging biceps, the lean triceps, the long fingers curled into wavy black hair that’s a little mussed. My groin tightens and, damn if I don’t want to crawl onto that couch with him.

But I can’t want him like that. This can’t happen.

I shouldn’t have come here.

He presses those lean arms into the cushions and pulls himself to a sitting position, and, in the dim light, I can see the fire in his eyes. He doesn’t say a word, but I know from that look that he wouldn’t turn me away if I went to him.

I stand here for a few more beats of my racing heart, torn between what I know is right and the pull of that gaze. Finally, I give in to the pull. Despite the hot shower, I’m a little numb as I move toward him. He slides over and makes room for me and I lie next to him. He folds me into those arms, and at the feel of them around me my breath catches on a sigh. I burrow into his side and lay my head on his arm. His lips are soft against my forehead, and I feel his hot breath, a little ragged, as he strokes my hair. But his hands don’t touch any other part of me.

I lay my palm lightly on his chest, and my heart constricts as I feel him tense, his breathing stopping for a beat. But when I don’t move it lower, he relaxes a little. We lie here for a long time, his breath on my face and the feel of his hard body against mine doing things to the deepest parts of me.

“Good night, Hilary,” he finally whispers.

“ ’Night,” I whisper back. I work to keep my breathing even as I lie here in Alessandro’s arms, pressed against his perfect, half-naked body, wanting more of him, but knowing I can never have it.

And it’s a really long time before I can sleep.

Chapter Nineteen

“
S
TOP!”

Alessandro’s shout, and the feeling of his body jerking under mine, wakes me from a sound sleep and catapults my heart into my throat.

It’s light outside, soft morning rays painting the walls of Alessandro’s studio with pale pink and gold streaks.

I try to move and feel my limbs twisted into Alessandro’s. He’s hot and I see the sheen of sweat on his forehead as he looks down at me with tortured eyes.

“Did I . . . ?” He rakes a hand through his hair and pulls himself up to sit on the couch. “I’m sorry if I woke you.”

I sit next to him, catching my breath. “What happened?”

“Nothing. I’m sorry.”

“Was it a dream?” Does he have nightmares?

“I’m sorry,” he says again, diverting his gaze, as if he’s embarrassed. He pulls himself to his feet and I see he’s in nothing but a snug pair of white Calvin Klein boxer briefs. For a second I can’t breathe. “I’m going to shower,” he says, reaching up to grasp the hair on the back of his head and flexing that perfect bicep. “Go back to sleep.”

He steps into the bathroom, and a second later the water starts.

I stand and his T-shirt falls around me, and that’s when I realize I just slept all night on a couch with the hottest man I know, in a T-shirt and no underwear. And nothing happened. I’m still standing here trying to figure out how this is going to go when the water turns off. Alessandro step out of the bathroom a moment later with a towel tucked low on his hips. Just the sight of those long, lean arms, the flat, ripped abs, the dark happy trail disappearing under white cotton, knocks the air out of my lungs.

“I neglected to wish you a Merry Christmas in my hurry a moment ago,” he says.

“Christmas?” Lost in my fantasy, I’d forgotten. The reality check shocks me out of my daze.

“All day.” He opens the middle drawer of his dresser and pulls out what looks like a pair of black boxer briefs, then moves to his closet and slips them on under his towel.

“I’m supposed to go to Mallory’s this morning,” I say as I get my bearings.

“I can walk you to the subway as soon as we’re dressed.” He drops the towel and slips on a pair of jeans.

Damn
, he’s perfect.

“Yeah . . . okay.” I grab my jeans, bra, and underwear and move past him into the bathroom. “Just give me a sec.”

I close the door and pull my phone out of my pocket. Eight thirty. Christ, it’s early. I see the missed call and my stomach knots. Brett, from just after I walked out. But there’s no voice mail. I don’t return it.

I tug my clothes on, then wet my fingers and run them through my kinks, taking a second to twist a few into ringlets. Once I’ve splash some water on my face and brushed my teeth, I look in the mirror. That’s as good as it’s going to get.

Alessandro has my jacket on the arm of the couch when I come out, and on top of it is a small box wrapped in green paper. “What’s this?” I say, picking it up.

“Your Christmas gift.”

“I have one for you too. It’s back at . . .” Damn. Brett’s. I cringe. “Sorry. It’s at the apartment.”

His lips press into a line. “I’d rather you didn’t go back there.”

“All my stuff is there,” I say, looking down at Alessandro’s T-shirt. “I have to go back.”

“Then I’m coming with you.”

“Why?”

He looks at me for several seconds. “Because I would just feel better if you let me come. Besides, I might be useful.”

I think about my coffee table. There’s no way I’m leaving it behind for that asshole. “Yeah . . . okay.”

I slip the bow off his gift slowly and peel the paper back, revealing a white box. I pull it open, and inside is a delicate silver chain with a tiny orange-and-black butterfly pendant. “It’s one of our butterflies . . . from the park.”

“They’re painted ladies. I looked it up. They sometimes migrate through New York in May, but not always through the city. We were just lucky I guess. I found this at the Natural History Museum gift shop,” he says, fingering the pendant.

I’m going to cry. I’ve done more of that in the last few weeks than I’ve done in the last eight years. I dig my nails into my palm to make myself stop. “It’s beautiful. Thank you.”

He loops a finger under the chain. “May I?”

“Yeah. Sure.”

He plucks the necklace from the box and I spin, lifting my hair so he can fasten it around my neck.

“Got it,” he says after a minute. His fingers brush over the nape of my neck as he lowers his hand and I shudder.

I lower my hair and touch it, where it sits just below the notch of my throat. “How does it look?”

“Beautiful,” he says, smiling down at me. His eyes lift slightly, to my lips, and I can’t help biting the lower one now that he’s looking at them. His eyes seem to lose focus for a minute, but then he clears his throat. “Are you ready?”

“As ready as I’m going to be.”

He picks up my coat and holds it open for me. I let him slip it on and wrap my scarf around my neck as he shrugs into his.

We head toward the subway, and when we turn onto Christopher Street, people are streaming into the red brick church there. Alessandro’s feet slow and I reach for his hand.

“Have you gone back?”

He shakes his head without taking his eyes off the front doors.

“Do you want to?”

He takes a breath and lets it out slowly. “I think maybe it’s time.”

When we walk inside, the place is standing room only. Alessandro hesitates before dipping his fingers in the holy water at the door and crossing himself. I think about skipping it, but instead, copy what he did. We move along the back of the church and tuck into a spot along the wall, between a woman with a squirming kid about Henri’s age and an old man in a wheelchair. Mass is just starting and I watch all the pomp and circumstance on the altar and try to decipher what it all means. About a half hour in, after a few hymns, people start lining up in the aisle for something.

“What are they doing?” I whisper to Alessandro.

“Holy Communion,” he whispers back.

“Are you going?”

His jaw tightens. “I’m deciding.”

“You should go,” I whisper, squeezing his hand.

He glances down at me, with a hint of panic in his eyes. He still doesn’t think he belongs here.

As people start filing back up the side aisle to their pews, I catch a glimpse of Jess, walking with her hands clasped and her head bowed. Just as she reaches her pew, she looks up and sees me. Her eyes widen and she smiles as they flick to Alessandro. She sends me a secret smile and an eyebrow wiggle before sliding into her pew and kneeling with her hands folded on the pew back in front of her.

The longer it goes, the more tension I feel radiate off Alessandro. Finally, just as the line is at its end, I give him a gentle shove and he strides up the aisle to the front. He takes the communion and is back at my side in a minute. He bows his head and looks like he’s praying, and maybe trying not to cry, so I leave him alone.

When it’s all over and people start filing out, Jess fights her way up the side aisle to where we are.

“Hilary!” she says, throwing a hug around me. “What are you doing here?”

“It’s a long, sad story, but the short version is, I came with Alessandro,” I say, waving a hand at him. “Alessandro, this is my friend Jessica.”

He holds out his hand. “It’s my pleasure, Jessica.”

“Call me Jess,” she says, shaking his hand.

“Alessandro! How nice to see you here!” a woman says from behind him, and when he steps aside, I see it’s Mrs. Burke, from his apartment building.

“Will you be okay for a minute?” Alessandro asks, squeezing my arm.

“Yeah, I’m fine. Stop worrying.”

His fingers sweep over my hand and I shiver as he turns to face her.

Jess pulls me back a little from where they’re talking. “Why is he worrying?” she asks low in my ear.

I rip my eyes away from Alessandro. “Because my life just went to shit.”

“Brett? Or your mom?”

“I broke up with Brett last night. No surprise, he threw me out.”

“About time.”

When I look at her, she’s raising her eyebrows at me. “That he threw me out?”

“You weren’t happy, Hilary. Anyone could see that. You should have ended it a long time ago.”

She’s right, so I don’t argue. “Well, now I’m homeless.”

“Hilary?” she says, exasperated, her eyes wide in a what-kind-of-idiot-are-you way.

“What?”

“I told you, I need a roommate. Mine’s moving out on the first.”

I’d totally forgot. After the month I’ve had, this feels like hitting the lottery. “You haven’t found anyone?”

She shakes her head. “I thought I had someone, but it fell through a few days ago. I was starting to panic.” She throws her arms around me again. “It’s karma, Hilary! It was meant to be! This is the universe telling us we’re supposed to be roomies!” But then she pulls away and her eyes flick to where Alessandro is trying to gracefully untangle himself from Mrs. Burke and three other ladies who are sort of swarming him. “So what’s the deal with you and the hottie with the hot accent? I thought you decided not to see him anymore.”

I shrug. “I just sort of ended up there last night.”

She looks at me with an expression that says, “And?”

I finger the butterfly pendant at my neck. “Nothing happened, Jess.”

Her mouth slants in a disappointed half frown as her eyes flick to Alessandro again. “You should come back to my place . . . unless you two have plans.”

“I have to get some of my stuff from Brett’s, and I promised Mallory I’d be there for Christmas.” I look at her. “Where are you going for Christmas?”

“Nowhere. Even if I could have gotten the time off, I couldn’t afford to go back to Biloxi.”

“You’re coming to Mallory’s with me,” I say as Alessandro steps up behind me and lays a hand on the small of my back.

“Are you ready?”

I turn to him, and for a second think about inviting him to Mallory’s too, but then realize that would be a very bad idea. “Yeah.”

We leave the church, and Jess and Alessandro walk ahead, chatting, as I dial Mallory. It’s early, but I know the boys are up. Henri was probably bouncing on Mallory and Jeff’s bed at five
A.M
.

I press call and wait two rings before Mallory answers. “Hilary. You’re up before noon!”

“Yeah, but I can’t make it this morning. I’ll try to come later.”

“Great,” she says, that familiar disappointment in her voice, and I can almost hear her eye roll. “Henri’s been waiting for you to open anything.”

“I’m sorry. I just . . .” I swallow and my dry throat clicks. “I left Brett last night.”

“Oh, no,” she gasps. “What happened?”

I squeeze my eyes shut. “I was just done, I guess.”

“Are you okay?” she asks warily.

“Yeah . . . I just need to get some things straightened out here. Will you wait dinner for me? I want to give the boys their presents. I have to go back to Brett’s to get them, but I’ll come for dinner, okay?”

“Will you be okay going back there? Don’t do it for the boys’ presents. They’ll get over it.”

“All my stuff’s there. I’ll be fine, though.”

Her breath blusters over the phone line as she breathes out a sigh. “Just be careful and we’ll see you later.”