“So, what have you been doing with yourself all this time?” I ask as I guide Lucy down the stairwell, trying like hell to get my mind off the parts of me that go erect when stimulated.

As soon as I turn her way she slips a strand of hair behind her ear. That small act is enough to make my dick roar to life all over again. She’s a seductress who doesn’t even need to try.

“I finished my Master’s degree in Art History a couple of years ago,” she tells me. “But then I changed my course of action.”

“What did you change it to?”

“I ended up in fashion design, actually,” she says timidly, like she’s afraid I’ll judge her.

“Really?” I ask, admiration flooding through me. It’s no wonder she always looks so damn good. She’s got an eye for clothing, textiles, how to fit her body perfectly.

She nods. “I’ve been working in the industry ever since I graduated, doing design work for theatre companies. Part of the reason I came here was to do what you’re doing; study Italian designers so I can go home and rip them off. Oops, I mean be inspired by their genius.” She laughs. “Eventually I want to set up my own clothing line. If I had my way, I’d open a little shop somewhere.”

“That’s amazing, Loose,” I tell her, pulling the gate open at the end of the corridor. We step out into the late-day Roman sunshine. “I’d love to see some of your designs.”

“Well, this is your lucky day. I’m wearing one,” she replies, gesturing down to the dress that I’ve grown very quickly to appreciate, the one that hugs her curves so well that I can imagine what it would feel like to stroke my fingers over each subtle nuance of her body.

“Wow,” I say, admiring both the dress and what’s under it. “That’s incredible.”

“Thanks,” she says, beaming. “I’m sort of excited to see what the next few weeks will bring. Though I’m starting to wish I’d spent some time studying Italian before I came. There’s only so much I can learn without understanding the language.”

“You’ll pick it up quickly.” I leap in front of her and turn to face her, walking slowly backwards. “Repeat after me: vino bianco.”

“Vino bianco,” she says, her lips moving in the most seductive way as they caress the consonants.

“Very good. Now try ‘vorrei andare alla cattedrale.’”

“Um, that’s a mouthful,” she says. My dick twitches at the very thought of her mouth.

She starts to repeat the sentence. “Vorrei,” she says. “What does that mean?”

“Let’s see if you can figure it out,” I tease, stopping and pressing my palm against the wall, blocking her way. “Vorrei passare una sera con la bella Lucia.”

She raises an eyebrow playfully at me. “If you’re saying something dirty, I…”

“Not dirty,” I assure her, turning away. “Not at all. You’ll know when I’m saying something dirty.”

She chuckles. “I’m sure I will.”

“Come on, bella Lucia, let’s go eat.”

* * *

I’m officially a breast man.

In a matter of minutes, Lucy has turned me into one. I was never one before, not really. I mean, don’t get me wrong; I’m a red-blooded, heterosexual male. I like breasts. I like nipples. I like pursing my lips around them, hearing a woman moan while I make her squirm under my touch. And those moments before I slip down and get my mouth between a woman’s legs are heaven.

But right now, no other woman exists. Even memories of others have faded, replaced by Lucy’s beautiful face, her sensual body, the sexy way she moves. She’s complex, interesting, intriguing. She’s everything.

But all I’m thinking about right this second is what it might be like to have her sweet pink nipples in my mouth. All my hard-on is thinking about is whether or not those amazing full lips of hers might like to come over for a playdate sometime.

Of course, that’s just sex. Just my body reacting to hers like it always did. She used to turn me on with the shy looks I’d catch her giving me. I remember how she used to keep her chin down, her eyes slipping over my body when she thought I wasn’t looking. She’d tuck a loose strand of hair behind an ear, and the second she knew I was looking she’d glance away, concealing her interest. She still does that. Still stares at me in the few moments when my eyes aren’t on her. She thinks I don’t notice, but I do. If I didn’t know better, I’d think she wants me.

But I do know better, of course. I know her by now. She proved in June 2010 that she never wanted anything more from me than one passionate kiss.

Since that night I’ve never gotten really close to any woman. I’ve had plenty of sex, of course. A man has his needs. I’ll date someone for a little while, use her to satisfy my cravings, then push her away. It’s how I roll, and cold though it may be, it works for me.

The woman I dated briefly, Renata, she was a prime example. She’s attractive and flirtatious, and I figured out pretty quickly that I could have some easy sex with her for a few days. But she became attached, so I high-tailed it out of there faster than the Roadrunner when it meets up with Wile E. Coyote. I didn’t care much about her; she’s not someone I’d ever fall in love with. But the truth is, I’ve never been in love with anyone.

I came close with Lucy a long time ago. I always wanted to be close to her. I wanted inside her mind, her soul, to know what makes her tick. I wanted her to trust me enough to open up, but I was too young, too stupid to know how to talk to a woman back then. I was too stupid to understand how much I had to open myself up in order to let a woman like her close to me.

Maybe I still haven’t figured it out. But I’d be willing to try, if she’d give me a chance.

The restaurant is literally a hundred feet from our building, and in a matter of seconds we’re sitting at an outdoor table. A hot Roman breeze has started up, blowing loose bits of hair around Lucy’s face. She laughs as she tries in vain to tame it, yanking it back into a renewed ponytail. I’ve missed the sound of her laughter. I’ve missed Happy Lucy, from the days when everything was hope and excitement about a future that neither of us could really foresee.

“Would you rather go inside?” I ask. “The wind and your hair probably aren’t a fun combination.”

“No. I like it out here.” She leans back in her chair, watching cars and vespas motor by down the narrow street. “This place is special, isn’t it?” she asks. “Rome, I mean.”

“Special how?” I can’t help but smile as I watch her. She has this cute little look of excitement on her face that I haven’t seen in such a long time. “I’m not disagreeing, but I want to hear your take.”

“Like, special in the way that the buildings speak to you.” The words come out with no irony, no apology. Like she just knows exactly what she’s saying, because she does. And so do I.

I’m full-on grinning at her now, raising an eyebrow as I await further explanation. As her eyes meet mine she looks away in that old shy way, her chin tucking itself in, eyes looking at the world around her like Bambi studying a flower. She’s finally lost that air of haughtiness that she was putting on earlier, and I’m glad. I want her to be just the tiniest bit vulnerable. I want the traces of the old Loose to blend with the new.

“Oh, I know it sounds insane,” she says. “I just feel like there’s something in this place that speaks volumes. These buildings are what, hundreds of years old?”

“Some of them, yeah.”

“Don’t you think they’ve seen things? Secret love affairs, deaths, births, the whole nine yards?”

“No doubt. They do call it the Eternal City for a reason,” I reply. “There have been a lot of shenanigans gone down in this place.”

“And you?” she asks, raising her chin to level me with a gaze that tells me she’s getting serious. A waiter has come out to pour us each a glass of water, but he makes quick work of it and leaves. “What shenanigans have you gotten up to since you arrived? When did you get here, anyhow?”

“I’ve been here five months,” I tell her. “As for shenanigans, I told you already, I did get myself entangled in something a little foolish. Or maybe I should say, with someone a little foolish. I shouldn’t have, but I guess I was lonely.”

Her eyes peel away from mine and she looks at something across the street. “Ah, that,” she replies. “Renata, is it?”

“Sorry,” I add. “I don’t have to talk about her.”

“No, it’s fine,” she says, offering up a thin smile. “Who is she?”

“A co-worker. It ended a couple of weeks back. Hell, it only lasted a few days, really. Turns out she’s a little…clingy.” Clingy like a suction cup on my soul.

“So, you mentioned that it’s over?” she asks. I’m not sure if I detect a hint of strain in her voice.

“Yes, completely,” I tell her, studying her face for a reaction. “I’m as single as ever. But of course, you and the famous Giancarlo, or Signor Squidgypants, or whatever his name is…”

“Hmmm?” she replies. She looks confused for a moment, then a light seems to go on, like she’s remembering what she told me earlier. “Oh yeah, Giancarlo. Oh, you know. It’s nothing serious. Just a date I’m supposed to go on.”

“Well, I’m not surprised he’s snatched you up already. You’re so…” Shit. I was about to tell her how sexy she is. How desirable. Stop talking, I tell myself. Don’t let yourself get close to her. Shields up.

“I’m what?” she asks, leaning towards me. I feel like she’s teasing me now. Of course she is. She knows what I’m thinking. She knows I want her. Lucy’s no idiot.

“You’re an attractive woman,” I say in a restrained tone as my eyes veer to the soft white cleavage above her dress’s neckline. Attractive isn’t the word for it. More like holy shit, if I were any more of a pig I’d tear that dress off of you right now, press your back to this table and fuck you senseless. That’s so far beyond attractive that there isn’t even a word for it. Boner-inducing, maybe.

“Thanks, Dill Pickle,” she replies, staring into my eyes, which have slyly moved back to meet hers.

A smile creeps over my lips and I lean towards her, setting my elbows on the table to mirror her pose. “Dill Pickle. Wow, I haven’t heard that one in a long time.”

“I haven’t said it in a long time.” She’s gotten very good at confronting me with those incredible eyes of hers. Sexy Lucy is pulling me in right now, and I’m letting her.

Maybe after everything, it’s good that nothing happened with us seven years ago.

Maybe we were waiting for this moment.