“Well, Mike was concerned about you being involved in some illegal shit.”
“Nah. I’m not into drugs. I prefer sex to get me high.”
“Frisco.”
“What?” I widened my eyes. “I’m trying to be truthful. I’ve never taken a drug in my life. They dull the palate.”
A smile ticked up the corner of that lovely mouth, and I released my breath.
“You know something? I believe you.”
“I should hope so. I don’t lie.” I might not give all the pieces of myself away, but whatever I did tell someone was the truth.
“But why feel the need to hide it?” His dark brows knitted together as he gazed at me, perplexed. “I don’t care what you do.…It’s just the fact that you were so secretive. It made me feel used.”
I was reminded of a year earlier, when Presley used almost those same words describing his fear at becoming involved with Nate. He’d been hurt and upset when Nate hadn’t asked him to spend the night, and I’d blithely dismissed his pain by telling him that sometimes sex was simply that. Sex. I hadn’t given his feelings a second thought, but now I mentally slapped myself at the cruel and insensitive way I’d spoken to him.
Like you treated Torre.
Sometimes life had a funny way of coming back and biting you in the ass.
“I don’t get close to people, and I don’t let them get close to me. Even my best friend, who’s like a brother to me, I keep at a distance. And ever since he met his fiancé, we don’t spend as much time together.” I missed Presley but knew he was where—and with whom—he wanted to be.
Finally, Torre sat next to me. “What about your family?” I stiffened at his question, and he took it the wrong way and shifted his chair over.
“My father died years ago.”
“And your mother?”
A black haze darkened my vision, and his voice seemed to come from very far away. The pressure in my chest, which had lessened as Torre and I spoke, returned tenfold. I briefly closed my eyes to stop the voices in my head, but it didn’t help.
“I don’t speak to my mother. We have no relationship.”
My stiff posture should’ve warned Torre not to ask any further questions, but he put a hand on my leg. I flinched and couldn’t help the shudder rippling through me.
“I’m sorry. That must be rough.”
“Not really. It’s been more than twenty years. I’m over it.”
Liar. You’re not. You’ll never be over it.
“I still miss my pops,” Torre said. “He had a heart attack and died, and since then, Mike and I try to make sure our mom isn’t alone. Having Tina, Mike’s little girl, helps her.”
I didn’t want to listen to him talk about his mother and niece. Family was a foreign concept to me. I’d only had a few years with Presley’s parents before they died, and their loss hit me harder than my own mother’s disappearance from my life.
Torre frowned. “What’s wrong? You don’t look well.” His hand should’ve felt good on me, but I recoiled.
“I’m fine.”
“No, you aren’t.” My gaze shot up to meet his, but I found none of the sympathy I despised, only concern. Those melting brown eyes glimmered. “I don’t know what’s going on, but I can see you’re hurting. Sometimes it helps to talk to a stranger—no preconceived notions or judgment.”
I felt buffeted and unstable. Pulled in two directions. One was my usual way: slide by with the bare minimum, keep it light, deflect with sex. The other would be to finally speak about it, release the painful humiliation I’d been holding in since I was sixteen. When I left my house to live with Presley and his family, I swore I’d never talk about what sent me running. And for all these years, I’d kept that promise and put myself on lockdown, but now, in this basement apartment in Brooklyn, I broke my deliberate solitary confinement. Hesitantly at first, I concentrated on Torre’s warm, open face, and the words spilled out in a torrent.
“At sixteen I had my first affair. I liked men and women equally, and I’d kissed a few girls. Then, my parents hired me an art teacher for after school, and I couldn’t stop thinking about him. I had wet dreams and jerked off to him every day. To me, Luca was the sexiest man alive. He was nine years older, confident and worldly. One day, when he praised my painting, I kissed him.”
Speaking about it now and remembering my desperate, fumbling attempts at seduction made me sick to my stomach.
Eyes wide with shock, Torre asked, “What did he do? He was your teacher, and you were underage. I can’t believe he allowed it to happen.”
