Track 4 Getaway
“Getaway”
IN AUGUST, E left for a three-week trip to Italy with his family, and Enzo was completely jealous of it.
“Fucking rich brat,” he muttered.
We were walking from my house to meet Lara and Kasey at the park.
“He’s not a brat. And he’s not rich,” I rebutted. “It’s the first vacation his family’s ever been on, and he’s almost seventeen.”
Enzo looked at me with disgust as he snarled. “Why are you defending him?”
“I’m not.” I shrugged. “You’re just being an asshole.” I didn’t add the as usual it deserved.
“Oh, I’m the asshole?” His eyebrows became part of his hairline with that one.
I sighed, unfazed by the hostile attitude of his I’d become accustomed to. “I don’t really see an alternative to that one, Enz.”
His brows fell as if he were wounded, but he cleared his expression quickly, shaking off the proof like a human Etch-A-Sketch. He looked at me silently, but I kept my eyes forward.
“What’s up with you two?”
A pang of nervousness ran through me. My stomach shook, and my hands immediately clammed up. “What do you mean?”
He looked away, slapping the leaves of a low-hanging branch as we ducked under it. “You’re always talking and laughing. Always sneaking off and shit.”
“We’re friends. And we don’t sneak off,” I deadpanned.
“Yeah, you do.”
“No. We don’t.” I said it with such conviction even I almost believed it.
But it was true—we did always sneak off.
We always found ourselves in quiet corners of the gatherings, in our own little world entirely.
Whenever I brought my spiral notebook with me, he was the one I’d read my poems to.
He was the one who’d listen to my lyrics.
He was the one I wanted to share them with and the only one who made me feel like they mattered.
He looked at me like every word I wrote was a secret meant just for him. And maybe they were. Maybe I wrote them for him without even knowing it. Maybe he was always my muse.
“Whatever,” Enzo said as he rolled his eyes.
He dropped it after that, likely because it was clear I’d be standing firm in my denial. But it was more than obvious he was threatened by my relationship with E. Another girl might have backed off to make her ‘man’ feel secure, but I wasn’t that girl, and Enzo wasn’t my ‘man.’
Enzo and I were nothing more than make-out partners as far as I was concerned.
Sure, he was kinder to me than to others.
He treated me girlfriend-like at times, and though he made that claim by introducing me as ‘his girl’ to newcomers, I never felt that I was.
He still flirted with every girl he saw, and I was pretty sure he hooked up with Sarah Chippy Cashman a few times since we’d been…
whatever we were. It’s why I wouldn’t sleep with him—among other reasons.
Bottom line: I didn’t owe Enzo anything he wasn’t willing to give me himself. And E—E made me feel seen in a way Enzo never tried to. He was thoughtful. He listened, and cared about my interests. Most of all, he looked at me like I was something rare, not just something to chase.
So, no, I didn’t back off. I let it ride. I let the tension simmer and the lines blur. Maybe it was reckless, maybe even cruel—but I didn’t care, because it was real. And I wasn’t about to let that go just to stroke someone else’s ego.
Enzo picked up on my disinterest and started to use E’s absence to his advantage.
He became extra caring after our conversation—if you could call it that—and, I’ll admit, it started to confuse me.
He kept making time for us alone and flirted in cute ways that made me think maybe there was more to him than met the eye.
At first, it was enjoyable, fun even, and soon I actually started to look forward to it.
Outside of his prickly attitude that would dredge up once in a while, I really couldn’t find a flaw with us.
But no matter how enjoyable our time was, I knew in the back of my mind that it wasn’t like my time with E.
I felt bad comparing the two, but I couldn’t help it. I missed E, and every time I’d spend a day alone with Enzo, I’d be reminded of something E wouldn’t have done, or would’ve done better. That’s when I started to wonder if E was missing me, too.
Turns out he wasn’t. Or maybe he was, but not in the way I was missing him. Because when E came back, he was different. He was a man. And it was written all over him.
It was a scorching late-August day. Lara, Kasey, and I had just gotten to Enzo’s pool party when E walked through the gate looking like a Greek god, if Greek gods were Italian.
It had been a month since I’d seen him last. Thirty-four days to be exact. And the way my body ached at the sight of him was something I should’ve known would be trouble.
His hair was longer. Skin bronzed. His muscles were somehow more defined. He wore a backward cap and a proud grin like the king he was as he made his way through the crowd, saying hello to everyone, because that’s who he knew—everyone.
When he eventually got to the pool, he bent down in front of me with the sexiest grin on his full lips, his elbows resting on his knees, hands folded before him.
“You gonna get out of there and say hello to me, or do I have to come in and get you?” If I weren’t in water, I would have been on fire, and he knew it.
“In,” I smiled flirtatiously, feeling the need for him to touch me dance on my skin.
He raised both brows at me as he tucked his chin, amused. “Really?”
I pursed my lips in a devilish grin, and he smirked back as he shrugged. “Fine. Have it your way.”
He stretched one arm behind him and pulled off his skintight tank top—the one he referred to as a ‘Guinea tee’—in one swift movement and jumped into the pool right next to me.
I yelped as I held up my hands, shielding myself from the splash in an attempt to keep my hair dry. The effort proved pointless when he picked me up from underwater and brought me down with him in another wave.
He flipped his hair back when we resurfaced, both of us laughing uncontrollably, and I splashed him playfully, telling him he was the worst, when I couldn’t have meant the opposite any more.
I jumped on him then, and he held me up by the back of my legs as we fell backward into the water again.
It was lighthearted, flirtatious fun, and I loved every minute of it.
I caught Enzo’s hot gaze afterward, but I didn’t care, because he was chatting it up with Sarah Chippy Cashman, when he should have been with me, if that’s what he wanted.
I left the party not long after. I had to be home early that Sunday—my parents were hosting a family dinner of sorts in an attempt to be normal that week, and I had to be present and play my part.
After dinner, which was tepid at best, I called Enzo to see if I should sneak out that night. Not surprisingly, he answered drunker than I had left him.
“What’s up, baby? You comin’ through tonight?”
“I don’t know. Should I?”
“Hell yeah! Party’s still goin’! Shit’s gettin’ hot out here, baby. You better come quick.”
“That’s what she said!” some guy yelled in the distance, and I actually gagged.
“Ha! Fucking right!” I rolled my eyes at Enzo’s agreement. He turned his attention back to me. “You comin’?” I didn’t answer right away, still considering my options. Did I want to be pushing a drunk Enzo off me all night? No, but I did want to see someone else. Was it worth it?
My thought process was completely severed with Enzo’s next words.
“Holy fucking shit! I gotta go, baby. E’s making out with Cashman, and she just grabbed his hand to drag him upstairs!
” Enzo started cheering, shock and excitement equally apparent.
“And he’s fucking going! Ha! Hey! Better use a condom, you horny fucks! ”
Like I said—severed.
I hung up the phone in haste, nauseous to the brink of vomiting.
Sarah Cashman? Sarah fucking Cashman? I knew something happened in Italy, and I assumed it was sex, considering his new swagger, but Sarah.
Fucking. Cashman? I was disgusted, yes, but more importantly, I was hurt.
Deeply. Of all the people he could sleep with, Sarah Cashman was the one I hated the most, and he knew it.
I avoided E for the next week. Or maybe he avoided me, I don’t know.
Either way, the space was needed. It killed me not to see him, but I honestly wasn’t sure how I could ever face him again.
I knew I would eventually; I just felt like everything was different now.
Like he was different now, and so were we.
When I finally did see him, I couldn’t contain my attitude, and he sensed it. He walked up to the park in basketball shorts and his classic ‘Guinea tee’ with a backward hat. He looked hot and insanely sexy, which made my core clench and my jealousy stir even more.
I wanted to be angry with him. I wanted to hate him so much, I could never talk to him again. But instead, I was just hurt. Gutted. Betrayed that he had been with Cashman, or anyone at all, when he could have been with me.
“What’s up, girl?” he asked with his famous little side grin.
“Sup,” I answered coldly, not meeting his eyes from my seat on the swing.
“You okay?” His brows knit together, and he all but laughed. It only aggravated me more.
“Peachy,” I said with narrowed eyes and a scrunched face before I got up and started walking toward Enzo’s. “Enzo should be home by now, so we should just head over.” I avoided making eye contact with him, and although he was unaware of the reason, he chose not to press me further.
The rest of the afternoon went by pretty much the same—me giving E the cold shoulder and E sending confused glares my way as he tried to figure out why.