When In Rome...Find Yourself: A Sweet New Adult Romance (14 page)

“Ah, shit, I’m sorry,” Ned said, rubbing his head. “Are you alright?”

She froze as he reached out and pushed her hair back, touching her forehead with his thumb. And then his eyes were looking right into hers, so close she could see his individual, long lashes again. She had to force herself not to close her eyes and pray,
please kiss me, please kiss me.

“Yeah, I’m fine,” she said, pulling away from his touch. She sounded as faint as she felt. “You?”

“Yeah, dude, I’m fine,” he said. “Do the honors?”

He swiped the errant lighter from the floor and lit it, holding it sideways for her while she inhaled to light the nest of green inside the pipe’s bowl. She coughed once before controlling the urge. The first time she’d smoked with Jack of Spades, she’d felt like such a child compared to everyone there, the band and their entourage. So when the pipe came to her, she’d done what everyone else did, not wanting them to know she was an amateur.

And then she’d coughed for five minutes straight while they all laughed at her.

“Dude, have you ever even smoked before?” Patty had asked.

“A million times,” she’d said through her coughs. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me tonight.” That one hit had gotten her so high that by the time she stopped coughing, she could barely sit upright. But for what felt like the first time in her life, she didn’t worry about what people would think of that. She noticed that she wasn’t worrying about what anyone thought, or if she’d overdosed somehow, or how she’d get home. She wasn’t even particularly worried what everyone thought of her coughing fit anymore. It was like magic.

But later, she’d been mortified. The next time, she’d managed to hold her coughing in. She’d handled her first drink a little better, at that first show, acting like it was old news to her, that time probably fooling half the people there into believing that she’d drunk lot of times before.

Ned took the pipe and took a hit before passing it back. Now she was worried what he’d think, but she knew in a few minutes, she’d stop caring so much.

“Does it help the anxiety?” he asked, accepting the pipe.

“Yeah, some.” She took off her glasses and rubbed her nose. She didn’t want to go into the whole thing about how it let her escape herself, like books, but how it also made it hard for her to grasp the reality of things that happened while she was high. Like losing her virginity, which still didn’t seem real, but like something that someone else had done.

“Wow,” Ned said.

“What?” she asked, looking at the blurry shape that Ned made. She knew what came next. He’d say something about how she looked better without glasses, why didn’t she wear contacts.

“I’ve never seen you without glasses.”

“And?”

“You look different.”

She replaced her glasses, and he came back into focus. “Better or worse?”

“Neither,” he said. “Just different.”

“Want me to keep them off?”

“Can you see without them?”

“Not really.”

“Then that answers that question.”

For a few minutes, they sat in silence.

“Are you, like, always high?” she asked.

“Not always,” he said with a smile. “So tell me, Rory. What’s life like in Arkansas?”

“I don’t know,” she said. “What does that mean?”

“Tell me something,” he said. “Anything. Your favorite memory. Your job. Your family.”

“I don’t know,” she said, taking off her glasses again to rub at a spot on one lens. “My family is okay, I guess. My mom calls every day, or I have to call her, or she’ll freak. She’s pretty protective. And I have a little sister, and a dad.” She replaced her glasses again. “And I’m rambling. What about you?”

“You’re not rambling,” he said. “I asked you a question. You hardly talk.”

“What’s your show about?” she asked. “I heard some people at school talking. I just wondered. What are you painting?” A flicker of a thought crossed her mind, that maybe he’d say he was painting her. That’s what would happen in a movie. And then he’d show her, and they’d fall in love.

“People at school are nosy,” he said. “Don’t listen to all that.”

“Okay,” she said. “But what are you painting? I’m nosy, too.”

He smiled and hit the pipe again. “Rome,” he said.

Again, they sat in silence a while. So long that she wasn’t sure if it was her imagination, or if they’d been sitting there for hours, years, without speaking. If they’d really just had that conversation at all, or if she’d just thought it. “I think I’m going to lie down,” she said.

He didn’t answer, and then she wondered if she’d said that aloud, or just thought it. She felt very heavy and sleepy now, and she didn’t really care if Ned was there. She just wanted to curl up in her bed and be at peace.

“Want to watch a movie?” Ned asked.

“Um. Sure?”

“What do you have?” he asked, nodding at her laptop.

She got up and opened her Netflix account. Ned was still in her chair, and she had to lean over him. The Nedness of him pressed against her like a living thing, the heat and presence of him, so close she could lean a bit to the right and bump against him.

Should she lean in and bump against him?

She put on a movie, and when she stood, Ned picked up her laptop and settled onto her bed with it. After a second, when she hadn’t moved, he patted the bed beside him. “You coming?”

“Uh, yeah, I guess.”

She sat on the bed beside him, leaving just enough space so her shoulder didn’t touch his. After she’d adjusted the pillows, he scooted down a little and lifted his arm, waiting for her to put her head on it. Oh, that was bad. She knew she shouldn’t. But they were watching a movie. On her bed. Did that mean he didn’t really want to watch the movie? If he put his arm around her, it might only go from there, and she wasn’t sure she wanted to go in that direction. She was still trying to stop her heart from pounding every time she saw him. And she’d been so good the last week, barely speaking to him, like he said.

She lifted her head and let him slide his arm under it. After all, she had been good. This was her reward. The next day, she’d go back to ignoring him and pretending he wasn’t living in the house with her. But for now…for now she could feel the heavy warmth of his arm behind her, his solid boy body against her hip. His ribcage moving as he breathed, the soft tickle of his breath against her shoulder that sank through her pores, through her skin, into her blood.

Halfway through the movie, she hadn’t seen a single thing. She didn’t even know what movie it was. They might as well have not been watching a movie at all, even though Ned hadn’t moved, not even to sneak his hand down and pretend he didn’t notice it was brushing against her boob. No, his hand lay curled against her arm, relaxed. So relaxed, in fact, that she dared for the first time to turn the slightest bit and cast her eyes in his direction.

He’d fallen asleep. She felt silly suddenly. She was so nervous she could hardly breathe, and he’d just wanted to watch a movie with a friend and pass out. For a while, she let herself stare at his face. When he was awake, she couldn’t do that. It made people uncomfortable. That’s why she took pictures of them, so she could study them later. What made them happy? What made them concentrate? What made them able to make friends, to look at people without freaking them out, when she couldn’t?

That’s what Patty had said after the first time Rory met Jack. That he said Rory had freaked him out by staring so much. She hadn’t even realized she was staring. He had an interesting face, and she had looked at it, yes, but stare? She wasn’t so sure. Months later, she’d said something about it, and he’d denied it. By then, she wasn’t sure she could take Patty’s word for everything. Patty loved gossip and drama, and she wasn’t above making it when it wasn’t already present.

But here, with Ned sleeping beside her, she could stare. She was on her own bed, after all, in her own room. And he’d never know. He wouldn’t know if she memorized each eyelash as it lay curled against his cheek, the faint freckles she’d never noticed before, the hint of stubble on cheeks so smooth he probably only had to shave once a week. Here, she could capture the moment with her eyes, even if her camera was out of reach. She could glimpse the sweet, innocence of his face in sleep, a side he probably didn’t show anyone or even know he had. It felt like a violation in a way, but also like a secret only she was privy to.

She snuggled down into his arm and let out a long sigh. His hand twitched against her arm, and for a second, she thought he’d been awake the whole time, that he’d know somehow all that she’d been thinking as she watched his quiet face. But he didn’t open his eyes, and she let herself relax again. For a few more minutes, she would enjoy this. She might even pretend that they were together, that he’d fallen asleep on her bed every night for years, like Maggie’s boyfriend probably did with her.

Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad to have a boyfriend again, someone to watch movies with, to fall asleep with. Someone to rest her head against, to curl into as she grew drowsy, too. Someone to admire when she caught him sleeping and saw that vulnerable, naked side of him that appeared when waking consciousness left him. And if she couldn’t have that, at least she could enjoy the illusion while it lasted. She didn’t have to wake him just yet. When the movie ended. She could wake him then.

CHAPTER fifteen

“And then when he woke up, I pretended I was sleeping,” Rory finished. She was sitting with Kristina on the bus as they made their way to the Forum, another class outing. Cynthia and Maggie were turned around in their seats to hear. Rory wasn’t sure what she’d done to deserve so much attention—she’d told them from the start that nothing had happened. Still, they remained glued to her every word, as if she were telling the world’s juiciest tale. She must be missing something. But what?

“So you just kept watching his sleeping corpse for hours?” Kristina asked. “That’s creepy.”

“I think it’s sweet,” Maggie said.

“It wasn’t a corpse,” Rory said. “He wasn’t dead.”

“Okay, we know what you did,” Cynthia said. “But what about him? Did he try to wake you up before he left, or just slip out quietly?”

“I don’t know, I had my eyes closed.”

Kristina rolled her eyes. “Yeah, but did he, like, slip out super quiet and tiptoe out of the room? Or whisper your name to see if you were awake?”

Rory paused to think back on the night before. She had been close to falling asleep, but her awareness of his presence had kept her from going under completely. Then when he’d started to stir, she’d panicked. She hadn’t known what to do. Faking sleep seemed the least awkward option.

“The first one,” she said. “Definitely the first one.” The look that flew around the circle did not go unnoticed by Rory. “Is that bad? That’s bad, isn’t it? He should have kissed me or something. If he was interested. Right?”

Kristina gave her a sympathetic look.

“I don’t think it means that,” Maggie said. “Not necessarily. Maybe he was really tired.”

Rory hadn’t mentioned the pot smoking, since she wasn’t sure how the others felt about that. But that could have been the reason. It made her feel a little better.

“I’m not talking about the falling asleep,” Kristina said. “I’m talking about when he woke up all sexy and ready. He should have been in your pants in two minutes.”

“Ew,” Cynthia said. “You want him to rape her while she’s sleeping?”

“Um, no,” Kristina said. “But guys wake up hard for a reason.”

“Was he?” Maggie whispered. “I mean, did you feel?”

Rory flapped the front of her shirt, trying to fan away some of the heat. “I don’t know.”

“You’re blushing,” Kristina said.

“Maybe we can still salvage it,” Maggie said. “Maybe he was just being a gentleman.”

“A gentleman would have gently woken you up and told you he was leaving,” Cynthia said. “Not pulled a smash and dash.”

“Yeah, but without the smash,” Kristina said. “So really, it was just a snore and dash. That guy’s lame. Dump him.”

“I can’t dump him,” Rory said. “We’re not together.”

“And let him know you’re not interested in changing that,” Kristina said. “Hey, we’ve all been there. And we’re going out to a club tomorrow, so you’ll have tons of guys to choose from.”

“We…are?” Rory asked, her heart pounding. Had she just become part of the “we” she’d been seeking for the past two weeks?

“Armani’s bringing some friends for Cynthia, so you can just come, too,” Kristina said. “And if you don’t like them, the club will be crawling with guys who can at least hit it before they quit it.”

Rory started to say that’s not at all what she wanted, that it sounded cold and vulgar and a bit terrifying to sleep with someone she’d just met. But she didn’t want to get on Kristina’s bad side now that she was being so nice. She had no idea what she’d done to gain inclusion. Was it as simple as oversharing all her guy drama, like Kristina had done on the plane on the way there? Or was it because she’d done something brave like Kristina said? Although really, Ned had been the one to come knocking, break the silence, and invite her to hang out. All she’d done was stand there watching it all happen without saying no.

For the next few hours, she was absorbed by her camera, taking pictures of both the Forum and her classmates and strangers seeing the ruins. Not thinking about Ned, or her mother who kept texting her pictures of the ocean on their second whale watch, or Kristina’s sudden change of heart, or Cynthia’s assessment of Ned’s behavior.

She studied the crumbling structures, the statues and monuments and buildings, trying to imagine the ancient Romans politicians who stood there and delivered famous speeches, the criminals who stood trial, the shopkeepers and vendors who sold fish and produce, the parades of splendid and ferocious gladiators. But it all looked so old now that the people who had once frequented it were nothing but names in books and on plaques. She couldn’t imagine it as the center of intellectualism in the greatest empire the world had known at that point, the greatest gathering place in the history of the world, as Professor McClain had raved.

On the bus afterwards, Kristina said, “You should come over tomorrow before we go out. We’ll get you fixed up.”

“Don’t listen to her,” Maggie said. “You look fine.”

“She’s wearing overalls.”

Rory looked down at the overall shorts she’d worn. Like most of her clothes, they’d been preapproved by Patty and purchased at the thrift store. “I thought they were back in style,” she mumbled.

“Did you also think it was 1994?”

“You have your own style,” Maggie said. “It’s cute.”

“If you’re going to wear something like that, you have to really own it,” Kristina said. “You can’t think it might be back in style. You have to wear it like you’re bringing it back in style. Otherwise, you look like you’re trying to wear a current trend but you don’t know the difference between a denim romper and overalls.”

“I—don’t.”

“Exactly. That’s why you shouldn’t try to be trendy. You can always go with a more classic style, like Maggie. Or just buy something in a store that follows trends.”

“Okay,” Rory mumbled, her lips numb. She’d messed it all up without doing a thing. And they were looking at her, criticizing her. They’d probably notice the sweat stains she was surely leaving on her tank top at that very moment.

“Why don’t I come by your place?” Kristina said. “That way, I can see what you have. I’ll bring some cute tops, too. And maybe a trash bag for those overalls.”

The next evening, Kristina and Maggie came over. Theresa tried to fuss over them, and Rory was a little afraid Kristina would be rude, but she chatted away and made herself right at home. She took the biscotti and coffee that Theresa offered and told them all about her own mother, her house mother, the guy she’d met in the airport. Theresa smiled at her like she was the most adorable thing she’d ever seen. Maybe that was how Kristina always made friends—oversharing, assuming everyone cared about her little dramas. It wasn’t unlike the way that Ned assumed everyone was cool with him.

After a while, they headed upstairs, Kristina’s heels clacking loudly on the hardwood. She strode down the darkly carpeted hallway in front of Maggie and Rory, as if it were her house and not Rory’s. “Ned home?” she asked out loud, so he could probably hear her right through the door.

Rory nodded and pointed to his door. Kristina rolled her eyes, but she passed his room and walked into Rory’s, taking in everything in one glance. Rory was sure she’d make some dismissive comment—“Nerd room” or something similar—but she didn’t say a word. Which, of course, made Rory squirm even more. Kristina would judge her, she knew that. She’d spent all afternoon cleaning the room until it was as spotless as the day she arrived, even propping her books at a pleasing angle for when Kristina walked in. In return, she got nothing, not a single word. What was Kristina thinking?

“This is cute,” Maggie said, picking up a framed picture of Rory with her parents and sister on the beach a few summers ago. That had been the first summer Quinn had been hot, not just little-girl cute. Rory had started to get jealous of her, seeing how much prettier she’d be. But that was the year they’d both gotten their hearts broken, and she’d forgotten her pettiness when she saw how devastated Quinn was. Still, she liked the picture. They were all wearing big floppy sunhats, even her dad. That had been a source of major embarrassment at the time, but in retrospect, she loved his unwitting ridiculousness.

“Who’s your friend?” Kristina asked, looking over Maggie’s shoulder.

“Sister.”

“Dang,” Kristina said, shaking her head. “That must suck.”

“She’s four years younger,” Rory said, taking the picture and replacing it on her nightstand. “We weren’t close enough in age to compete.” That had been the first summer that Quinn was old enough to be competition when it came to guys, too, not that Rory was competition for her. She should have been her guardian, protecting her from jerky boys. But she’d been too dismal from her own breakup to see the warning signs when Quinn fell in love. She should have warned her that love was not like their favorite movies promised, that it had no alternate ending. There was only one ending to love—the end.

Kristina had gone to her closet and was cycling through her clothes for the second time. “This is all you brought?”

“One outfit for the plane, and a week’s worth of clothes,” Rory said. “Theresa has a washer and dryer.”

“You need to go shopping,” Kristina said. “Do you own anything with a sex appeal level above a G-rating?” She pulled out the nautical outfit, yanked the shorts off the hanger, and tossed them on the bed. She held up the shirt over several bottoms, at last settling on a bright, sunny yellow skirt. “Do you have some scissors?” she asked. “I’m going to sexify these a little.”

“Maybe she doesn’t want to look like a hooker,” Maggie said.

Kristina snapped the scissors open and shut at Maggie when Rory handed them to her. “Watch out or I’ll shorten your hemline,” she teased. Then she turned back to Rory. “How are your boobs?”

“Um, okay? I guess?”

“Can you take off your shirt? Or at least pull it tight so I can see your shape?”

After studying Rory’s figure, she went back to the closet. “A man’s white shirt is always sexy,” she said, taking out a button-up shirt that Rory had thought would be a source of ridicule, not praise. “See, classic. Put this on, and we’ll see if you need a twist.”

Rory turned her back and quickly changed her shirt.

“Hmm, a little loose,” Kristina said, scrutinizing her. “How do you feel about tying it up under your boobs?”

“Uh, I don’t really do the belly shirt thing.”

“No, I guess you shouldn’t,” Kristina said, circling her. “That’s hard to pull off without washboard abs.”

While Rory stood wondering what that meant—had Kristina just called her fat and flabby?—Kristina unbuttoned the top of the shirt all the way to Rory’s bra. “Now we’re getting somewhere,” she said. “Your boobs are great. I wish my boobs were this big. I’m totally flat.” While she rambled on, she pulled Rory’s shirt tight from the back and put pins in it, assuring her they wouldn’t be visible. When she’d finished, Rory stared at the girl in the mirror, a girl wearing a cleavage bearing, skin-tight button up shirt that she would never have worn in a million years back home.

But what would it hurt? No one from back home would see her. The only people who would see her were standing in that room. Well, and of course all the strangers in the club. But most of the girls would probably be wearing a lot less than she was, and at least her stomach was covered. There was no way she was wearing a midriff-baring shirt ever, anywhere, even in her own house at home.

“Okay, now that we’ve got that taken care of, let’s get you a skirt.” Kristina slammed every skirt Rory owned, saying they looked like something Laura Ingalls would wear. “Don’t you have anything at least a little bit tight?” she asked over and over. “I mean, even a pencil skirt that you’d wear to an interview is sexier than these baby clothes.” She tossed one of Rory’s knee-length floral skirts on the bed.

“They’re cool,” Rory mumbled. “For when it’s hot out.”

“Trust me, they’re the furthest thing from cool,” Kristina said. “And anything is hot compared to how you look in those.”

“Be nice,” Maggie said from where she was scrolling through Rory’s photos on her laptop.

“Can I cut this in half?” Kristina asked, holding up the bright yellow skirt.

Rory shrugged, though the thought of Kristina cutting her favorite skirt made her flinch. She turned away as Kristina did the deed. “Now for your makeup,” she said. “You have to look hot, but also like yourself. It’s not going to work if you don’t feel confident. That’s the hottest thing you can wear.”

“It doesn’t matter what I wear, I’m never going to be as confident as you.”

“Oh, cry me a river,” Kristina said. “You think I was always confident? Of course not. The more work I do to look good, the better I feel about myself. Maybe it’s weird, but it works. If I spend an hour on my makeup, I feel like a million bucks. If I just slop on some lipstick, yeah, I’m going to feel ugly. If you put in a little effort, you’ll feel good about it even if no one notices. Then they’ll notice you and wonder your secret.”

“Everyone is so busy worry about themselves, they won’t notice you doing the same thing, anyway,” Maggie added.

“Just maybe ditch those huge glasses,” Kristina said. “Those are lame.”