5. Darby
5
Darby
When in Rome
T eenage me did not ride trains in airports for fun, but something about this feels very teenlike, nonetheless. As a rule, I don’t do whimsical. And it’s been a long time since I’ve done anything so alone with, and in such close proximity to, a complete stranger.
I’m probably making way too much out of two adults, who happen to enjoy each other’s company, just trying to stave off boredom. Teen me would be rolling her eyes so hard at how tame this is. But she had no reason not to be wild and spontaneous, nothing to lose.
Even back then, I knew I was going to be different someday. I knew I’d eventually settle down and take life seriously because I was determined to have something to lose, a life filled with things I loved—things I’d worked for and that were all mine.
I finally have that life, and now, it’s all on the line. My savings won’t last long. Things were just starting to feel comfortable. I need a job. I have to have a job.
When the train doors open, I walk in and stop next to a pole that I can hold on to. Zane goes to the back of the car and sits. “Why would you stand when there are seats available?” he asks. “All the seats are available.”
“Habit. I just stop at the first open spot, usually the one that’s closest to the door.”
“Step away from the door and come sit with me. After all, I booked this whole train just for us.”
“Are you saying you don’t own your own train?” I sit next to him.
“Not even a plane.”
“Oh, God. I didn’t know you were poor.”
“I was hoping I wouldn’t have to tell you.”
“I guess I won’t be leaving Rome with any new jewelry.”
“Don’t worry. I’m an accomplished jewel thief.”
“You should know if you get arrested in Rome, I’m not good for bail money. I will leave you there.”
“Oh, I’d never expect you to get involved. I’ll break out and catch up to you.”
“Wow. No one has ever offered to bust out of prison for me before. That’s so romantic.” My stomach clenches immediately after I say romantic. I’m not looking for romance in the airport. Or anywhere else.
He stretches his long legs out in front of him and casually lays his arm across my shoulder like it’s no big deal. Like we’re a real couple.
My first instinct is to object, but he’s solid and steady, and being so close to him keeps my body from swaying with every dip or curve of the train. People who are just friends literally lean on each other all the time. It’s no big deal.
“Where all have you traveled?” he asks.
“I’ve never been anywhere that requires a passport.”
“Do you have one?”
“Yeah, but I just got it a few months ago. Haven’t had a chance to use it yet.” I always hate admitting that I haven’t traveled outside the US, but I don’t feel ashamed or insecure about having told him. Maybe it’s because we’re pretending about so much right now. Dropping that bit of honesty just sort of blends in. It could be my truth or part of my act, right?
“If you want tips about anywhere when you’re ready to break it in, I’m happy to share anything I know. Not that I’ve been everywhere.”
“But you’ve been a lot of places.”
“A lot is a subjective term.”
That means yes. He’s well-traveled. I’ve been to six states and St. Croix, which isn’t nothing, but it doesn’t exactly make me a world traveler either.
“What do you do, Zane Jacoby?”
“I told you. I’m a jewel thief.”
I tilt my head upward and stare into his hazel eyes, trying not to laugh. He’s wittier than anyone as good looking as him has a right to be. Damn, he is incredibly attractive. And funny. And seemingly kind so far, but nobody’s perfect. There is a flaw in there somewhere.
“You sure do talk a lot about crime. First, your serial killer references, and now claiming to be a professional thief. I’m starting to think maybe I shouldn’t be alone with you.”
“I thought beautiful girls always liked bad boys.”
“That’s a false presumption, like the one that says bad boys only want the sweetest girls.”
The train stops, but no one gets on. When we start going again, he says, “I was never a bad boy.”
“I was never the sweetest girl.”
“Funny how we want each other anyway.”
I sit forward, pulling away from his side, but turning to face him. “That was bold.”
Before I can utter another word, his hands cup my face, and he leans forward like he’s going to kiss me. He hesitates for a moment, and my pulse quickens unexpectedly. His thumb traces my bottom lip, and then he looks at me like he’s suddenly unsure if he should go through with it.
Is he worried I’m some desperate woman who will fall madly in love with him if he kisses me, and he’ll never be able to get rid of me? Does he think I’m so na?ve that I’ve never had a casual kiss before? Please! I am the queen of casual.
I initiate the contact of our lips. And he does not hesitate to participate in this decidedly unchaste kiss.
Holy shit. Add excellent kisser to his profile.
Our tongues assume a rhythm that feels stunningly familiar, but it’s still delivering all the excitement of a first kiss. Or the way they used to feel exciting. His hands slide into my hair and massage my scalp, which melts my spine.
By the time we arrive at the next stop, I’m halfway in his lap. And I would be happy to stay right here and continue our kiss if not for the family boarding the train with us. They have three very tired and cranky kids in tow.
I slide down until my butt meets the bench and face forward again.
The parents eye us with pleading looks. Looks that say sorry to intrude, but please just be nice about this . And maybe also please don’t make-out in front of our kids .
Their toddler girl asks if this train is like the one at the aquarium, but she calls it the “querium,” and it’s pretty damn cute, even if she did just interrupt what might’ve been the greatest kiss of my life.
Her oldest brother, who looks to be about nine, says, “Yeah, but when we get off, there won’t be any penguins. Just more stupid airport.”
When the train slows again, Zane nods toward the door. We stand, and he says, “Well, this is our stop.”
The little girl looks up at him and asks, “Are we at the querium?”
“No, not yet. This is Rome. I hope you enjoy the train.”
As we step off, the middle boy asks, “What’s Rome?”
His older brother says, “It’s in another country. But we’re not. We’re still in this stupid airport.” The doors close, and they’re gone.
Zane and I both laugh, and I’m grateful for the humor chasing away the awkwardness of being caught making out at thirty-years-old. The kid’s not wrong, though. We are still stuck in this stupid airport, but the worst thing isn’t my canceled flight, anymore. It’s this new tension in the air between us.
Everything feels more chaotic than before we got on the train. There are more kids running around. There’s an obviously drunk guy screaming into his phone. This section of the terminal has more gates, fewer shops and restaurants. So many people.
“This must be the touristy part of Rome,” I say.
“We definitely should’ve stayed on the train.”
It feels as though he’s staring at my lips when he says it. We didn’t kiss long enough for them to go numb, but they’re tingling right now as if the nerve endings are all excited by the mere memory.
“Thank you,” he says, his voice low and a little husky. It’s a particular timbre that excites much lower nerve endings for me and mutes all the chaos around us.
“For what?”
“Giving me a chance to make you smile.”
I am definitely smiling, but it’s not the first time he’s made it happen.
This isn’t Rome. This is my deserted island, and I now know the one thing I would bring with me. Zane Jacoby.
If a genie materialized and granted me three wishes, I’d only need one: make everyone else in this airport vanish so I can be truly alone with this man. I think I might want to be teen Darby with him. I definitely want to be early twenties Darby with him.
I haven’t missed that version of myself since I signed my first apartment lease with no roommates and made my first 401k contribution. Fuck, I didn’t miss her at all until he just nearly reawakened her like some mysterious, witty, sexy necromancer—with his rockstar hair and his weird vegan shoes.
And his magic kiss.
The truth is I don’t want to have a mature, adult, casual fling with this guy.
I want to be reckless with him, to act with no regard for consequences, to let my guard all the way down and not fear that our paths might cross professionally someday . . . to put uptight, constantly worried Darby into a fucking coma and let wild and free Darby take the reins again. For just one night.
But I sedated that version too well. She’s been knocked out for far too long to come back now.