Chapter 4 #2
“I know. I like Trick. He was always straight up with my friends who knew him in high school. My friends weren’t gossips.”
“Right. Speaking of Ricci and Nina—because I know your pointed comment about friends and gossip was about them—they’ve been super sweet to me, so don’t speak ill of them.”
My sister laughs. “Of course they are. They’re just like lap dogs.”
“Stop it. They’re just girls trying to have fun, like the song says. Trying to figure out life.”
“I guess they’re not doing too bad since they chose you for a friend.”
“Aww. Look how sweet you are.” I can feel Mel’s eyeroll over the airwaves, and I smile.
“What’s next?”
“I’ll invite him over, and we’ll see what happens.”
She blows out a breathy whistle because she doesn’t really know how to whistle properly. “Definitely give me a call after that encounter.”
I laugh, but a chill runs through me, a scary-excited trill of nerves. “I will. Wish me luck.”
“Seriously, Sof, you don’t need luck. Just do you and try not to lose your head, not completely anyway.”
I nod and then thank her for being her as we end the call. It’s hard to believe we’re twins. We’re clearly not identical. About the only two things we have in common one hundred percent are that we’re both smart and we’re both hopeless romantics.
Staring at the phone as I drop it on my bed, I let out a shuddering sigh. There’s no time like the present. One of Dad’s favorite sayings, except he usually says it in Italian, Chi ha tempo non aspetti tempo.
I pick up the phone and tap in Trick’s number. It’s not something I’d ever save on my phone, but it’s been imprinted in my memory ever since I got it in high school.
He picks up after two rings, and my heart booms in my chest for a beat.
“Hello?”
“It’s me.”
“Fifi. I… I’m glad you called.”
“You were worried I wouldn’t call?”
“Nah. But I thought you might make me wait.”
I laugh, and my tension snaps, and the hesitation that always haunts me when it comes to Patrick Jennings melts away under the heat of his charm.
“I’m not playing games, Trick. That’s your thing.”
“It takes two to play, Fifi.”
“In that case, why don’t you come over and play with me tonight?”
Silence. The call goes so quiet for two, three, four beats, and I wonder if my call dropped or if I hit the phone wrong—
“Tonight? What do you have in mind?”
“Nothing special, really. I thought you could come over, and we could hang out together, maybe share a glass of wine.” Why do I suddenly sound so unsure? I know what I’m doing, and we need to spend time together to see how strong our connection is, don’t we?
“Share a glass of wine? Did your old man put you on a budget? Can’t we each have our own glass?”
I laugh, feeling a wash of warmth at his easy humor, but I also recognize an evasion when I hear it.
“I’ll take that as a yes.”
There’s another silent pause, but only for a beat this time.
His voice is quiet. “I live at home, Fifi, remember? My parents are expecting me.”
“You may live at home, but you’re not in high school anymore. I thought you were an independent adult.”
“I am, but I happen to respect my parents.”
“So that means you don’t want to spend the night with me?”
“Spend the night? You mean all night?” The way he says the words, partly with disbelief and partly with longing so acute that I squirm and a flush of heat rushes straight up from my toes to my face. I touch my cheeks to feel the scorching warmth there.
“Yes.” The word comes out hoarse, and I gulp down my excitement, but there’s no stopping my heart palpitations. I haven’t felt like this since we last kissed.
“You move fast.” His voice is lower, with an intimate quality that sends a shiver through me.
“A sleepover doesn’t necessarily mean—”
“Since when? Now who’s acting like they’re still in high school?” There’s a gentle tease in his voice, but I hear the seriousness there too.
“So it’s all or nothing with you, then?”
“You don’t know me, Fifi. If we’re testing things out between us, then let’s do it. You need to take the Trick’s Stick for a test run. See if I’m worth all your trouble.”
I laugh, but it’s nervous and brittle. He’s right. I don’t know him—at least not that way. But I do know he’s teasing because he’s as nervous as I am.
Shaking him up and taking the normally cool, unphased Trick by surprise is my favorite thing in the world. That jolt of adrenaline or hormones or whatever it is that kicks in feels so wild it could be addictive.
With the Trick-fueled buzz, I venture into a dangerously unprecedented level of flirtation.
“A stick is a stick, isn’t it? Let’s see how you do at convincing me to test yours. I need to be romanced.”
“I bet you do. In that case, I’ll bring some candy.”
“You’re such a jerk.”
“What? You can’t have a treat now and then? You know, a Trick and a treat?”
Laughter bubbles so loud that I cover my mouth before one of the girls checks on me. They would hate to miss out on any whiff of something fun.
“I don’t eat candy. My body is a temple.” I use my best flirty tone of voice, and he blows out a whistle.
“That’s something I need to see, up close and personal and unveil—”
“Then you’ll have to romance me with something better than candy, Tricky man. Come by after 8. My roommates will be out by then.”
“Where are you?”
I give him the address. “Don’t worry, I have my own room with an en-suite, so we’ll have plenty of privacy.” He blows out a whistle. The wolfish sound unnerves me, so I add, “To talk.” Shit. What’s wrong with me? Where’s all that confidence? What happened to flirty dangerous Fifi?
He laughs. “I’ll be there, Fifi—”
“Must you call me Fifi?”
“Must you wear pink?”
I laugh again, grateful for his talent in snapping my tension and hoping I can get off this emotional roller coaster with him long enough to really get to know him and enjoy… whatever.
He joins in chuckling, and the feeling I get in my chest is like the whoosh from a flock of birds gracefully taking flight all at once.
It’s like nothing I’ve ever felt before, not in any of my encounters with him.
Certainly not with any other boy I’ve dated or kissed or whatever over the years.
Though I always compared other boys to Trick. He was always the standard.
“I gotta go, Fifi. We have a game at Merrimack, and the bus is leaving in fifteen.”
“Oh. That’s only an hour away. I wish I knew. I’d have gotten tickets.”
Sighing, I tell him good-bye, and we end the call. The stark silence that follows is like a wake-up slap.
Being here at UNH with him, free to flirt, to touch, to plan, to date, to see him and be with him any time, is like a long-held dream coming true, the kind of dream that’s more like a fairytale, the kind you hope for but you know is never going to happen—and boom. Here it is, happening.
And now my head is having some kind of cognitive dissonance reaction, trying to figure out what’s real and what’s not. I feel the break physically like a fissure trembling through my whole body, the departure from my norm, from the old world that held me back from Trick.
I drop the phone on my bed. Then I run to the bathroom because the fracture is so severe that the trauma assaults my belly, and I’m afraid I might puke.