Chapter Eight
“Your boyfriend was talking to some other chick before school—they looked cozy.”
I look up as Lena’s tray smacks the cafeteria table, noting she looks both smug and bitchy. “Excuse me?”
“Just thought I’d tell you,” she states.
“What girl?” I ask, frowning slightly.
“A really pretty one. Think Minka Kelly. I don’t have any classes with her, so I don’t know.” Affecting a fake look of surprise, she says, “I guess I won’t have to make out with him after all!”
I roll my eyes, wishing she’d just let it go. We’re talking again, but she’s still making the odd snide comment. I didn’t say anything that wasn’t true, and I’m not apologizing this time just to keep the peace.
I ignore her comment, glancing around the cafeteria. “Is she here? Point her out to me.”
She rolls her eyes, picking up one half of her turkey wrap. “I don’t know, I didn’t look.”
I wrinkle up my nose, picking at the crust of my peanut butter and jelly. “Great. Well, thanks for that.”
Sighing heavily, she says, “Jesus. I’ll find out.”
“He’s not even my boyfriend,” I mutter. Our lack of label hasn’t come up again the few times we’ve hung out lately, but I don’t imagine he’s changed his mind.
“You obviously want him to be,” she says, unimpressed. “You have such shit taste in men, Mia.”
“You don’t even know him,” I point out.
“Nor do I want to,” she replies, popping the top off her green tea. “Blaine’s into you; you should go out with Blaine.”
Wrinkling my nose up, I say, “Blaine’s too polo team.”
“He’s not on the polo team. We don’t have a polo team. I mean, water polo, but…”
“He’s on the rowing team. He’s too…all-American, polo shirt wearing, Harvard-going…”
Nodding in fake agreement, she says, “Yeah, guys with actual futures are the worst. You’re right. Good call. Don’t know what I was thinking.”
“He’s just not my type.”
She rolls her eyes, clearly unimpressed with whatever my type is. “You should get a prison pen pal, then you can meet someone more your type.”
“Why don’t we talk about something else,” I suggest, growing bored of her criticism.
“Look, I just don’t want to see you get hurt—figuratively or literally. If they go all Taken on your ass, you don’t have Liam Neeson to bail you out.”
“Hey, Liam Neeson could be my dad, we don’t know,” I joke.
Shaking her head at me like I’m the novelty of her life, she says, “How did I ever find you?”
---
The one night I’m not having trouble sleeping, I’m jostled awake by the weight of a body curling up beside me.
I don’t immediately wake up—at least, not without a fight. It’s dark, I’m bleary, and a glance at my alarm clock shows me it’s just after 3am.
I sigh, rolling over. Allan must’ve had a bad dream, and Mom must not be home.
Only it isn’t Allan. It’s Vince. In my bed, at 3am.
My eyes go wide, still burning from sleep, but… well, I don’t understand what the hell is going on.
“Vince?” I murmur.
“Sorry. Didn’t mean to wake you.”
I blink, rolling over and double checking the clock. Yep, 3am. I turn back to Vince, frowning in confusion. “Um… what are you doing here?”
“Just wanted to see you,” he says quietly.
I want to say he could’ve called, but he still hasn’t given me his phone number. I asked. He said no. Still, I’m not sure how he arrived at “I know, I’ll break into her house again and crawl into her bed while she sleeps.”
“You’re such a creeper,” I say lightly, reaching out and brushing my hand along his cheek.
He cracks a smile, but my mood dips when I realize he looks sad.
Curling closer to him, I ask, “What’s wrong?”
He doesn’t answer, just scoots closer, wrapping his arms around me and pulling me against him. We don’t speak for a long time, he just holds me, and I do my best to hold him back. My mind works harder than it needs to, guessing what might be wrong. The night of the fire slips to the front of my mind, and I wonder if he could have done something like that again. I don’t want to know if he did, but I’ll listen if he needs to tell me.
A wave of fierce protectiveness rolls over me and I hug him tighter.
After I squeeze him, it seems to bring him to life. His grip loosens enough for him to lean back and look down at me, but instead of speaking, he leans in and kisses me. Unprepared, I gasp against his mouth, and he wastes no time, deepening the kiss. Arousal stirs within me again, and I’m hyper aware we’re in my bed. I can’t afford to turn into a lust-monster at 3am in my own bed. This time it’s his hand that slides up my shirt, and because I’m in bed and wasn’t expecting company, I’m braless. His hand comes up to palm my breast, startling me, then his lips leave mine and begin a trail down the sensitive skin of my neck instead.
“Oh,” I murmur, failing in my attempt to stifle a moan as gooseflesh rises up all over my body. “Vince.” I brace a hand on his shoulder, the other on his side, and somehow he’s already on top of me. I don’t try to move him off, but I open my mouth to tell him we need to keep a lid on things—I don’t get to, though, as his mouth is on mine again, sweeping the thoughts clear out of my head. The weight of him against my pelvis has me throbbing between my legs, and we’ve barely even kissed.
“We need to—” I try again to tell him we need to hit the brakes, but he’s kissing me again, and then my hands are in his hair, his hands under my shirt, thumbs brushing nipples, and the common sense is gone. Sensation takes over, each caress of his hand feeding my need.
When his hand slips inside the waistband of my pajama pants, I don’t try to stop him. My knees fall apart, anticipating his touch. When his finger pushes inside me, I let my head fall back, closing my eyes. Surrendering my body, without knowing where it will lead. It’s terrifying and exhilarating at the same time.
It’s harder than I expect to stay quiet while he pleasures me, but when I come, his mouth covers mine, muffling the cry I can’t keep in.
Sated, vulnerable, I curl up in his arms afterward. He lets me, embracing me snugly again, but now I can feel a certain bulge that I imagine is probably uncomfortable for him. Squeezing my hand down between our bodies, I rub him through his jeans, enjoying the sounds of his moans for a minute. Then I ease out of his grip, sliding down his body.
He looks down at me. “You don’t have to do that.”
“I want to,” I tell him quietly, tugging his jeans down until I can get between his legs. A moment later, I’m brushing my hair back over my shoulder and leaning down to take him into my mouth.
Before long, he’s groaning, coming in my mouth. He didn’t warn me, but I don’t mind. I swallow, creeping back up until I’m snuggled up next to him again.
He kisses me on the forehead and holds me tight, resting his chin on top of my head.
“Thank you,” he murmurs.
“Mm hmm,” I murmur back. I wait a few seconds before adding, “Are you okay?”
“Yeah. I just want to hold you for a little longer.”
I smile, closing my eyes. That’s sweet. “I really like you,” I murmur against his chest.
I feel a little laugh burst out of him, then he says, “Yeah, I really like you, too.”
---
The loathsome blaring of my alarm is the next thing to wake me, and I’m decidedly less pleased about that disturbance.
Jerking awake, I realize I have no recollection of Vince leaving. I look at the spot beside me in bed, but it’s empty. No Vince.
The whole time I’m showering, doing hair, getting dressed, applying make-up, I’m thinking of the night before. I don’t know what it’s going to be like to see him in broad daylight, remembering his fingers inside of me the night before, bringing me to sheet-clutching orgasm in my own bed.
That was unexpected. I’m not sure if I’m relieved or disappointed it didn’t go any further than it did, but I’m still a little baffled that it happened at all. He never explained why he came over, beyond wanting to hold me. I guess it’s a good reason, but I maintain he should give me a way of getting in touch with him instead of breaking in when he wants to see me.
Then I get to school, and this time I’m the one who sees Vince with the Minka Kelly girl. Vince has more of an olive complexion himself, but she’s darker—Mexican? I can’t tell from this angle, but I can tell she’s gorgeous… and grinning at him, lightly smacking him on the arm. He smiles back, ducking his head, and they head into school together.
I can’t get my feet to move. My brain tells me to follow, to approach him, to say hello. She’s probably just a friend, and he won’t be weird, he’ll just introduce me, and that will be that.
But my body isn’t liking the chances, apparently. It stays put, staring at the doors they just walked through. Together.
I don’t see him again until English, and I can feel myself being weird. I’m relieved when he doesn’t get to class until just before the bell, but I find myself wondering why. Could he have the class before with her? Maybe all his early classes are with her, and that’s why they’re so chummy? Do they go on not-dates? Does he show up in her bedroom in the middle of the night when he isn’t in mine?
I torture myself with these thoughts until I’m so stressed out, my stomach actually aches.
I want to ask again if I’m the only girl he’s involved with, but I don’t want to seem insecure and I don’t even know if he would tell the truth. My mother has confronted more than a couple cheating boyfriends in her time, and only one actually admitted to it before being caught outright.
And he isn’t even my damn boyfriend.
Suddenly my feelings about the night before are sorted—I’m definitely more relieved that things didn’t go any further. I don’t even know what I was thinking, wanting someone who isn’t even officially mine.
After class, as if nothing is wrong, Vince gives me a warm smile. “Hey, you.”
“Hey,” I say, but with much less affection.
“How are you this morning?”
“Good.”
He nods, seeming to retreat. I guess I can’t blame him, since I’m being shorter than I want to be, but he hasn’t been stuck inside my head all morning.
Out of the blue I ask, “When do I get to meet your friends?”
His eyebrows rise in surprise. “My friends?”
I go for casual and give him a little shrug. “Yeah. You never talk about your friends. You know who mine are—we haven’t hung out with them yet, but you know who they are.”
Smiling slightly, he says, “I don’t want to hang out with your friends.”
Well, they don’t want to hang out with him either, but I don’t say that. “But you never mention yours.”
“I don’t really have friends here,” he tells me.
“I just… I don’t get to meet your family, I don’t get to meet your friends…”
He slows down, wariness transforming his expression. “What’s going on? Is this about last night?”
I feel so lame, but I can’t help feeling weird about missing out on all the normal stuff, about how little he can actually offer me. “No, it’s just… You won’t even give me your phone number, Vince. You get to do whatever you want, and I get…”
I don’t say ‘nothing,’ but I may as well have. The word hangs, unspoken, in the air between us.
He sighs, looking past me. “I told you that from the start. I told you I didn’t have much to offer,” Vince reminds me.
And I didn’t want to get involved, I want to remind him. I want to revisit how I resisted—but I ultimately gave in, because there’s this sadness in him that I feel like I should tend to.
Finally he asks, “What do you need from me, Mia?”
But I don’t know what to tell him. I need more than he can give, and yet even as that thought emerges, I shove it away. I’m not ready to give up on this. It might be foolish, it will definitely hurt more the longer I hang on, but… I’m just not.
“I don’t know,” I say, looking down at the ground instead of at him.
He sighs, and I’m surprised when he wraps an arm around me, giving me a loose hug right here in the middle of the hallway. “I don’t want to make you sad.”
“You don’t make me sad,” I tell him. “Your circumstances, maybe.”
“Yeah, me too,” he mutters.
“Promise me something,” I tell him, swallowing my doubts. “If you start seeing someone else, you have to tell me. Don’t make a fool out of me because I’m trying to make all these exceptions for you.”
Vince scowls, but I can’t tell why. “I wouldn’t do that, Mia.”
I nod, feeling a little less anxious.
He catches my chin lightly and tilts it up until I’m gazing into his earnest brown eyes. “I’m not interested in anyone but you. That’s not what any of this is about. You know that, don’t you?”
“It’s what I believe,” I say. But that’s not the same thing as knowing.
He frowns a little, brushing his lips across my forehead before pulling away. “We should start walking or we’re gonna be late again.”
I nod, slowly making my way down the hall with him beside me.
---
It’s a long day. I’m worn out from Vince and Lena and my own stupid brain—I’m just depleted. What I want most in the world is to go home and fall into bed, sleeping peacefully for four or five days. What I want least in the world is what actually happens.
“Hey! Hey, are you Mia?”
I slow down at the sound of my name, turning around to see who’s chasing me.
And it’s Minka Kelly.
I’m able to pretend for zero seconds that I’m pleased to see her. “Yeah.”
“Hi,” she says, grinning at me. God, she’s so pretty.
“Hi,” I reply, not smiling back.
“You’re Vince’s friend, right?”
Hearing her refer to me as Vince’s friend is maybe the only thing that could piss me off more than I already am at the world today. “Yeah. I’m Vince’s friend,” I say flatly.
Her smile dims slightly, then she grimaces a little. “Sorry, he told me you guys were having a rough day.”
My stomach twists up into a knot, and it takes a Herculean effort to remain there instead of turning and literally running away.
“Do you like cupcakes?” she asks.
I stare at her wordlessly.
“Vince thinks we should be friends,” she says, trying again. “Sorry, I know it must be weird to be accosted by a stranger, but he asked me to.”
I don’t know how to feel about that, but my stomach is still knotted. I did ask to meet his friends. Maybe this is his way of trying.
Thrusting her hand in my direction, she says, “I’m Cherie.”
I shake her hand, but warily. “Mia.”
“Right,” she says, smiling again. “Anyway, Vince’s…” She pauses, her eyes rolling up as she appears to think. “Aunt? Cousin? There are so many Morellis to keep track of. Francesca’s his cousin. Anyway, she runs this bakery. I thought I’d buy you a cupcake and introduce you.”
My eyes widen of their own volition. I don’t know if I’m more surprised that this girl has met his family (but I can’t?) or that she wants to introduce me to them. My mouth starts to open to tell her that Vince doesn’t want me to meet his family members, but I don’t know how I can tell her that when it’s clear she has.
“The Oreo cupcake’s my favorite,” she adds, trying to bust down the wall of silence.
I already feel like I hate her, but I can’t deny she’s charming. Her friendliness might be infectious, if not for how deeply and profoundly jealous I am of her.
“Have you met Mateo?” I ask, since it’s all I can think about.
Wrinkling her nose up in displeasure, she says, “Of course. We’re not going to meet him. You don’t want to meet him. But Francesca’s fine.”
My options are either burst into tears, or go get a cupcake.
So I nod, following this goddamn girl to get a cupcake.
---
I don’t know why I let her drive—why I don’t just ask for the address and meet her there. She talks my ear off for twenty minutes, and then finally we pull into a little brick bakery with a green awning.
“Here it is!” she says brightly. She must be so tired of talking to me, carrying the conversation more or less by herself, but you can’t tell it from her cheerful demeanor as she hops out of the car and heads inside.
I try to stop thinking about this girl in Vince’s life, the one he allows access to all the things he tells me I can’t have, because for better or worse, I’m about to meet one of his relatives.
A ring of bells hangs on the door, chiming as Cherie opens it and heads inside. A dark-haired woman, probably in her late twenties, looks up and smiles, obviously recognizing Cherie.
“Oreo cupcake?”
“You know it,” Cherie says, stepping off to the side and giving me an encouraging look as I come up to stand beside her. “This is my friend, Mia. I don’t know what kind she wants, but you can put that on my tab, too.”
The woman scoffs, rolling her eyes as she bends to retrieve a cupcake from the glass display case. “Tab. Right.”
Cherie grins, and I can almost see why Vince is going to leave me for her. She’s goddamn delightful.
Francesca slides a cupcake on a paper plate across for Cherie, then offers me a smile. “And what kind would you like, Cherie’s friend?”
“Actually,” Cherie puts in slyly, “she’s Vince’s friend.”
Francesca gaze snaps to Cherie instead of me. “Vince’s Mia?”
I’m stunned at that, and my jaw inches open. Why does she say that like she… knows of me?
Cherie bobs her head, appearing quite pleased with herself.
“I thought he wasn’t going to introduce her?” Francesca questions, still at Cherie, not at me.
“He’s not—not to everyone else,” she says, her smile dropping. She holds up a hand, as if to slow Francesca down. “And it goes without saying, don’t mention this to anyone. But Vince said she was feeling weird about not being able to meet anyone in his life, and I thought… hey, we’re a part of his life!”
I have no idea how I feel about Vince apparently spilling all our business to other people when he won’t even share it all with me, but I’m still reeling from the fact that his aunt-or-cousin Francesca recognized me as Vince’s by name.
“So, Vince told you about me?” I ask her, trying to get my bearings.
Smiling thinly, she nods. “A bit.”
“And you’re…”
“Francesca,” she says, offering her hand.
I shake her hand with more warmth than I shook Cherie’s. “Vince’s…aunt?”
“Cousin,” she amends. “Mateo’s sister. We’re all cousins.”
“Oh.”
“Mateo doesn’t come around here,” she adds, setting my mind at ease. “He doesn’t care for sweets all that much.”
Clearing her throat, Cherie says, “Actually, that brings me to another point. Vince tells me that Mia is looking for a part-time job. I remembered you saying you wanted to hire someone else to pick up a couple shifts a week. I thought maybe you could help each other out.”
Francesca starts shaking her head even before Cherie finishes. “Mateo combs through all the applications.”
Cherie scowls, then rolls her eyes.
It’s the first time I’ve seen her be less than pleasant. Does anyone like this Mateo person?
Watching me a little more closely than I’m comfortable with, Francesca asks, “How badly do you need a job?”
“Well, pretty badly. But it’s fine—I know Vince doesn’t want me to meet your brother. I don’t even know if he wanted this, and I don’t want to push it. Plus I have very limited availability, only like Mondays and Saturdays, so I’m probably not… It probably isn’t worth the risk.”
“I could hire you under the table, if you’re comfortable with that. No paper trail, no application, nothing he could see. I don’t really need any extra help on Mondays, but I could use someone on Saturdays.”
“Really? Wow, that would be great.”
Francesca smiles. “Good. Can you come by Monday for training?”
“I can, yeah. After school?”
She nods, grabbing a pencil. “What’s your full name?”
“Uh, Mia Mitchell.”
She jots it down on a piece of wax paper. “Mia isn’t short for anything?”
“Nope.”
“And you go to Vince’s school?”
“Yep.”
She jots down something else, then drops the pencil, folding the paper up and putting it in her pocket. “All right. Did you want a cupcake?”
As stressed out as I was when I came in here, I’m actually smiling now. Not only am I going to have a little extra income to make life easier, but Vince actually told someone about me. For all that he tells me I have to be invisible to his family, I’m actually not.
“Oreo, please.”