Chapter 14 #2
Then a stunned laugh buckles out of him.
“Che cazzo—non sei vera.”
He rubs his jaw,
turning his gaze to the sky.
“No, seriously—what the fuck is this?”
Another breathless laugh,
and it cuts worse than silence,
like he doesn't know whether to keep me
or run.
I’m rooted in heels and a black dress.
The cold night slices into me as I stand
raw and stupid after unloading everything.
He backs up a step, one hand gripping his hip,
the other curled around the back of his neck.
“That? Everything you just said?” His brow lifts. “That was the most honest thing anyone’s ever said to me.” His hand cuts through the air. “Nobody says shit like that out loud. They bury it. Twist it. Pretend it never happened. But you—”
His head dips, hangs there a second.
Then he looks back up through his lashes.
“You said it straight. No filter.
“‘Cause you’re fuckin’ brave.”
I shake my head.
“Yeah, ya are.
“And yeah, I know you’re scared.”
His throat works around the words.
“I feel it. Every time you breathe.”
He raises both palms.
“But… fuck, Sonny. So am I.”
He turns, raking both hands through his hair as he blows out a breath. And when he faces me again, his eyes slam right back into mine.
“I felt it right away, Sonny. Dal primo sguardo. Ero già fottuto.” He steps in closer, palms raised as if to turn himself down a few notches.
“Listen—you let me in. You didn’t have to tell me none of that shit, but you did.
And I’m here—right fuckin’ here—I ain’t goin’ nowhere, Sonny. I’m not pretendin’, either.”
He says these things,
words shaped like knives,
his stare never breaking
as he stabs me with them slow.
I've been here many times before.
He'll leave the blades behind
just so he can twist them later.
But then there’s a sick part of me
still wanting to believe him.
His laugh breaks the silence,
dry and disbelieving.
“You—Christ—Sonny… Since the second I met you, it’s been—fuck. It’s been this.” He slaps the back of his hand into his palm. “One hit after another.
“Every time I look at you.
“Every time you open your mouth.
“Hell, every fuckin’ breath outta you…”
His voice breaks. “It’s like the air in my lungs don’t know what the hell to do.”
He drags his gaze over the skyline, where dawn will soon creep in to bleed rust over glass towers.
“Y’know, you never asked me why I waited for you at Type. Most people would’ve. ‘Why the fuck you waitin’ every night?’... all that. But you never did. Still haven’t.”
His grin’s small but all-knowing.
“Yeah, ‘cause you already know, Sonny.
“You already fuckin’ know.
“And you’re so goddamn sure of it you don’t even gotta ask.”
He presses his thumb against his bottom lip,
either to rub off his grin
or hold his next words in before they pour.
“And now you drop this on me?”
Grin fights its way back anyway.
“You sayin’ you don’t do this kind of thing.
“That no one gets this close to you.
“That it’s been years since you felt this way.
“But here you are, saying all this shit to me?”
He gestures behind him.
To the city. To the view. To the night.
“Standin’ there, bleedin’ all over the goddamn skyline like you don’t already got me on my fuckin’ knees.”
He leans in,
arms raised,
grin turned stunned.
“On top of three-point-seven-five quadrillion?
“Are ya fuckin’ kiddin’ me?”
He tips his head back
and mutter-laughs in Italian.
“I had a whole speech planned, by the way, for you. Was gonna keep it chill. Say somethin’ smooth about that night. Real half-assed bullshit.” His laugh crumbles at the end. “Then you started talkin’, and I just—fuck. You blew the whole thing up.”
His eyes swing to me, hand rubbing across his chest to calm his heart. Then he shrugs.
“Be loud, Sonny—
“Be loud. Quiet. Spiraling. In pieces.
“I don’t fuckin’ care.
“Be a mess. I'll still find you in it.
“Just be real with me, and I swear t'God—
"I'll be whatever the fuck you need me to be."
He falls silent.
His eyes stay on mine.
Nobody's moving,
and I feel the seconds caving in on themselves.
He thinks he said too much.
I've got more confessions lining up,
piling on my tongue,
and I think I'm ready for them all to slip out.
My mouth opens.
I don’t know what I’m about to say first.
“But Drew, you gotta know—”
“YO, ROMEO!”
A male voice slices across the skyline.
Andrew turns to look behind him.
“The fuck—he talkin’ to me?”
“WHO ELSE, brO?”
Across the street, a guy in a bathrobe—cigarette in one hand, coffee mug in the other, pants nowhere to be found—hangs off his fire escape rail.
“You been up there five hours and still ain’t closed the deal? Even my fuckin' cat got laid this week. What’re you doin’?”
I choke on a laugh.
Andrew squints at the building next to us,
breath fogging.
“What the hell…” his voice dies away.
Then ressurects,
“…yo, is this real life right now?”
“We had money on this ending three hours ago!” another voice calls out.
Next rooftop over,
there's a psycho with binoculars,
posted up and spying, not even hiding it.
“Can ya move three feet to the left?
“The pole is blocking the view.”
My eyes go wide. “He’s watching us?”
“Twenty bucks says he’s done for.”
“Twenty bucks says she’s thinkin’ about her ex right now.”
Andrew’s brows shoot up. “Her fuckin’ ex—aye, I brought fuckin’ fruit, aight?”
“Bro, she showed up in that dress and you brought grapes?”
“They were organic,” Andrew mutters.
“Oh for Christ’s sake,” another voice barks—female, older, Bronx. “Stop acting like a pussy and just stick it in one already!”
I glance over at Andrew,
unable to wipe off my smile.
He rolls his eyes,
a grin breaking through anyway.
“Son, make a move or she's jumpin' just to feel somethin’.”
Two balconies over,
a woman in curlers with a cig hanging from her lips leans out her window—“If he nuts faster than a Mets pitcher, sweetheart, call me. I got nephews.”
Andrew turns, brow cocked. “Ma’am, wit’ all due respect—mind ya business.”
“Respectfully,” she fires back, “If you wanna know if she likes your ass, put your face between her thighs and ask with your tongue.”
“Oh my God,” I say behind my hand,
laughter scratching up my throat.
“Okay, okay Dolores,”
another woman interrupts.
She’s one floor down from Dolores,
wine glass in hand, sun about to crawl up.
“Let’s not traumatize him.
“He’s obviously new at this.”
Andrew’s head jerks back. “Whoa, new?”
“Oh, it’s over for him,” Dolores chimes back in. “My vibrator’s got better game, and it’s from CVS!”
Andrew winces. “Gesù, prendimi adesso…”
The street below groans with garbage trucks,
sirens, and car alarms—
just another Friday morning in Manhattan.
“This city’s sick in the head,” I mutter.
Andrew drops into his hip, palm up with a half-grin. “This city just wants the release it’s been denied since the Knicks lost in ‘99.”
“Talk dirty louder, we can’t hear you!”
Andrew exhales, eyes dragging back to me.
Then his stare sinks and strips all the noise away,
city fading out,
one balcony at a time,
night erased,
'til it's just us.
“One more kiss, angel. Without it, I’ll die.”
My arms relax at my sides.
“You’ll die, huh? That’s all it takes.”
His chin tips up, grin chasing heat.
“Yeah—so c’mon, keep me from the afterlife.
“I ain't ready.”
I crack a smile.
His mouth follows, helpless.
He grabs the back of my head and pulls me in,
thumb tracing the dip of my lip.
Then he’s leaning in slow and smug,
eyes falling to my lips—
one last look at my mouth before he ruins it.
And just before it happens—
“Swear—if he pulls back again I’m callin’ child protective services on his balls!”
He freezes,
then falls into a full, defeated laugh, a beautiful grin crumbling the moment in the best possible way.
His forehead falls to mine,
still laughing, breath warm.
“Swear, both you and this city teamed up just to break my heart tonight.”
His laugh dies against my cheek.
Then his mouth finds mine slow,
shutting the city out
with a kiss that pours deep.
I kiss him back filthy,
lips dragging out his breath,
and it shudders hot into my mouth.
He comes undone in my hands—
body slack, grip hanging on,
melting right into me with a groan.
When I drop back sudden,
his mouth follows, chasing,
but only empty air catches him.
He looks away fast,
an embarrassed laugh hitting him.
“You love torturin’ me, huh?
“Sick fuckin’ hobby you got.”
He drags me right back,
eyes refusing to meet mine
until his mouth’s back on me.
He kisses me once on the lips,
then the forehead.
“You ready to come back to Earth with me?”
He turns to pack up our things,
but it’s clumsy,
hands fumbling through our stuff,
trying to act like the kiss didn’t rattle him.
When, suddenly, he freezes,
fist tight around the blanket, whole body stiff.
“Oh, fuck,” he mutters, blanket dropping,
fingers flying to his temples.
“What’s wrong?”
He turns, patting his pockets,
pulling his phone back out, but it's dead.
His shoulders drop, and he swallows.
Then: “Sonny…”
His grin’s gone, voice without color.
“Lemme get your phone.”
He can’t look at me.
“I fucked this up bad. Real bad.”
I grab my clutch,
dig for my phone,
unlock it,
and hand it over,
unsure if I want to know what that means.
He stares down at the screen,
frustrated with himself.
“I was supposed to leave it open.”
He faces me.
“The fuckin’ door. And I didn’t.”
The wind stops silent.
“EVEN THE DAMN CLOCK SAID,
“’TIME’S UP!’”
Dolores shouts,
the words freezing us both in place.
Andrew’s jaw locks up.
My laughter bubbles up.
I try to hold it, but it punches out anyway—
fast, loud, uncontrollable.
A snort slips out after,
and it makes me laugh harder.
He’s looking at me, deadpan. “It’s not funny.”
But it is. It’s so funny.
“Sonny,” he says, fighting his grin, “you realize we’re technically trespassing, right? I gotta call the lobby to get you down. This roof’s off-limits. They’ll call the cops.”
I nod, trying to reel it back in.
“You’re right. Sorry.
“Super not funny,” I say,
palm over mouth,
laughter still slipping through.
It makes him grin,
and he runs a hand down his face.
“Jesus… I can’t even joke about it.
“You? In cuffs? Not happenin’.
“I meant what I said—
“I won’t let anything bad happen to you.”
I try to get it together and almost manage it.
“Andrew. We’re standin’ on a giant fuckin’ clock, between two bridges, in New York City…” I say, arms wide. “A seventy-year-old sex-deprived woman named Dolores screamin’ at us from her window. On a first date. At five in the mornin’.”
I point between us.
“You and me. Andrew and Allison.
“Tipsy on champagne. Publicly shamed.
“Probably gettin’ booked before breakfast.”
Andrew’s mouth twitches.
And then that grin—
that Andrew grin—
spreads across his face.
“You said Andrew and Allison,” he murmurs. “Shit… that just got to me.”
I breathe in, all of it at once.
“So what’s the story you wanna tell people years from now? That we called security and got locked up for trespassin’? Or that your date had to call her stepdaddy to bail us out?"
I another breeze takes my hair,
and I hold it back from my face.
“‘Cause I can get us outta this if you want.”
His grin deepens, dangerous now with the city lit up behind him.
I want to burn the image into my mind
and keep it forever.
My spine softens.
“I’m down for either. Both are pretty hilarious.
“So whatever you pick, don’t matter to me.
“This is still the best night of my life.”