Nesto: That’s perfect. I’ve been trying out new sauces for the truck and haven’t made any dinner yet. *smiley face with tongue sticking out*
I typed a See you soonand got in my car.
I was still not sure if this was a great idea. I had too many feelings already. Regardless I powered up the car and drove toward Trumansburg.
I walked up to Nesto’s apartment clutching the container of ribs and polenta for dear life. When I got up to the landing I saw him standing by the door in only basketball shorts, grinning like he knew exactly the effect his naked torso would have on me.
I scoffed. “You’re evil.”
He laughed, then touched the tip of his tongue to his upper lip. Every time he did that my stomach dropped down somewhere by my feet and the urge to kiss him was practically unbearable.
He stepped aside as I passed by, eyeing me up and down as I walked in.
“Glad you made it. You look good, Jude.”
“You’ve said that.”
“It bears repeating.”
For fuck’s sake.
His sublet was a pretty spacious loft, the side facing the street was one big glass window. I could see my house just down thestreet and the woods I ran in just beyond. There was a small couch, a desk area, and what looked like a sleeping space behind some curtains in the left corner. The person who lived here must like photography because there were beautiful scenes from local parks all over the walls.
“This place is great,” I said, handing him the container from Carmen.
“It is, I lucked out, and the rent is less than half of what I paid for my place in the city.” We stood in silence for a moment and then Nesto nodded toward the kitchen area. “I have wine and beer, both local,” he said with a grin.
“Wow, embracing the ‘Eat and Drink Local’ movement already.”
He shrugged. “I adapt quickly.”
“A valuable life skill. I’ll have a glass of white if you have it. If not, a beer.”
“I have a chilled rosé.”
“That sounds great.”
With a nod, Nesto went to the fridge to get our drinks. After a minute he handed me my glass and sat on the couch with the container. He immediately dug in, taking a big bite of the ribs. He chewed a couple of times and then put his head back, sighing contentedly.
“This is great. Thanks so much.” He gave me a little smile and stabbed another bite of meat. “Tell Carmen I may have to steal this recipe for the truck. I was too tired to stop at the store on the way home, so I figured I’d order something, but nothing delivers after seven p.m.”
“Nope, it is one of the downsides of living out here. Nothing like the city, or even Ithaca.” I was trying to make conversation, but Nesto shirtless was a distraction. He had turned down the lights in the room, too, so he was half in shadow. His chest was sculpted and deeply tanned; it looked like brushed bronze. Healso kept running his hand over his left pec and every time he did, my eyes would follow his hand’s movement. I tried to make out the tattoo he had there, but his hand blocked my view. He had other ones, two quotes in fine black cursive font, one on each forearm. I’d read them the night at the bar, when he pulled back the sleeves of the shirt he’d been wearing.
I sat up on the other end of the couch and pointed at them. “Tell me about your tattoos.”
He finished swallowing, placed the container on the table, and extended his arms out, palms facing up. “Well, these two are lyrics from a song my mom used to listen to a lot when I was a kid. It’s from a Spanish artist, his name is Joan Manuel Serrat. It’s from a song calledCantares.”
I read out loud, running my fingers over the inked words as I went. On the left,Caminante no hay camino,and on the right,Se hace camino al andar. “Walker there is no path, you make the path as you walk.”
I looked up at him and smiled. “I love that.”
“It’s pretty much our family mantra. You just keep going. You make the way.” He said it with a nod and ran a hand over his chest again.
Looking at his skin, I remembered how warm it felt under my hands when I’d touched it. The craving to reach out, feel him under my fingers, made me shiver. We sat there silently for a few moments as Nesto ate. When the container was half full, he stood and put the lid back on before putting it in the fridge.
He came back to the couch and sat closer, so our bodies were almost touching. He took a sip of his beer, and then leaned in. He asked in a husky whisper, “Where did you learn Spanish? I’ve been meaning to ask, but every time I see you my mind starts running in a million directions.” The rueful smile on his lips made me want to kiss him so badly.
I looked down and thought of giving him one of my usual evasive answers. Those unnecessary walls I always put up to avoid having to say too much about myself. My usual “oh just in school” answer seemed disingenuous now, with Nesto so close, his skin brushing mine, and his eyes full of interest.
