Luca
I set my elbows on the table and lean in towards her. “What are you getting at, bella?”
She peers at me over the edge of her glass. I don’t know if it’s just the drink, but there’s a light in her eyes I haven’t seen before.
“I’m not just some innocent nurse from Arroyo Falls. I’ve seen men like you before. You’re not just some guy who manages a boxing gym and sells dehumidifiers to old women.”
There’s enough liquor in her that this reserved, normally-scared woman is feeling a little bold.
And I’m loving it. Fiery is a good look for her.
It’s the same way when she’s training and really getting into it — there’s just something about the way she’ll purse her lips, or the way her voice changes, like she knows she’s tougher than she gives herself credit for.
It’s sexy as hell.
I’ve got to give her something. But I’m not going to make this easy.
“Alright,” I say. “I’ll show you mine if you show me yours.”
She blinks. “What?”
She might be drunker than I thought. Four Singapore Slings will probably do that to you.
“You heard me.”
“Are we talking about anatomy?” she says.
I shake my head. “We can if you want to, bella. I’ll show you whatever you want,” I say, pausing a second to admire how sexy it is when she blushes. “But how about this: I’ll tell you what I did before I bought into Reyes Boxing, if you tell me why you’re really running the hardware store instead of working in some hospital somewhere.”
Frowning, she shakes her head. “I told you already, my dad got hurt.”
“Months ago. How long does it take to get over a hip injury?”
I’m good at smelling bullshit. You don’t make it to where I’m at without having some skill at it.
There’s a second of hesitation. A sigh, like she’s admitting defeat. “With good rehab, you can be walking in a few weeks.”
“So, do we have a deal? You get my story, I get yours.”
She still doesn’t look into it, so I press on.
“I’m not here to judge. I mean, look,” I pause a second and pull my shirt up to show her some of my ink. I’ve got a lot of tattoos, some of them represent meaningful things, while some represent stupidity.
“Do I look like a guy who’s always done the right thing?” I point to one of my tattoos – one of my earlier ones, that I got when I was seventeen. Some kid named Tommy Noonan drew it for twenty books. It came out good for a cheap tattoo, but it’s still a giant fucking scorpion and if I could go back in time, I’d kick my younger self’s ass. “I know what it’s like to make the stupid choice just because it might feel good or because I’m angry and want to get back at somebody. I’m not a saint, Stephanie — but you sure as hell can trust me.”
“A scorpion? Why?”
“Why? Because seventeen year old Luca thought scorpions were badass, that’s why. Seventeen year old Luca was a fucking moron. But that’s not the point. The point is you can trust me. I’m not the type to judge.”
I keep my eyes on her the whole time I’m talking, staring right at her, willing her to open up to me. Not because I need to hear the story. But because I want to find out more this woman that I just can’t seem to get out of my head.
“Fine,” she says. She takes a drink. “But you go first.”
“Fair enough.”
I lean back in my chair, get comfortable, and wet my lips while I grind the gears in my head trying to figure out just what to tell her.
I can’t give her the whole truth — she’d run if I told her that — but I’ve got to tell her something.
I want to get closer to her. I want her to trust me.
“I made some choices when I was younger that weren’t the smartest. My big brother got involved in some serious shit, but he made a name for himself, and I saw the way everyone in the whole fucking Bronx respected him. I wanted that. So I made some similar choices.”
“And then what?” she’s got a combative edge in her voice. I don’t blame her — I pushed her about her dad, I expect her to push back. That’s one of the things I like about her. “You don’t just move to the other side of the country and do something totally different because you’ve had a change of heart.”
I call over the waitress and order one of those Singapore Sling things because I need something stronger than beer at this point. They’re fruity as hell looking — they’ve got a pineapple in them and they’re bright fucking red and I wouldn’t normally be caught dead drinking the fucking thing — but I figure there’s no one else here who knows me and, if the drink’s so famous, it’s worth a shot.
I take a sip. Not too bad.
“So?” she prompts.
“So I saw where I was going to end up. Up close and personal. And I realized I’d be a shit person if I let my nonna and my mother outlive me. I left after that. Made a good decision, for once in my life.”
I realize I’m sounding angry — Stephanie’s giving me this look like I need to calm the fuck down — and try and soften my voice and expression up.
“I’m sorry,” she says. But that’s it. It feels like my story hasn’t quite landed. “Can I ask you something else?”
“Anything.”
“Why are you so interested in me?”
I think for a minute, shrug to loosen my shoulders and roll my neck while thoughts bounce and assemble in my head. “This isn’t just sexual. If it were, I’d tell you, and afterwards you’d be telling me that it was the best you’ve ever had.”
“Is that so?”
“You asked for honesty, and I can only repeat what I’ve been told plenty of times by others.” I take a sip of my drink. “The truth is, bella, I’m trying to figure out this regular life thing, which for the longest time I thought was just bullshit. But you’ve planted this idea in my head that maybe there’s a point to it. Maybe there’s a reason to be a better person.”
She smiles at me, this light, subtle thing, and blushes, though she tries to hide both behind her drink.
“Your turn,” I say and wave for another round because booze is the best tool for digging up hard truths and burying painful memories.
Stephanie takes a long time before she starts to talk.
“I love my dad. I love him to pieces. My mom died a little over fifteen years ago from lymphoma. It took her fast. That’s kind of why I decided to get into medicine. It wasn’t long after her diagnosis that we buried her. It was hard. And I don’t think it will ever stop hurting.”
She sighs and fiddles with her straw for a minute, swirling it around. “I think back on those days and I can see how it would’ve been so easy for everything to go sideways after she died. My dad lost half of himself and I don’t think either of us have been the same since. But things didn’t go wrong. It was like my dad, through just this sheer will, became two parents. He did everything.”
She goes quiet, looking into her glass like it’s a window into better days. And I sit, quiet, because, even a guy like me knows not to intrude on these kind of memories. I might be a criminal, and an asshole, but I’m not that kind of asshole.
“I don’t know when things actually went wrong. Maybe it was after I went to college, maybe it was before, but at some point, I know my dad borrowed a lot of money to help pay for my school. The store wasn’t making much and it was the only way he had to support me.”
“So you’re staying around to help him get things put back together?”
A tired shrug is all I get. “Yeah, I guess.”
It goes quiet and the two of us drink our next round in peace, lost in our own thoughts. Now I know why she’s so drained, why she’s so drawn and tired.
And why she’s so frustrated.
I’d be angry as hell too if I were in her place. If someone I trusted and loved had built this lie and then suddenly I have to give up who I am to come in and pick up the pieces.
I’m not a good man, but family? Yeah, that speaks to me.
I call us a final round, because I’ve made one of those decisions that just feels like requires a drink to be in my hand.
“Stephanie, I don’t know everything that you’re going through, but I know what it’s like to have your life upended by people you trusted. Will you let me help you?”
There’s what feels like a minute that goes by where she’s just looking at me, thinking.
And I don’t blame her for being cautious.
I mean, really, what the hell can I do? Call up Ethel and see if she has any friends that’d also like to buy some air conditioners in exchange for a bit of grab-ass?
Back in the day, in another life, I had options. They weren’t legal, of course, but they were effective. But this isn’t one of those cases where I can do something illegal. I have to solve this as a better person.
“What do you think you can do?”
I’m asking myself that same thing. I’m just a part-owner of some gym and a rookie hardware salesman.
Stephanie’s not my type. At all. But that might just be what I need — someone who cares about their family, who cares about living a life that actually means something. Maybe I can learn from her.
Plus there’s the bonus that she’s hot enough that I’m asking myself multiple times a day just what it would feel like to have her soft thighs clamped around my face.
That’s a question that I need to know the answer to.
“I’ll be honest with you, bella, I’m not good at thinking my way out of problems, or doing things on the straight and narrow. But I give a God damn. And I know that when my back’s put up against the wall, I’d rather have one person on my side that really cares about me than a dozen that don’t.”
I clear my throat.
“So, I guess what I’m saying is: I’m yours. Whatever you need.”