“About when I was dry and horizontal on my brother’s luxury couch, basking in his air conditioning.” I shake my head and look up to the heavens. “I promise to never take it for granted again. Amen.” I kiss my fingers and point them towards the sky.
That draws a laugh from Giovanni, and I can’t help but grin. It’s so weird, yet oddly nice, to hear him so happy. With me.
“We’ve got to get the wine. Let’s go.” He holds out his hand for me to grab.
I grasp it and squeak when he pulls me up by one hand with so much force it almost lifts both of my feet off the ground. He’s so strong.
In the past, I’ve always been treated as fragile. When I came during sex, it was always because I was pinching my own nipples or pushing on my own clit. More often than not, it felt like I was the one makingmyselfcome. Like glorified masturbation.
I wonder what Giovanni’s like…
Huh.The speed at which my train of thought moved from impressed to lust-filled makes me question if I’m actually high on endorphins. I need to snap out of it before another “accident” happens like this morning.
When we walk into the shop, all my insecurities walk in with me. Everyone in here is dressed to the nines. Ironed button downs, professionally creased wide-leg pants, tailored dresses made of crisp poplin cotton. Meanwhile, I can only guess what I look like—beet red face, sweaty hair, limping on my achy legs.
“Why is everyone here dressed so nicely?” I whisper to Giovanni.
Completely ignoring me, he makes his way toward the front of the shop. Wanting to stay as incognito as possible, I stand offto the side behind one of the larger shelves of wine. Giovanni walks up to a pretty woman, about his age, who must be the shop owner. He wraps her in a tight hug and whispers something in her ear. She laughs and gives him a kiss on each cheek.
The woman says something in Italian that makes him grin, and it’s clear they have a deep connection. I wonder if they dated at one point. He pays for the wine, smiling ear-to-ear, and finds me waiting for him among the shelves.
“Ready to go?”
“Sure.” I follow him out of the shop, but my mind itches with curiosity. I shouldn’t say anything, but I can’t help myself. “Did you used to date that woman?”
He doesn’t even pause, grabbing my helmet off my bike and handing it to me. “Who?”
I place the helmet on my head and snap the chinstrap into place. “The woman you were hugging. Does she own the store?”
He blinks. “I just met her for the first time two minutes ago.”
“What? You’re joking.” Pushing up the kickstand with the heel of my foot, I hold the handlebars and start rolling it toward the main road.
Giovanni shrugs and rolls his own bike ahead of me. “We were just saying hi.”
“I thought you were going to get arrested for public indecency!” I sputter. “What do youmeanyou were just saying hi?”
“What, because she kissed me? Tessa, that’s normal here. You’re too used to New York. People put pepperoni on their pizza there,” he says, like it’s the gravest offense in the world.
I halt in my tracks. “Wait. Pepperoni pizza isn’t Italian?”
Giovanni shudders. “I cannot believe my pretend girlfriend doesn’t know that pepperoni on pizza is an American invention.”
He reaches his hand back and bops me on the helmet.
“Hey!”
“That was for not doing your homework before you came,” he teases, winking over his shoulder, before mounting his bike.
God, why was that so hot?
Throwing my leg over my bike and hoisting myself up to the seat, I follow him. Slowly pedaling, he glances back every once in a while to check on me.
I groan, already feeling the burn in my quadriceps. Nostalgic for marathons, I gulp the air as I bike down the village street.
“Don’t worry, we’ll stop to catch our breath when we’re halfway home,” he calls back.
“If I’m still breathing by then,” I mutter.
