Chapter 10
CHAPTER 10
NICO
Greg is quiet on the walk to the bar the next night, and I steal a lot of glances at him before I finally break the silence.
“Okay, mio ragazzo?” That prompts a smile.
“Just thinking.”
“Thinking for school?”
His eyebrows go up. “How did you know that?”
I shrug. My intuition is strong when it comes to him, but I don’t know how to say that. “Tell to me.”
Greg lets out a big sigh, like it comes from the depths of his soul. “I just don’t know if I’m in the right program. Like, I love music, but … ”
“But?” I prompt, resisting the urge to tell him again how much I love his playing. I want to hear him, not sway him in one direction or another.
“But I don’t know if I really want to make it my job. It feels like work. But when I’m coding or making that HyperCard program for you, it feels … exciting?” I don’t get all of what he says, but I think I’m getting the gist of it.
“You like computer, not horn?”
“I like both,” he says, shrugging, his hands still stuffed into his pockets. “But I don’t know if I like music enough to make all the work worth it.”
“Mm.”
“How did you know you wanted to be a mechanic?” he asks, then tentatively tries, “un meccanico?” I smile.
“Is like ‘Nico’ at the end, sí? Since I am small, is all I wanted. Papa show me, I learn like …” I snap my fingers.
He nods like he understands. We’re at the doors of the bar now, but I tug him away from the entrance by his sleeve. With mild embarrassment, I lay a hand over his heart.
“You will feel it, here.”
He puts a warm hand over mine, and his gaze is soft, even as his heartbeat picks up speed. “Yeah. Thanks. That helps.”
I’m hoping I didn’t pressure him as I open the door for him—it sounds like a tough decision, and I can’t give a lot of advice, since my path has always been laid out pretty clearly for me. But I saw the way his face lit up when he showed me his program. It’s not like that when he talks about music. He plays beautifully and I always enjoy my ceiling concerts, but he doesn’t have that same … joy? I make a mental note to look up some of those words.
I spot Elio first, and he waves. We weave our way through the darkened room to where they’ve set up at the bar in front of the TV with the basketball game on. I introduce Greg around to Elio, Massimo, Pasqual, and Gianluca, and they all shake hands like this is some kind of a business meeting. I put Greg between me and Elio, so he’s not on the end by himself, but this leaves me straining to hear.
The Golden State Warriors are likely heading to the playoffs, it seems, and I try to absorb all their rapid English about Rick Adelman (the coach?) and their latest draft picks. They talk faster with each other than they do with me, and I’m surprised how much Greg knows about the sport. Is it something he likes? I could probably learn something about it; we have the LBA in Italy, but I never paid it much attention. Who wants to watch skinny, sweaty men chase each other up and down the court when you could watch Formula 1?
“Hey,” I call to Elio, “when’s the first Formula 1 race? March?”
“In Brazil, end of the month,” he replies, then switches back to English to ask Greg about his work. I find it somewhat frustrating … but I brought my boyfriend here to meet my coworkers.
The music is shitty again: more songs about crying Americans, this time by The Pretenders. At least the words are pretty easy to understand. I hum until they hit the chorus, then add in the words about how they’ll stand by their love and not let them get hurt. The line about talking about problems affects me, given that I just tried to help Greg outside.
He turns to smile at me when he hears my low voice. “I wish they’d play some Madonna,” he says, leaning close so only I can hear him.
“Yes, thank you! This is what I say!” I agree loudly, and the meccanica all turn to look at us, their faces amused.
“What’d you say?” Massimo asks.
“You wouldn’t understand,” I tell him in Italian. “Gay guy stuff.”
At this, they roll their eyes, cursing at me good-naturedly, then go back to their beers.
Greg leans into me again, and I want him to stay close. He smells good tonight, musky and clean. I want to bury my nose in his neck and not come up for air for hours. “What did you say?”
“I say is not for them.”
“Good call,” he says, chuckling. “They probably don’t like Madonna as much as we do.”
Looking into his bright face, glowing in the neon lights over the bar, I want to kiss him, but I don’t know how the meccanica would feel about that. It’s one thing to know that a man is gay—it’s another to see it in front of your face. Plus, most of them are single; I don’t want to flaunt my relationship when they only have their left hand for company.
We’re having fun, talking up and down the line. I get up to hear them better, standing between Elio and Greg. But then he starts yawning. I can tell he doesn’t mean to; it’s not his fault. It’s the end of a workday, and we’ve been here for several hours by this point. When I hear his jaw crack with the force of his yawn, I make a decision.
“Time to go,” I say firmly, sliding his coat off the back of his stool and holding it out so he can put his arms in.
“Oh ho, I guess we know who wears the pants in this relationship,” Pasqual calls in Italian, and I flip him off.
“We both do. That’s what makes it gay,” I retort, and they all laugh. Greg smiles awkwardly, saying it was nice to meet them as I herd him outside.
“Why are we leaving?” he asks as I take his hand. The night is cold but clear, and I look up at the nearly starless sky.
“You not tired?”
“I could’ve stayed—” He has to pause to yawn again, and I just smile and squeeze his hand.
“Also, we not yet study tonight.”
“Oh!” He perks up. “You still wanted to study?”
I manage to keep a straight face. “Of course.” We chat in stilted terms about other things the rest of the way home … the cars I’m working on, Greg’s classmates, Cathie’s dating adventures. But once we get inside, I spring my trap.
“Did you want to work from the book or use the computer?” Greg asks, taking off his coat.
“Mmm, something else,” I say, like I’m musing. I walk him backward until his legs meet the couch, then gently push him down onto it. “Body words.”
“B-B-Body words?” Greg stammers. “Th-That’s not on the test.”
“Could be,” I disagree, and his eyes narrow as I position myself over him, my knees on either side of his hips, not quite touching. “If signal no work, could need to … ” I sit up and mimic the biking hand signals he showed me for right and left turn.
“Uh-huh,” he says, clearly holding back a smile, which breaks when I bring myself close to him again, rubbing his chest with one hand.
“I will kiss, you tell to me what is called.”
Greg’s eyes widen adorably as his gaze shifts to the front door, but he swallows hard and nods. I have my doubts about how long he’ll last at this game, but he looks like he’s determined to give it a go. My sweet nerd. I start him off easy, trailing my lips under his ear.
“Uh, neck.”
“Mm, neck of Greg.”
“Greg’s neck,” he corrects, clearly amused, and his arms slide around my neck, sending tingles across my skin.
I kiss the lump under his chin.
“Adam’s apple.” His voice is already cracking a bit, and I’m just getting started.
“Adamo like Bible? He no—” I swallow hard in demonstration and Greg laughs.
“No, I guess Adam didn’t swallow,” he says, his voice a little breathy, and I can tell from his pupils that he’s thinking about other kinds of swallowing. Is this the night he’s going to invite me into his bed? I’m more than ready, but he hasn’t brought it up yet, and I don’t know if he’s ready for me to do the inviting. I bring my body down to align with his and run my fingers through his hair, tipping his head back as I give his neck more attention with my lips and teeth.
“That’s still my neck, and my hair,” he says, his voice strained, and I chuckle, moving up. “That’s my ear.” I give it a little nip and he sighs, melting more into me, and I feel his hips tip up toward me a little. Yes, that’s it. I meant to seduce my boyfriend, of course, but I’m still relishing every little catch in his breathing, the way his fingers tighten in the hair at my nape, how his body is growing more loose and languid the longer I kiss him.
When I pop one of his shirt buttons open at the top, he starts breathing harder.
“This part?” I ask, giving his pale skin a peck, trying to draw him back into the game.
“My chest.”
I hum my approval, even as I pop another button, revealing a dusting of the same golden hair as his head. As much as I like this, it’s going too slow. I pull up his shirt to show his belly, loving the way his muscles contract.
“My stomach.” When I lick a line up the highway of hair leading into his pants, Greg shudders, and I know the game is done. Now we can?—
“You guys just get back?” Cathie’s yawning voice startles us both, and Greg goes from a happy puddle of kisses to nervous again in an instant. He pushes on my shoulders and I sit up with a sigh. “Also, you know you have a bedroom, right?” she adds.
“Yeah, thanks, Cath,” Greg says, reddening as he looks at me. “It’s late. We should probably go to sleep. What time should we call your family tomorrow?”
“They are eight hours after,” I say, rubbing at my head. I’m tired too, truthfully. Not that I’d have turned down an invitation to stay … “Nine o’clock too early?”
“I’m heading to the library around then,” Cathie adds, pouring herself a glass of water and drinking it all in one go. “So you’ll have the place to yourself.”
She is not subtle, Cathie. But I appreciate her candor.
“Until tomorrow, mio ragazzo,” I murmur, kissing him goodnight.