“There’s one up here.” I pulled my left sleeve higher until my bicep was exposed with the tattoo that was just under my shoulder.
“What’s that?” Her eyes drilled into my bicep. I wondered if she was relieved to not be looking directly at me.
I circled a finger over the round image. “That’s the Inter logo. Inter Milan. My team.”
“Soccer?”
“Calcio, or Football, please. It’s played with the feet.”
She smiled, open lips, an expelled breath, a real smile. “That important, huh?”
“It tells which side you belong to.” I caressed the tattoo with the pad of my forefinger. “Our rival is AC Milan. During the La Madonnina Derby, we used to fight with their ultras. Real fights, bloody noses, black eyes, broken ribs.”
“I have no idea what some of these words mean, but I’m guessing.” She continued to smile. “My brother-in-law is a Rams fanatic. I won’t tell him you said it wasn’t football.”
“If you ever tell him about me.”
Our gazes intertwined yet again. I could see her chest rising as she breathed. She looked so different than the June she’d been this morning and yesterday, and even just before we had sat down to compare histories.
June cleared her throat. “That’s seven. You said you had eight.”
I got up and turned to face her. Pulling my shirt up to my chest, I exposed the writing that ran diagonally from the right side of my rib cage to the V of my pelvis and ended just at my boxer’s waistline. “I got it last year.”
June stared up at it then moved her gaze higher up to my face.
“It’s in English,” I said.
She nodded and bit her lips from within, turning them into a straight line. She then jerked up and got to her feet, as well. “It’s getting late, and I need—”
“Your seven hours of sleep, I know.” I left my shirt to drop back into place.
She looked at me. We were standing close, facing each other, with a six-inch difference in height.
“I’m not tired. I’ll go for a walk and give you space.”
“Thanks. I’ll help you make the bed.”
“I can handle it.”
She seemed relieved to break our eye contact as she turned toward her bedroom and into the closet, carrying the bedding while half-dragging the divider with her. She let the folded blanket and pillow drop on the sofa then opened the divider while I was pulling out the sofa into a bed.
She came over to help me and let out that soft groan when the part came out with athud. I felt that damn moan in my boxer briefs.
When all was set, June cleared her throat again. “Well, goodnight, Angelo.”
“Goodnight,” I replied, but neither one of us moved. We stood there and looked at each other, and I wondered if she, like me, was ultra-aware of the two beds surrounding us.
“Goodnight,” we both said again then moved in opposite directions.
At the door, I grabbed a set of keys and my jacket, and then I almost reluctantly went out into the cool night air.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Back from my long walk, the apartment was dark except for that small desk light June had left on. In the shower, I found a new bottle next to my soap. It carried June’s shop’s logo and the label read, “Coconut-derived suds, Men’s natural, organic body and hair wash.” The price equaled four times my simple brand.
Touched, I opened it. It was almost scentless, but I used it, anyway, appreciating what I knew was a thoughtful gesture.
I got into my bed and could have sworn that June wasn’t sleeping. It was in the air, both of us wide awake and aware of the other’s breathing, the soft rustling of the other’s body against the sheets. It was as if our heartbeats bounced off the walls in the space between her bed and my sofa. I could smell the cinnamon wafting from her skin.
