20. Cheese
Chapter 20
Cheese
Ariana
“ A re you awake yet?” Lil asks, pulling her long blonde hair up into a ponytail.
“Yes,” I grumble from the cocoon of blankets.
“Liar. Get up!”
I drag my ass out of bed and get dressed, yawning the entire time. I was awake half the night, but not because I finished that energy drink at midnight. Caffeine doesn’t keep me up.
No, I couldn’t sleep because I was thinking about Luca. We almost kissed. I wanted him to kiss me. Fuck, I really wanted him to kiss me, and that moment replayed in my head over and over. Reading smut all day didn’t help, either. I finally took a shower at three in the morning, fantasizing about Luca while rubbing my clit until I came. I bit my lip so hard it bled to stop myself from calling out his name.
It can’t just be a crush. From that first moment our eyes met, and he stormed over to me like he would burn everything down to the ground if I asked him to, I knew this was something.
I started falling for him when he was all thunder and lightning. Now, he shows glimpses of blue skies. And when he smiles, it’s like stepping out into the sunshine. I don’t understand it. I just know I’m falling deeper and deeper. It feels like I’m standing in the eye of his storm, his wind raging all around me, keeping me safe.
And it scares me. He might be strong enough to take on my baggage and help me fight my demons. He might even be willing to do so. But he deserves someone without that shit. I’m teetering on the edge of wanting to push him away for his own good and wanting to pull him close. Either way, I’m determined to see him crack through his armor and drop his mask, even if I get hurt in the process.
“Do we have any plans tonight?” Lil asks as we get in the car after her last class.
“It’s Monday. What kind of plans could we possibly have besides sitting around and being bored to death?”
“Could you imagine if we actually died of boredom?”
“Lil, of all the ways I figure we could die, that’s not one of them.”
Lil’s eyes light up. “We should make?—”
I interrupt her before she can finish, holding my hand up and shaking my head.
“Do not say ‘a list of ways we could die.’ Last time we did that, Mom found it, and she cried and Dad got mad because we made Mom cry but also because we made the list in the first place. Then we got grounded for two weeks.”
“Wait, wait, wait. You made a list of possible ways to die? What the hell?” Luca’s blue eyes flash. He’s been pretty quiet all day, shocker of shockers, other than to make it clear that he once again disapproved of our lunch choices. Who the fuck disapproves of nachos?
“Lil likes lists.” I shrug.
“Sure, lists. Like ‘Best Movies of the 80s’ or ‘Shit to Buy at the Grocery Store.’ Not ‘Ways We Could Die.’ That’s… morbid.” Luca shakes his head and then shudders.
“Jeez. I guess it’s a good thing he doesn’t know about the ‘List of Ways We’ve Almost Died…” Lil says in a stage whisper.
Luca’s eyes are filled with horror when they jump to meet mine in the rearview mirror, but that makes way to anger before I break contact to look back at the road. Shit. Time for damage control.
“That would mostly be ‘Car Accidents Caused By Lilith May DeVille,’ plus that one time you choked on a cherry stem trying to tie it into a knot with your tongue to impress some chick.” I try to lighten the mood because I really don’t want to have this conversation right now. I don’t think Luca knows about the big thing on that list, and I want to keep it that way for as long as possible. I like the way he looks at me now. Will it change when he finds out what happened?
Lil picks up on my mood and the slight change in topic. “It did impress her, thank you very much. Then she impressed me, if you know what I mean. And speaking of cars, I miss riding in cars that aren’t black,” she says with a sigh.
“Maybe you shouldn’t have totaled the others then.”
“Just how many cars have you totaled, Lil?” Luca asks.
“I don’t know,” Lil lies, crossing her arms over her chest and huffing.
“Liar,” he says. “You keep track of everything.”
“Hey, I know this one. Lilith totaled six cars in two years,” I tell him. He’s talking more and asking questions. I love it. His voice makes me feel happy and warm and tingly. So very tingly .
“Why are you counting the Porsche?” Lil asks.
“Why wouldn’t we count the Porsche?” I laugh. Only Lil would think the freaking Porsche wouldn’t count.
“Because that wasn’t one of our cute colorful cars, that was one of Dad’s that we sto… borrowed?—”
“It still counts, Lilith! And you ‘borrowed’ it, not me. I just got suckered into riding in the passenger seat for like ten minutes.”
“Marco said it was eight minutes.” The smirk on Luca’s face is almost comical.
“Dad told you about that? What else did he tell you about us? None of it’s true, I swear! Except the Porsche thing. But anything else he said is a lie!” Lil declares.
Luca laughs. A real laugh. I think I saw a flash of a dimple.
I melt.
God. Damn. It.
As soon as we walk into the house, Becca offers to make us grilled cheese sandwiches. She loves making us snacks when we get home, and if she catches us making ourselves ramen or corn dogs, she gets mad and swears in French.
And that’s how we learned to swear in French.
“Okay, we have mild cheddar, sharp cheddar, provolone, muenster, pepper jack, havarti, and Swiss,” Becca says, standing in front of the open fridge.
“Mild cheddar, provolone, and muenster for me, please.” It’s a hard choice to make, and I know from experience that, sadly, there is such a thing as too much cheese when you’re trying to melt it between two slices of bread.
“A little of that garlic buffalo sauce on it, sweetie?”
“Putain carrément.” I smile at her. She rolls her eyes at me for not just saying, ‘fuck yeah.’
“Sharp cheddar and pepper jack for me, Becks.” Lil gives her a kiss on the cheek as she walks past her to grab chips from the pantry. “No nasty buffalo sauce. ”
Becca chuckles. “And for you, Luca?”
Luca looks like a deer in headlights. “Why are there so many options? Isn’t a grilled cheese just a grilled cheese?”
“No, Luca. Grilled cheeses can be whatever you want them to be. That’s what makes them so wonderful.” Lil says wistfully.
I scoff. “Almost. Some cheeses don’t belong in such a sacred sandwich. Or anywhere.”
“Ari loves all cheeses except for two: havarti and blue cheese,” Lil explains.
“Ugh, don’t even say them. Gross. Nasty. Shouldn’t be in this house. Ever.”
“Just make me one like Ariana’s, please, Becca. The buffalo sauce actually sounds good.”
A few minutes later, our sandwiches sit in front of us. Luca’s watching me cut mine and it makes me self-conscious. I’m aware that the not-quite triangles but not-quite squares I end up with are kind of weird, but no one here ever gives a shit. When I look up at him, he cocks his sexy eyebrow at me and tries to hide a grin behind his glass of water.
“Don’t judge my sandwich, sir.” I point a piece of it at him, then smash some chips into a corner before I take a bite.
“Never.”
I cannot get enough of his voice. It’s not as good as touches, though. I wish he would touch me more. Touch is one of my love languages. But I’m afraid that if he really starts, I won’t want him to ever stop.
I think about him all the time. I dream about him. When he stomps or stalks or prowls by, I can’t help but breathe him in. His body wash is some kind of manly musky woodsy stuff that I want to roll around in. It pairs well with his coffee in the morning and the beer or whiskey he sometimes drinks at night. I can’t help but think it would pair well with me. Every time I get a whiff of him, I get wet. When he talks, and especially when he laughs, I get wet. When he cocks that scarred eyebrow at me… well, basically everything about him makes me wet.
I go to bed Monday night feeling the frustrated-and-horny combo that has been a constant since Luca got here, even after getting myself off in the shower again.
But I wake up Tuesday with a dark cloud surrounding me. The weight of the trauma, the scars, the guilt, it’s all just too heavy today.
I don’t start some goofy banter with Lil when I crawl out of bed. I pull on random clothes and socks before shoving my feet in the first pair of shoes I find and forgo my usual mascara and lip gloss. Instead of putting my hair in a messy bun, braid, or high pony, I barely run a brush through it and leave it loose.
Recognizing what’s happening, Lil wraps her arms around me, rubbing her hands up and down my back. She watches me with sad eyes as I drag a hoodie over my head. I pull the hood up before leaving the bedroom and hope this one doesn’t last long.