Epilogue #2

Rina

Being back in the city felt surreal. I’d been here to take in a show with my mother, but once we’d done that and she went back home, I stayed. I wasn’t sure why, but it felt like a good idea. I had the time, and I was really trying this whole have a life thing Knox had suggested.

Not that it was really working for me. I barely had any friends and doing things alone sucked. Unless it was work, in which case I thrived on the loneliness; it was how I got my best work done.

So when I’d realized there was a screening of an old movie in Central Park tonight, I decided to go. Watching a movie was a pretty independent thing, right?

I hoped so.

Too bad around me on the grass sat dozens upon dozens of couples and families—happy, laughing, enjoying each other’s company—waiting for the movie to start. Just the exact opposite of being independent.

I lifted the corners of the small blanket I brought and toyed with picking it up and leaving. Surely anything had to be better than this. But a hush fell over the park as the screen lit up.

I looked up and silenced my now growling stomach, intent on watching the movie. Why hadn’t I gotten something to eat before?

Unable to ignore my stomach, I collected my purse and blanket and stood in search of food. There were several concession stands around, but the food at them never appealed much to me. I really wanted to try to get my spot back and watch the movie, though, so I walked the short distance to a stand that sold pretzels. That’d do, I decided.

With nothing more than a crowd of boys loitering off to one side, I walked right up. “One salt pretzel and a diet soda,” I told the man working behind the cart.

As my pretzel was wrapped in paper, I pulled out my wallet, but was interrupted. “Put that away, bella , I’ll cover you,” one of the boys said, laying his hand on my wrist and reaching into his back pocket to pull out a wallet that I feared would have velcro on it.

“Not necessary,” I returned and tugged my wrist free from his grip.

Smiling, he angled his head, as if surprised I’d shot him down. “Okay, then, forget the pretzel. Let me take you out for a real meal.”

Studying him closely, I wondered what kind of meal he was talking about. Surely nothing more than a kid’s meal. This boy had to be no older than seventeen, maybe eighteen if I was being generous. He was suave, I’d give him that, but it was nothing I hadn’t seen before—tall, dark features, and handsome. Too handsome for his age, that was for sure, which meant he knew it and that was why he was acting like a big shot.

“Little boy,” I explained, “I think it’s past your bedtime. Now kindly let me pay for my pretzel and soda and be on my way.” As if I would be attracted to someone like him. Please. I mean, did I enjoy the Mediterranean look he had going on? Sure, but anything between us would be criminal.

He spun around and eyed his friends who were still talking and laughing off to the side, probably joking about a comic strip or some other juvenile thing boys liked these days.

“Don’t you have to get back to your friends?” I asked, hoping he’d be on his way.

He cocked an eyebrow. “I’d rather be here with you,” he said, but paused and leaned forward. “I’m sorry, I don’t think I asked. What’s your name?”

I squared my shoulders. “You didn’t ask because you called me Bella, which is not my name by the way, and I’m not giving it for the same reason. Now, excuse me.”

“Feisty,” he said and released a snarl from the back of his throat. “I like that.”

Rolling my eyes, I finally paid the man and took my pretzel and soda to be on my way.

Not one to take the hint, he followed me. “My name’s Marco. Marco Deluca. I think we got off on the wrong foot, beautiful.”

I swept my bangs to the side and pushed my hair behind my ear. “We didn’t get off on any foot, Marco, because nothing’s happening here. Stop following me.” This was what I got for finally going out and living my life. Figured I’d attract some pubescent teenager, even if he could rival an Italian model in the looks department.

Shoving his hands in his pockets, he rolled on his heels. “Sorry, can’t do that. Can’t you feel this thing between us, this little tug we have to each other?”

Was this kid for real? Spinning on my heel, I eyed him closely. His dark eyes were framed by dark, bushy eyebrows, just below a short forehead with a mess of dark brown hair that was long enough that a girl (not me) could run her fingers through. Around his full lips it was obvious he was trying to grow a short mustache and beard, but I’d be settled back in Spain before he got even close to that happening.

In answer to his question, I finally said, “No.” I didn’t feel a tug, a pull, or some higher power (or whatever else he was going to try to throw at me next) trying to bring us together.

He laughed, his Adam’s apple obvious. “It’s there, give it a second.”

Give it a second to what? I wasn’t feeling it, period. Narrowing my eyes, I wasn’t sure what else to say. Boys. . . . They didn’t know how to take a hint.

“I see you looking at my lips. Want to see what they feel like?”

See, like that, who asked that? A boy. A very young boy who was clearly full of himself and trying to flirt (emphasis on trying).

Good thing I hadn’t taken a bite of my pretzel because I would’ve thrown it up. I mean, was I staring at his lips? Yes. How could I not? They were full and looked like they’d be. . . perfectly kissable. But, again, he was way too young and orange wasn’t a color that looked good on me. “No.” I started walking again, but he was hot on my heels.

“Got a tat inside my lip,” he said and fingered his bottom lip. “If you come close I’ll show you. I don’t bite, either.”

A tattoo inside his lip? That sounded uncomfortable. Great, so not only was he a boy, but he was clearly a masochist for putting himself through that sort of pain. And for what exactly? So he could impress the ladies?

Then in a low, deep voice, he added, “Unless you want me to bite.”

I shook my head. “I don’t think so.”

I found a place I could open up my blanket again and sat down as nearby movie-watchers shushed us.

Unfortunately, Marco sat down, too.

I had a feeling I wouldn’t get away from him easily. But it had to be done or else I feared I might end up in jail. Because while my brain screamed absolutely not , my libido screamed come to momma .