“Hey, you.”
I look up, finding Luca in the doorway between balcony and bedroom. He’s wearing a crooked smile and looking like all kinds of hot with his dark hair sticking up from how it dried after his post-game shower. I tell myself to play it cool, but I can’t help the way my gaze laps up and down him, taking in his slightly snug black tee and faded jeans and sneakers.
Why do guys look so good in plain clothes? Or maybe only the hot ones do. And he is definitely hot.
I swallow as he moves onto the deck, a panther stalking to where I am by the rail. He’s so close, and he’s smiling, clearly looking me over, and I’m having trouble breathing normally.
“Hi,” he says again, and I realize I haven’t spoken.
“Hi there.”
He hands me my drink—in a red Solo cup. His sparkling eyes feel hot on mine. “You okay?”
I nod, and it’s not untrue. I’m glad I came out tonight, and I’m even gladder that he’s here beside me.
He casts his gaze over the sound, focusing on a light I see across the way—a boat or barge—before his eyes return to my face.
“Did you need some air?”
I smile. “Something like that.” After I lost track of Luca, my friends went different ways. Dani bumped into her melodramatic cousin Maya, who pulled D into a bathroom to talk about some “crisis.” Ree and I wandered into a big, stately library where someone had set up strobe lights, and she bumped into this girl she met at the skate park last summer. When someone turned on music, I left them and made my way upstairs.
“I like balconies,” I say.
“Yeah?”
I nod, cringing inside. I like balconies. Who says that?
He laughs, leaning on the rail, his big body angled toward mine. “What about them do you like?” He’s grinning, as if he can read my mind.
I cover my too-warm face. “I mean…I guess just the ivy…and the water. And—okay—sort of the lack of people.”
“Not a people person?”
“No. I mean, I am a people person. I just…I sometimes need a break from all the people talking at once.” Luca’s face looks rapt, not bored, so I continue. “My friend Ree calls me a both-i-vert. Because I’m sort of extroverted, sort of introverted. What about you?”
“Both-i-vert.” He smiles. “I like that.” His tongue flits over his lower lip, and I think he bites the corner before meeting my eyes. “I don’t know…I’m kind of both, too. I like doing shit with friends, but I can also kick it with a book.”
“What kind of books do you like?”
His lips twist as he looks down at the iron railing. “Now we’re talking secrets.” He arches his eyebrows, and I laugh, wanting to die at my own utter lack of coolness.
“Oh, so this is really good then,” I say. “Are we talking Artemis Fowl?”
He grins, shaking his head.
“Harry Potter?” He smiles. “Gossip Girl? Oh, I know!” I snap. “Anne Rice.”
“I like Anne Rice,” he says, so I guess that’s not the secret.
“Manga?” I try.
“Eh.”
“No?”
He gives me a crooked grin. “I might have read some with my brother.”
“Psshh. You know you’re watching all the anime.”
He smirks. “Maybe.”
“Well, I’m glad to hear that you’re a reader.”
He gives a loud, low laugh, his chin tipped up. “What, did you think maybe I can’t read or something?”
“Can and do are different things.”
“True is that.” He says it in a Yoda voice, and it makes me laugh.
“You a Star Wars fan are.”
He shrugs.
“You like sci-fi and super nerdy stuff. That’s what you really like,” I say, just fishing.
He gives me a brief grin, and I note that he didn’t comment.
“Do you read on the trains?”
He nods, looking like I just made him confess something outlandish.
“Have you read Merrick?”
He grins.
Guess he really does read Anne Rice. “What about Blood and Gold?”
He nods once, eyes fixed on the water—as if he can’t look at me while he’s confessing.
“Pandora and Vittorio the Vampire?”
He laughs. Now he looks up at me, and he’s definitely embarrassed.
I decide to push more, just because I’m feeling wicked. “Sleeping Beauty?”
His smile disappears. “Don’t tell me you’ve read that,” he says—and his voice is rough and low.
“You think I can’t read it, too?” I feel heady as I lean beside him, propping my forearms on the cool, iron railing. I look at the water, wondering what spot his pale blue eyes are locked onto.
“Don’t tell me about it,” he says, and my heart begins to gallop.
“Do you think I’m…bad for reading it?” Now I feel embarrassed at my rash admission. I’m not sure there are any books more erotic than the Sleeping Beauty trilogy from Anne Rice.
Luca’s hand reaches for mine, closes over it and squeezes. “Of course not.” He lets go and straightens up, then turns toward the door.
My throat tightens as I feel him stepping right behind me. “It’s not bad,” he says quietly. “It’s too much. For me.”