7. Gianni

gianni

. . .

For a moment, I thought maybe I’d gone too far. Ellie had this sort of stunned, uncertain look on her face, like she wasn’t sure she could trust me. I was about to apologize when she slammed the rest of the wine in her glass and reached for the bottle.

“So what about you?” she asked, filling her glass again. “What do you like?”

“As you said, guys are less complicated. I pretty much like everything.” I shrugged. “Slow, fast, rough, gentle, loud, quiet, floor, ceiling, lying down, standing up, morning, night, bedroom, shower, kitchen, blindfold, restraints?—”

“Okay, okay. I get it. You can stop.” She poured the rest of the bottle into my glass.

I smiled. “Just letting you know I’m up for anything.”

“In case I was in the mood to let you tie me to the bedposts or something? Forget it. I’m already feeling restrained in here.” She set the empty bottle on the table.

“Have you ever?”

“Have I ever what?”

“Been tied up.”

Her face grew pink. “None of your business.”

“Oh, come on. Tell me.”

“Why, so you can make fun of me for being a goody-goody? Let’s just move on.”

“Guess I have my answer.” I looked at the screen and laughed. “How much money would a billionaire who likes to watch have to pay you to have sex with me in his velvet blimp?”

“A million dollars.” She guzzled some wine.

“That much?”

“More if I have to fake the orgasm.”

I smirked. “You wouldn’t have to fake it.”

Her shoulders rose as she sipped her wine, as if she didn’t believe me.

“Just out of curiosity, what would you do with a million dollars?”

“Hmmm.” She thought for a second. “Honestly, I’d probably try to buy more land around Abelard. Plant more grapes. Hire more people. Build myself a house on the property.”

“Really? You’d stay right where you are?”

“Yes.” She made a grand sweeping gesture. “Go ahead and tell me I’m boring.”

“I don’t think it’s boring at all. It’s your passion. Yes, my dream is to go wherever life takes me and do big things in far-off places. But your dream is to be true to your roots and do big things at home, and I respect that.”

After another sip from her glass, she looked at me. “What about you? What would you do with a million dollars?”

“Well, first of all, I wouldn’t make anyone pay me to have sex with you in a velvet blimp. I’d do it for free.”

“Very generous of you.”

“But if I ever had a million dollars, I’d probably use it to travel around the world and eat and cook and meet people and learn about food in all kinds of places—like Anthony Bourdain in Parts Unknown .”

“Would you want cameras and crew following you around? Or would you just do it for the fun of it?”

“I wouldn’t mind the cameras and crew, as long as I had a say in how the show was produced. Lick My Plate was fun, but it wasn’t really about cooking or food.”

She snickered. “And will your new, serious food show be called Gianni Lupo: Too Hot To Handle?”

Sitting up, I reached over and pulled her hair. “Hey. We called a truce, remember?”

“That’s right. So I want to stay put and you want to roam the planet. I guess that means our moms’ dream that we walk down the aisle together is dead.”

“Pretty sure that dream died a long time ago, probably around the time I smashed your umbrella.”

“Agreed. Do you even want to get married?”

“Maybe when I’m, like, seventy and out of good ideas.”

“Because you’d get bored?”

I shrugged. “Yeah. I hate the thought of settling down, being tied to one place or one person. I like being free to make my own decisions, to pack up and leave when I feel like it.”

“Then you should definitely not get married.”

“I take it you want to get hitched?”

“Yes. I’d like a family.” She stared into her wine. “But the thing is, I’ve never even come close to feeling that thing I’d want to feel if I was going to spend the rest of my life with someone.”

“You mean you’ve never been in love?”

“I don’t think so.” She looked up at me. “Have you?”

I shook my head. “No. I’ve been in a few relationships, but they were pretty casual. I move around a lot, and working in restaurants, it’s hard to date. You don’t have many nights free.”

“Yeah.” She played with her empty glass. “I don’t know, it just seems like such a gamble, falling in love. Winnie was always losing her heart to some guy who didn’t deserve it—I’ve dried her tears enough times to be more careful. And I’ve never had a boyfriend that—never mind.”

“What? Tell me.”

“No. You’ll think it’s dumb, and you’ll make fun of me.”

“Try me.”

She sighed. “I want someone to look at me the way my dad looks at my mom. I mean, you can tell when they’re in a room together that she’s everything to him. He doesn’t even have to say it.”

“Yeah,” I said, thinking about my parents. “My mom and dad are like that too. But I think it’s rare.”

“It’s almost worse, knowing that kind of love exists, but worrying you’ll never find it. Like maybe if I hadn’t seen it in real life, I’d think it was only in fairy tales and I’d be willing to settle for less.” She shrugged. “But I’ve seen it. And that’s what I want.”

“I hope you find it. Ready for the next question?”

“Wait, I have to use the bathroom first, and we need more wine.” She got off the bed and tightened the blanket around her.

I tipped up the last few drops in my glass. “Okay, you go to the bathroom and I’ll get the wine.”

She waddled over to the window like a pig in a blanket at IHOP and elbowed the curtain aside. “Wow. It’s still coming down. It’s pretty, though.”

I walked over to the window. Standing right behind her, I caught the scent of her hair again. It looked so soft and warm, I had the urge to bury my face in it. Or maybe take it in my hands and push it aside so I could press my lips to the back of her neck. I’d done that once before...did she remember? The crotch of my jeans started to get tight.

“God, it doesn’t even look real, does it?” she whispered in awe.

I forced myself to look out the glass. “No. It doesn’t.”

Everything was covered in white—the cars in the lot, the pavement, the trees, the neon sign. It was eerie.

“Do you think we’ll get out of here by morning?” Ellie asked.

“We’ll try.” Right now I was more worried about making it through the night next to her in that small bed and keeping my hands to myself.

Letting the curtain close, she spun to face me, her eyes worried. “What if we don’t?”

“We’ll be okay no matter what.”

“But what about work? Desmond could cover for me at the winery, but who’s going to?—”

“Hush.” I put my finger on her lips. “We’ll figure it out.”

She nodded, but I didn’t take my finger off her mouth. Instead, I thought about the way she’d sucked the melted butter off my thumb earlier tonight, and my cock swelled even more. Her lips fell open slightly, but a second later she pushed my hand away. “Move.”

I stepped aside and she shuffled past me, still trying to keep that stupid blanket wrapped around her. But no sooner had the door shut than it opened again, and she walked out, tossed the plaid blanket on the bed, and faced me, hands on her hips. “I give up. This is what I look like without pants on.”

The hem of my sweater hit her mid-thigh and she still wore her hedgehog socks, so the only bare skin visible was from her shins to just above her knees.

“Is that what you’re going to wear in the velvet blimp?” I asked.

“Yes.”

“Then I might change my mind and ask for some compensation. Those socks are not sexy.”

But as soon as the bathroom door shut behind her, I had to adjust the growing bulge in my pants and take a few deep breaths.

I could handle this, right? I could lie next to her on that tiny little mattress and go to sleep. I could breathe through my mouth so I wouldn’t smell her. I could face the opposite direction so I wouldn’t see her. I could put the pillow over my head so I wouldn’t hear her breathe. I could pin my hands between my knees to keep them from wandering over to her side. It might be the greatest test of willpower in all my life, and I’d probably only earn a C, possibly a C-, but I could pass it.

Except then she came out of the bathroom with her blouse balled up in her hands, and when she tossed it onto the table by the window, her black bra flew out and landed on the floor.

“Wait, we’re allowed to remove undergarments ?” I asked in mock surprise. “Does that mean I can ditch my boxer briefs?”

“Only if they have underwire.” She quickly scooped up the bra and stuffed it into her shoulder bag.

“They do not.”

“Then keep them on.” She sat on the bed again and rummaged through the snack pile. “What’s our second bottle of wine? I’ll find something to pair it with.”

But I was frozen in place. It hit me that she was wearing my sweater with nothing underneath it.

That was so hot.

Granted, it was only my sweater and not my hands against her skin, but my body reacted as if it couldn’t tell the difference. And the way she was sitting with her knees jutting out gave me a glimpse of her underwear—it was also black, and I stared at it like a middle school boy salivating over a centerfold. Were they cotton? Satin? Lace? What would they feel like beneath my fingertips? Against my lips? Under my tongue?

I swallowed hard, a groan trapped in my throat.

“Gianni?” She looked over at me, and I quickly raised my eyes to her face. “You okay?”

“I’m fine.” I hurried over to the kitchenette and opened another bottle of wine without even reading the label. It didn’t matter what it was—I just needed more alcohol to numb this attraction to her, this awareness of her body, so I didn’t do anything stupid.

With my back to her, I lifted the wine to my mouth and took a long drink straight from the bottle.

Round Two of Truth or Drink commenced with Ellie relaxed and mellow and me uptight and anxious—a complete reversal of our usual roles.

I started with a non-dirty question on purpose. “What smell takes you back to childhood?”

“Hmm.” She thought for a moment. “I have a crazy sensitive nose, so I can think of lots of things, but one smell I always loved was the scent that hits you when you open a fresh box of crayons.”

I laughed. “That’s so you.”

“I can’t help it. They’re all lined up and perfectly sharpened and the entire box just bursts with possibility...” She inhaled, her eyes closing blissfully, as if she had a brand new Crayola box in her hands and not a wineglass. “What about you?”

“Two things—the smell of Bolognese simmering will always remind me of my Great-Grandma Lupo’s house. And the smell of Middle Eastern spices always reminds me of my Lebanese grandmother’s house.”

“So it was always about food, huh?” She ate a few more M&M’s.

“A lot of that is my dad’s influence. He’d try to get me to name the herbs and spices just by smelling them. He’d make it a game.”

“I love your dad,” she said, a little dreamily.

“You do?”

Color stained her cheeks. “I just mean he’s nice. Next.”

“What do you secretly think I’d be amazing at?”

“Is that really a question? Are you trying to trick me into saying I think you’d be good in bed?”

“No!” I showed her the screen. “It’s really a question. But do you think that?”

She sighed and swirled her wine in the glass. “Yes. I can’t even believe I’m saying this—I must be drunk. It’s only because of what you said about foreplay. And being patient. And asking what I like. It makes me think that you probably aren’t as self-centered in bed as I imagined you would be.”

I grinned. “So you’ve imagined it?”

“I didn’t say that.”

“But have you?”

She looked me right in the eye. “Have you ?”

“Yes.”

Her mouth fell open.

“I’ve imagined sex with pretty much every hot girl I know.”

She rolled her eyes. “God, I walked right into that one. Never mind. Give me the phone.”

I handed it over and took a drink, trying desperately to keep my eyes from straying between her legs. Did she have to sit like that? She had to be buzzed from the wine—otherwise there was no way she’d let me see London and France.

She started to giggle. “Would you trust me to pierce your ear?”

“Fuck no.”

“Why not? I’d let you pierce mine.”

“You would?”

She shrugged. “Sure. I’ve seen the way you handle sharp objects in the kitchen. You’re great with your hands.”

Our eyes met. “That’s true.”

“Moving on,” she said, clearing her throat. “Who’s your secret crush?”

“I don’t have one.”

“Come on,” she scoffed. “Everyone has a secret crush.”

“I don’t. If I like someone, I make it obvious. Why wouldn’t I?”

“Because it’s inappropriate.”

“So who’s your secret crush?”

“Your dad, obviously.”

She tried to play it off like a joke, but there was something about the way she said it that made me pause—and her cheeks were rapidly turning red. I cocked my head. “Do you have a thing for my dad ?”

“What?” She looked nervous for a second. “Don’t be ridiculous.”

“You do, don’t you? You have a thing for my dad!” I started to laugh.

“Will you stop it? I do not!” She scrambled off the bed and backed up. “It was a joke!”

“Then why are you blushing?”

“I’m not blushing, I’m just—it’s not a thing , okay?” She began pacing back and forth at the foot of the bed. “Your dad is objectively a very attractive man.”

I grinned at her. “So you’re attracted to him?”

“No! I didn’t say that, I said objectively , he’s attractive,” she said quickly. “Anybody would find him attractive. It’s just biology. I just made a joke. That dream meant nothing.”

“What dream?”

“Shit!” She put her hands in her hair and squeezed her eyes shut. “I didn’t mean to say that!”

“Well, it’s out there now, so you might as well elaborate.” I leaned back against the pine-log headboard. “What happened in the dream?”

“Nothing.”

“Liar.”

Sighing, she faced me and held up her hands. “He kissed me, okay? That’s all. It was one kiss, and then I woke up.”

“Where were you? In the dream.”

Her face turned an even deeper shade of scarlet. “My bed.”

“So you’d let my dad and my brothers in your bed, but not me?”

“That’s not funny. And why is it suddenly so hot in here?” She turned away from me and fanned her face.

“It’s not hot in here. I think you’re just warm thinking about your crush on my dad.”

She spun around, flustered and frantic. “It’s not a crush! He was very nice to me when I was little, okay? I remember once when I was at your house in Detroit, before you moved up north, I fell and got a bloody knee and he came outside and carried me in. It’s a sweet memory.”

“It is a sweet memory. Except that it was me who carried you in the house.”

“What?” She stuck her hands on her hips. “No way, Gianni. We were like five years old.”

“I know. We were at my house, and you were trying to run faster than me down the driveway—which was never going to happen, by the way. You wiped out so hard you bloodied both knees. I felt bad for you and somehow I knew I was gonna get yelled at for it, so I thought I’d try to be nice and help you into the house.”

She was staring at me from across the room with her mouth open. Her eyes narrowed. “You’re lying.”

“I’m not,” I said, laughing. “That’s what actually happened.”

“I refuse to believe it. You’re just messing with my head. Like you always do.”

I shrugged. “Maybe this will just be another one of those things we remember differently.”

She lifted her chin. “Maybe so.”

The silence between us was thicker than the snow drift outside the windows.

“Are we ever going to talk about it?” I asked.

“About what?”

“You know what. Those seven minutes.”

“I don’t see what there is to talk about. Nothing happened.”

“Ellie, come on. It’s time to admit it—something happened.”

“Fine. What happened was you tricked me.”

“What?” I gaped at her. “I didn’t trick you!”

“Yes, you did!” Her eyes lit up with fury. “I said I wouldn’t kiss you, and you bet me you could change my mind in seven minutes.”

“And I did .” I was annoyed at the accusation that I’d done something shady, but I couldn’t help smiling. “I did change your mind in seven minutes, and I didn’t even break a single one of your rules.” I ticked them off on one hand. “I didn’t force you, I didn’t touch any private parts—I didn’t even talk. And before that timer went off, you begged me to kiss you.”

Seething, she drew herself up like the Queen of England. “I. Did not. Beg.”

I laughed. “Sorry. You told me to kiss you. Twice, in fact.”

“And you didn’t.”

“The seven minutes were up,” I said with a shrug, although that wasn’t exactly true.

She pointed a finger at me. “You had time to kiss me, and you know it. You just wanted to humiliate me. That’s all you ever want to do—tonight included!” She grabbed her bag off the floor and stomped off toward the bathroom in a huff. Before she got there, she whirled around once more. “And I didn’t beg!”

The bathroom door slammed shut.

Exhaling, I let my head fall back against the headboard and rubbed my face with both hands. I hadn’t meant to provoke her, but somehow that was exactly what I’d done. Now instead of tipsy, mellow Ellie to share a bed with, I had angry, resentful Ellie. I probably owed her an apology, especially after the shitty night she’d just had, but I’d give her a minute or so to cool down.

With my eyes closed and my head a little woozy from the wine, I let my mind wander back to that night six years ago in Tanner Ford’s basement. I didn’t have much talent when it came to memorizing shit for school, but I remembered everything about that night.

Ellie had cleaned up after the dunk tank incident, and she’d been wearing a super short skirt, which was rare for her—maybe she’d even borrowed it from someone. She sat over on one side of the room with a bunch of girls, while I played air hockey with my friends, stealing looks at her legs from the corner of my eye. As always, she refused to even glance in my direction. She was like the one girl at school who wouldn’t give me the time of day, and it drove me crazy because she’d grown up to be fucking gorgeous .

I probably shouldn’t have dunked her fifty times, but the opportunity had been too tempting to resist. And she’d gotten me back with all those pies in the face! We were even.

But it felt like something was unfinished between us. Some tension lingered. Or maybe I was just curious.

So later, when we were playing Seven Minutes in Heaven, I pretended to pull her name from the hat. When she heard me say her name, her eyes met mine, a little defiantly—for a moment, I thought she might refuse.

But she stood up, tugged her skirt down a little, and walked into the large cedar closet without a word. As everyone clapped and made obscene noises around me, I followed her in. Right before the door closed behind us, I heard someone say, “I’ll set the timer!”

The door slammed, and we were alone in the dark.

“I don’t want you to kiss me,” she announced imperiously.

“Why not?”

“I just don’t.”

“Can I try to change your mind?”

She laughed. “Sure.”

“You think I won’t be able to?” My eyes were adjusting to the dark, and I took a step closer to her.

“No, but... go ahead and try. Just respect my rules.”

My heart hammered wildly with the challenge. “What are your rules?”

“Don’t touch any private parts, not even over my clothes. Stop if I say no. And don’t talk.”

“Why can’t I talk?”

She folded her arms over her chest. “Because it will all be lies, and I’m not interested, Gianni.”

“Okay.” I moved closer to her, so close my chest bumped her forearms, and my lips brushed her forehead. “But is it okay to touch your, um, public parts?”

“I—I guess.”

I took her by the wrists and put her arms down by her sides, then dropped to my knees in front of her.

She sucked in her breath, and I grinned.