13. Truly, Madly, Deeply #3
Rino laughed musically, the sound low and unexpectedly delighted, “This is just the rendezvous point, Cucciolo. Neutral territory. And drivers in Napanee are a bit reckless. I prefer lonelier roads for my Maserati.”
Japheth glanced at the 1999 Maserati 3200 GT, glossy enough to reflect the cosmos in its curves.
The body was all sleek aggression–long hood, tight waist, hips like a smug panther ready to pounce.
A man didn’t buy a car like this unless he wanted people to wonder how much danger he was concealing under his own hood.
The front grille formed a sharp, decisive V, as if the sports car had been designed specifically to cut through air, hearts, and bylaws with equal efficiency.
The headlights which currently cut them off at the knee were narrow and predatory, giving the illusion that even at rest the Maserati was smirking at their situation.
Japheth took in the vanity plate, and looked up questioningly at Rino, “Tesoro?”
“It can mean a few different things, depending on who or what you’re talking about,” Rino explained and he gestured to the car, “For this beauty, tesoro means treasure. But I could also use it when talking about you, Tesoro mio.”
“And you’d be calling me your treasure?” Japheth asked hesitantly. “Like something valuable to pirate away and hide in a watery cave?”
“Sort of yes, but more specifically it’s like me calling you darling, sweetie, or honey,” Rino smiled and then took Japheth by the wrist, hesitating for just a fraction of a second as he searched his eyes for permission and then folded his hand into his own.
“Oh. Okay. Cool,” Japheth’s heart was threatening to beat right through his mesh top, and he was sure Rino would be able to clock the pulse racing through his jugular veins.
A semi-truck thundered overhead and Japheth’s shoulders made a startled jump.
Rino brushed a thumb across the gold embroidery on Japheth’s lapel, reverent and trembling as it approached the smooth skin of his neck.
Japheth’s eyes closed momentarily and a sigh escaped him. His instincts were at war, wanting to push into the man’s touch and feel his hands on all his most sensitive skin and simultaneously calling out in alarm to pull away.
“You haven’t given me a nickname,” Rino stated coolly.
“Do… Do you want one?” Japheth breathed, feeling seriously lightheaded at the man’s proximity.
“It’s what daters do, isn’t it? Little kindnesses and observations about the other’s killer qualities,” Rino smiled wolfishly.
Japheth’s brain, unhelpfully, flashed a loop of all the characteristics that Ronald and Rebekkah had laid before him: muskie, predator, wolf-jawed, natural born killer. He took a step back as if to appraise Rino more studiously, while continuing to hold and brush his hand with the pad of his thumb.
Impossible. Improbable. Inconceivable. Debonair. Dapper. Dashing. Daydream. Finally, he surrendered. If this man was his final destination, he was ready to relent. Even if he was fated to disappear or die tonight–what a hell of a way to go.
“How about little wolf?” Japheth growled and dared to pull Rino close. For one delicious moment, they didn’t say anything at all, just held each other, tuned into the escalating beat of their nearly bursting hearts.
“I’m not so little,” Rino growled. “I’m more of the big, bad variety.
And we have to start teaching you a little Italian if this arrangement is going to work out.
Cucciolo for instance, means puppy because you’re so irresistible and goofy and someone I just want to cuddle all day.
Maybe you should call me Lupo or Lupino, you’ve got options.
Lupo when I’m being big and bad. Lupino means little wolf but I promise, even though I have a wild side, I can be very obedient. I’ll still come whenever you call.”
Japheth searched Rino’s eyes, hopeful he could pick out the truth through his own brain fog of lust and longing for this to be real. “So tonight, this is not like... I’m not a job for you right?”
Rino considered him, then tilted his head with a throaty guffaw, “If I was going to whack you, Polpetto, I would not be wearing my good shirt.”
It was, weirdly, reassuring.
“Right. Yeah. Totally,” Japheth said before diving down a rabbit hole after one of his stray thoughts and forcing Rino to give chase.
“I mean, if I was going to whack someone I’d wear…
like an old youth group t-shirt. Maybe the one from when we did the twenty-four hour fast and had to sleep in the church basement which was very strange but also kinda cool.
Back then, I thought that was such a long time not to eat.
And also, weird because it was like all these teens having a sleepover party but with no pizza.
Just board games and intermittent praying and pretending that we weren’t all checking each other out in our pajamas.
I mean, whose idea was that anyway? We’re all trying our best to embrace chastity, but we’re sixteen and seventeen year-olds in sleepwear with no adult supervision piously cooped up together in a church basement with absolutely nothing to eat.
Talk about Hungry Eyes. I couldn’t get the song outta my head, it was just on a loop as I looked at Nick in his plaid boxers and striped sports socks or glanced at Calvin in his Calvins.
Now, I regularly fast for sixteen hours every day.
I’m on the eight-hour calorie window right now, so don’t worry about dinner.
I’m going to eat, if you don’t whack me first. Going into a calorie deficit really seems to sharpen my focus, like if I’m in my fast zone and I need to pick out a harmony on a song, it’s like I can see the notes branching out in the air in front of me and I just pluck them like juicy Gala apples.
I guess my thoughts do kind of turn to food when fasting but it’s all worth it.
I do it to maintain lean muscle mass and for general cardiovascular benefits and performance.
It’s good for resting heart rates and for increased blood flow which I have been noticing in the mornings with my…
well, you know, definitely a strong pulse.
It’s like, hello! Good morning! Ready to rise and shine!
And not that I really care, and it’s not why I do it, but my abs are more defined, especially with overhead lighting.
I don’t know what they look like from below. ”
Rino licked his lips involuntarily as Japheth continued, “Anyway, an old t-shirt like that. That’s what I’d wear if I were to whack someone. Something I wouldn’t mind getting… you know… whacky?”
“I’m not whacking you tonight. Are you sure you’re not going to whack me, weirdo?” Rino asked with a grin.
“Can I confirm what we’re talking about now please? I kind of got lost there… Oh!” Japheth asked sincerely. “On the subject of learning Italian, why do you call me meatball?”
“It’s not obvious?” Rino smirked.
“I just don’t think I look like a meatball. Like I said, with the overhead lighting I’m more washboard than smorgasbord,” Japheth quipped.
“Less to do with your looks and more to do with just how deliciously deranged you are. You are very strange and very sexy,” Rino said fondly. “Like I said, trouble. It’s a dangerous combination. Now, are you ready to go?”
Japheth nodded, not trusting his own voice. This was it, a one-way ticket on the river Styx or an opportunity for the meatball to meet la famìglia. He’d come to the point of no return.
Rino opened the passenger door for him with a soft click and a kind of old-world courtesy that made Japheth’s knees plié in appreciation.
The car chimed warmly and interior light spilled out like a welcome invitation from the cool darkness of the night.
As Japheth slipped inside, the black leather sighed around him.
A little medal on a silver chain swung gently from the rearview mirror.
As Rino settled in beside him, Japheth recognized Saint Christopher carved into the medallion, the patron saint of travellers.
He reached out and reverently touched the charm for luck and chastised himself for not taking out a life insurance policy, just in case. Japheth involuntarily shivered.
Rino placed a hand on his arm momentarily before turning the key in the ignition, “You’re cold? I’m sorry, let me get you warmed up.”
He flipped on the seat warmers, which soon began to pleasurably push through Japheth’s wool pants.
Every surface of the interior gleamed with an owner’s pride.
The console smelled faintly of lemon wet wipes and the cupholders were lean from a life of no French fry crumbs.
The dashboard had an array of matte black dials and a tiny screen that claimed to be navigation but looked more like an Etch A Sketch with big ambitions.
Below the navigation were little slots to feed cassette tapes or CDs when you needed to set the perfect mood.
Rino had upgraded the sound system, so when the engine purred–a deep, throaty growl befitting its driver–it harmonized with the self-titled debut album by Savage Garden he pressed play on.
The car vibrated with restrained power as Rino circled smoothly under the bridge and ascended the hill Japheth had recently cruised down on his bike.
As Rino shifted up the gears and the car accelerated, Japheth began to think of the night not only as a date but also a double dare.
They were both going in with eyes wide shut–doing a delicate dance of figuring each other out and relishing in the little discoveries.
After shifting from fourth to fifth gear and sailing down the highway back toward town, Rino kept one hand on the wheel and rested the other loose and powerful on Japheth’s thigh.
The tiny medallion of Saint Christopher swung gently on its silver chain, catching glints of the streetlights they zoomed underneath.
“Seatbelt, bello,” Rino said, without looking.