LAURA

“I still can’t believe you’re doing this.”

“It’s only for three weeks.”

“Four.” He corrected me.

“Oh, right. A whole month.”

His hand, which was way below my waist, gave the sore cheek it rested upon a gentle squeeze. “I just realized something.” He said.

“Uh?”

“I’m going to have to find someone else to have sex with while you’re away.”

“Oh, yeah. How very inconvenient for you, Riley.” The corners of my mouth turned up a little, in spite of myself. “I won’t have the same problem, of course. I’m way hotter than you.”

Though my eyes were closed I could hear his smile very clearly. He gave my backside another squeeze, this one not so gentle, and I winced a little. The harshness of the palm of his hand had left the flesh there overly sensible. I couldn't really complain. I had asked for it.

“That’s true. I’m sure you'll come back leaving half a dozen heartbroken Frenchman in your wake.”

Lying sideways, with a hand under my cheek, I lifted my heavy eyelids to spy Riley’s naked body stretched out on my bed, next to me. He had his eyes closed, a languid arm thrown over my hip, and his face turned towards the ceiling enjoying the fading evening light that came in through the window.

Riley had something about him. A kind of drawing power that would make most people jealous. It could be called charm, but to me that was just the way he was. Irresistible.

Looking at his body of finely sculpted muscles by years of swimming, it wasn’t too hard to see why, once upon a time, I had been so crazy in love with him.

“Clementine will take good care of the place while I’m gone.” I said to him, more to convince myself than anything else.

He grunted, the sound quickly replaced by that almost-not-there smile that was so typical of him.

Of course he knew I had reservations about staying away from work for a whole month. He knew me well. After all, Riley was my best friend in the whole world.

He also was the go-to man for when I wanted sex.

We weren’t the first people to do the friends with benefits thing. We certainly wouldn’t be the last.

“Are you sure you don’t want me to drive you to the airport tomorrow?” He asked.

“Nah. I hate airports and goodbyes, you know that. Besides, you have that meeting tomorrow, don’t you?”

“I can reschedule that.”

“Soph will drive me. Don’t worry, Ry.”

I was leaving for Paris the next day for a three week course in French cuisine. The plan was to spend an extra week sightseeing or touring or whatever it is people do when they have free time. I needed to take a break, according to the general opinion. The general opinion being Riley’s and my sister’s, Sophia.

I owned a little corner bistro which, at Riley’s creative suggestion, was called Laura’s Bistro for lack of a better name.

In all the eight years I’ve called myself the proud owner of that little establishment, I could count on the fingers of one hand how many days, from sunrise to sundown, I had been away from its kitchen. Now everybody just expected me to leave the business I dedicated years of my life to in the hands of my kitchen-assistant-turned-manager for an entire month.

Not that Clementine couldn’t handle the job. She could. But I was...well, me. If you want something done right, do it yourself. That was my motto. Riley, though, would say I simply didn’t know how to delegate.

“You know what, Ry. I don’t need the extra week.” I finally said what I had been thinking for days.

Riley laughed that tired sound of people depleted of physical energy. “I knew it.”

“Knew what?”

He turned his head on the pillow to face me, opening his dark eyes. “You need a break, Ells. Take the week. The world will keep turning if you take a holiday, you know.”

I stared into Riley’s amused eyes. He had the darkest eyes. The distinction between iris and pupil was only discernible when he looked directly into the light. I always got a disquieting feeling deep inside whenever I looked into them for too long. It was like staring at the sun. After a time you had to turn away.

“What will I do with a free week?” That made him laugh again.

Riley turned to lie on his side, running the hand on my hip all the way up to my hair. His fingers snaked their way into my curls and a little shiver raised the little hairs on my nape. “What will you do in Paris for a whole month? What a difficult question, Ells! I mean, there’s nothing to see there. It’s such a horrible looking city! And the food is shit, too. Ah, and all that wine! You hate wine, right? What will you do, indeed?”

I gave his shoulder a nudge. “I’m serious, Ry.”

“Hey. Just relax a little, Ells. Take some time for yourself. All you ever do here is work. Even you need to take a little time off once in awhile.”

“I’m taking time off right now.”

“Sex doesn’t count. It requires too much energy.”

He retrieved his hand, leaving a passing coldness in the place where it had been. He closed his eyes again, rolling on his back. I just watched the funny way the orange reddish light of a day’s end lit one side of his face casting a shade on the other, darkening the hollow just below his cheekbone, which was high and sharp like a cat’s. It made him look freakishly thin.

Riley had one of those exotic, interesting faces that made you wonder just what kind of combination had originated him. His lips, a little plumper than one would expect to find in a man, composed a broad mouth that seemed to always be on the verge of smiling. He had a strong, long nose that was maybe a little too long, but an imperfection that fitted him perfectly. He wasn’t the kind of man you’d call handsome immediately. You would need a second glance to see his appeal. He hid it all under layers of geekness. Once his layers were peeled off, though, he couldn't be resisted any more than the apple was by Eve.

I’ve known him since he was a scrawny little boy with scraped knees, but after puberty I developed a little difficulty keeping my eyes away from his body. It persisted to this day, specially as it was now, naked and sticky with the sweat sprung from all the exertion I put him through.

“I’m hungry.” I’m sure he thought he was being subtle.

I opened my mouth to deny him, finding I needed a little time to recompose myself. If he heard my smile he’d know I wasn’t serious and I’d have to get up and make him his damn French toast. He would live solely on French toast. Or anything that contained a lot of cinnamon.

“I won’t cook for you, Riley. You know where the kitchen is.”

“Yeah, but I’m not the chef here.”

“I’m way too tired and you have only yourself to blame for that.”

“Not true. I have you to blame as well.”

“Shut up.”

He fell silent allowing me to think he’d given up. I should’ve known it wouldn’t be so easy to dissuade him though. I felt the mattress sinking under Riley’s weight as he lazily dragged his body over to mine. “Come on, Ells. If you whip us something up I’ll give you one last orgasm before you get to Paris.”

That was my turn to laugh. Even that little effort made the muscles on my abdomen hurt.

“Riley, if you can get that thing up after all we did here today I’ll give you a prize.” Even as I said it, my legs opened to him, welcoming the intrusion of his body between them.

“Who said anything about getting anything up?” His smirk was pure wickedness.

“Oh.” I wasn’t one to turn down free tongue-fucking from the man who could call himself an expert on my clit (on my whole body, really). Not even as worn out as I was.

Riley kissed me slowly, letting his tongue caress mine with the dexterity he knew I liked. My hands traced the hard muscles under the smooth, sticky skin of his back. He travelled south, trailing kisses, bites and little licks down my body until his head of tousled dark hair disappeared in between my legs.

I just arched my back and enjoyed the show. I’d go a whole month without it.

****

Riley and I met as kids in school.

He made some nasty comment about my curly hair, I kicked him in the shins. The next day our teachers forced us to apologize, then grounded us. We were made to sit together, side by side, during lunch break for an entire week. Somehow after that we actually became friends.

We grew up together, basically.

When puberty reached me, around the age of 14 or something, he was the first boy I ever acknowledged as cute. It was very cliché. A boy and a girl are best friends. And the girl falls in love with the boy.

Riley was strangely unpopular among girls. Strangely because, to me, he was the hottest thing on two legs when my girl friends thought he looked weird. To my face they said weird while on my back most of them had kissed him in the library darkest aisle.

He was tall. Taller than most boys. And with his height came that gawkiness and lack of proportion teenage boys are afflicted with.

When he wasn’t hiding behind an Isaac Asimov or a H.G. Wells novel, he was part of the swimming team. Nothing on earth gave me more pleasure than watching his training. Seeing the muscles of his back working under the water, flexing and relaxing, extending and contracting. I learned how to touch myself around that time, thinking about Riley’s muscular back and arms straining with effort while he touched me in every way I’ve always wanted to be touched by him.

Of course I placed him way above me, like any good teenage girl in love for the first time. He lived on a pedestal. Unachievable to me. On my fifteenth birthday, though, I was surprised when he asked if I would mind it if he kissed me. From what I remember, I gaped at him for a full minute before nodding in agreement. He kissed me, then asked me to be his girlfriend. Just like that. Without any previous indication of his intentions. I said yes without even blinking and that was how our romance began.

Being as insecure as I was as a teenager, I used to think that, maybe, Riley only wanted me as his girlfriend because I was the only girl with boobs (or without it) who showed any public interest in him. Even though he incessantly said he liked me because I was beautiful and the smartest girl he knew.

I wasn’t as tall as he, but I was tall for a girl. Mostly, what I saw in the mirror when I looked at myself was a stick with voluminous, curly hair.

I also had a huge problem with the way kids in school looked at us. Some of them being mean enough (as kids normally are in high school) to actually tell us what they thought of that white boy dating that black girl. Not to mention all those girls who wanted him, but wouldn’t be caught dead admitting it.

I can’t count on all of my fingers and toes how many times Riley ended up in the principal’s office for punching bullies. Sometimes I had accompanied him myself.

Riley Vogel was my very first love. And I was his.

He was my best friend, my boyfriend and, eventually, he became the guy who I lost my virginity to in a surprisingly good experience with all the due awkwardness first times demand. After that day I’d yank his pants down every chance I got.

We dated for six whole years.

We managed three years of long distance while in college. Our relationship consisted of e-mails, phone calls and a short-lived visit five, maybe six, times a year if we were lucky. By and by the distance cooled things down. I missed him like a lost limb, but somewhere along the way, on the rare occasions we could meet, we used most of our time together to just talk and forgot we had to actually behave like a couple of lovestruck birds.

Sex began to feel like a Sunday evening to a student. We enjoyed it as well as we could, but that deep desolation feeling came creeping in once the act was over.

When you’re used to having a lot of sex then find yourself having it through the phone most of the time, and the flesh on flesh thing only happens during holidays; you will discover that not minding to have it at all, given the chance, means something is really, mortally wrong.

I loved Riley to death. I also knew he loved me. Be that as it may, we found we were the kind of people who actually needed the everyday physical contact to keep the flame alive. In the end we decided to put a stop to the romantic side of our relationship. I cried for months, but at least I knew I hadn’t lost him. Not really.

In some strange way we helped each other get over the break up. We even called one another sometimes to  cry and say "I miss you. I love you, but yeah I know, it doesn’t work this way”. He didn’t stop being my best friend not for a single moment amid all that mess.

We finally graduated. He came back home and once again, we were seeing each other almost every day. Strangely enough though, that thing just wasn’t there anymore. I still thought him a gorgeous, wildly attractive man, but we weren’t two teenagers in love anymore. Adulthood and its responsibilities ended that naive, romanticized versions of ourselves.

We moved on with our lives. Riley had girlfriends. I had boyfriends. Some of them were nice, some others not so much. The whole time he was with somebody that wasn’t me or I was dating a guy that wasn’t him, I expected one of us to throw a maniac fit of jealousy. It never happened, though. We understood we had had our chance. We had tried. It had been wonderful, but it was all water under the bridge. One of his girlfriends and I actually became such good friends that we remained in touch even after they parted ways. In time our friendship proved itself stronger than any of life’s eventualities.

It was not until Riley’s 30th birthday that things took  strange turn.

We drank a lot. A L-O-T that night. More than I remembered ever doing before. I might have put some illegal herbs in his cake, too. I only remember waking up around noon the next day, naked in his bed (with him equally naked beside me), knowing, from the feels of my body, that I had been thoroughly fucked all night long.

After that we had both agreed the night had been a mistake. Huge, huge mistake. We were drunk. We were high. We were stupid. We would never do it again.

Until we did it.

While sober.

And then we did it again. And again. And then one more time after that. It became a habit.

Finally we sat down to talk things straight.

“Why do we keep doing this?”

“Because it’s good.”

“Yeah, it really is.”

“Really, really good.”

“We should stop, though. Our friendship is too important.”

“Yeah. We could stop.”

“Or…”

“We could not.”

So we didn’t.

Funny thing is, we actually dated other people in between our friends with benefits arrangement. And surprisingly, nothing changed between us. I mean, we stopped. Of course we didn’t sleep with each other while dating someone else. But I didn’t find myself suddenly crazy jealous of his dates, nor did he try to punch my then boyfriend to get me back or anything.

No. We knew how to separate things.

Sex is sex. Our friendship is our friendship.

And that was it.

I’m not sure how we managed to separate things, but we did. Sex was a physical contact with one goal in mind. A limited activity. Our friendship was unlimited. I’d give him my kidneys and a piece of the liver if he needed it. I knew he’d do the same for me.

When I felt like having orgasms I could just open my bedside table drawer or text him ‘Come over’. He’d come and we’d do it. Simple as that. Out of the sex bubble we didn’t touch each other in any way borderlining romantic entanglement. We didn’t kiss. We didn’t exchange caresses. We didn’t stare at each other with an expression of devotion for long periods of time. We simply had sex when we felt like having sex.

Our arrangement was mutually beneficial and purely physical.

I still had my best friend, with the benefit of having sex with him when I wanted to.

As an extra benefit, he was also the person who knew me and my body better than anyone in the world. As I knew his. None of us would ever be left unsatisfied. Our deal was actually safer than one night stands with random people. One night stands were known to leave you wanting from time to time. Not that we didn’t do the occasional catch it, enjoyed it and release it with other people. We did it. But there was no denying it was easier to just do it with each other.

Riley and I were two people who liked (actually loved) each other. We were very sexually attracted to one another and also, had known each other forever. Not to mention the fact that sex with us was easy. I felt as comfortable in bed with him as a fish in the water. We worked in synch, and that was perfect.

My sister, Sophia, liked to muse on my particular situation. Her theory was that Riley and I still had a childhood reminiscent hope that our love would reflourish, making us a happy couple once more. The argument I threw back at her was that Riley knew what my clit existed for.

“Why don’t you two just date like normal people?” She’d say “I mean, you’re already fucking and you’re always there for each other.” She put an annoying, although funny, childish mimicking tone to her voice when she had said that last part.

She wasn’t all that wrong. We could date. But that wouldn’t work. We were just too comfortable with being friends. Besides, Riley was in good terms with being single. Seemed to me he wouldn't worry himself with relationships for a while. He was young, handsome, talented, earned himself some good money. He was fine as he was.

“I'm not looking for anyone right now." He'd say on the matter.

I loved Riley. I didn't even know how to be without him. I just wasn’t in love with him. At least not anymore. But I did love him. Very, very much

And we were just fine as we were.

***

Once Riley understood I wasn’t going to cook him anything, not even for all the orgasms in the world, he accompanied me to the bistro. I had to double check things with Clementine before I left for Paris, just to make sure she’d be alright.

“Hey, boss.” She greeted me with the same smile that had me wondering every morning how the hell she could be such a happy person. “Here to make sure I won’t burn the place down in your absence?”

“Of course not, Clementine.” I gave my best and oldest employee a look I hoped conveyed to her my trust. However limited that was. “I’m just here because Riley is unusually hungry, yes I’m being ironic, and this is the only place in the city he can eat for free.”

“Oh, yeah, blame it on me.” He said, smiling at her. “But she’s right. I’m only here for the free food.”

“Only for the free food?” Asked a very flirtatious Clementine, eyeing Riley coquettishly.

She had a crush on Riley, as did all my employees. Those being Clementine and a guy named Rudy. I couldn’t blame them, poor things. Riley spent a whole lot of time in the bistro and he was a charmer. He also liked his flirting. Flirting was like a second nature to him.

Riley wasn’t oblivious to his power, once he learned he had it. What he lacked in standardized male beauty he compensated for in magnetism. The most beguiling thing about him was, for sure, his ability to be so mysterious while also being completely obvious. Only one look at him would never give you the idea he was such an irresistible creature.

Clark Kent was Superman behind the glasses, after all.

“Clementine, you goddess.” He leaned over the balcony and took Clementine hands on his, planting a soft kiss on the back of each one. “What is a French toast compared to your majestically beautiful eyes?”

He was such a clown I had to laugh at his batting eyelashes and Clementine’s crimsoning cheeks.

Riley was a writer. A rather good one.

He’s always been over imaginative, creating crazy, fantastical tales in his head since we were kids.

“My mind won't shut up.” He’d say.

Since we we were about 13 years old I had been encouraging him to try and put some of his ideas to paper. Finally, in college, he took the time to do it. He wrote a sci-fi, young adult novel about travels in the future, and the end of the world as we know it.

More than on one occasion, he had actually said the book was his break-up project. Something that took his mind off every single moment we had shared as a couple, trying to figure out where we went wrong. An apocalyptic tale inspired by a break up. His main character was a bad-ass survivor (named after me) who traveled between worlds and time, facing unimaginable dangers.  Once I read his story I was surprised by how much I loved it. Not my kind of literature at all, but amazing nonetheless.

Riley finished what would be the first of a series of books, found a publisher with no difficulty whatsoever and soon enough he had a contract with a well known publishing house and a book published under the pen name of R.L. Fitzgerald.

“R for Riley, L for Laura and Fitzgerald because I love Ella.” He’d said of his name of choice.

The success among kids was immediate. Five more books followed and presently he lived a nice, well-remunerated life as a hipster writer who prefered to remain anonymous.

My bistro was his favourite place to write (that had a lot to do with the free coffee and food). He could spend a whole day there behind his computer; wearing his Kurt Cobain old sweater, his round rimmed, tortoiseshell writer glasses, running a constant hand over his tousled black hair while giving Clementine sexually inappropriate ideas.

“It’s the way he runs his hands through his hair.” Clementine would argue of her crush on him. “It’s just so sexy.”

The girl had been working for me for six years now. Clementine was one of those people just wandering aimlessly through life. She used to say she wanted to be a writer (I suspected that had something to do with Riley) and that college hadn’t done her any good. All she needed was time to find herself. She was a bright girl and a good manager for the bistro. That much I could say in her favor.

Finally recomposed after being touched by Riley, Clementine remembered we had work to do just as Rudy came in with a client’s order. He hardly acknowledged Riley which was, to say the least, weird.

“Thor is back.” He said.

“Thor?!” Riley and I both asked in confusion and Clementine exclaimed in excitement.

Rudy turned his overly excited face towards us.

“Oh, yeah. The tall, blond god who comes in everyday!” He jerked a thumb to the only occupied little table outside. “Seems like he’s got a girlfriend now. Lucky bitch.” He said with his smile fading at the corners.

There was a couple sharing the table outside. The Thor guy was really hard to miss. Chances were, he was one of the most handsome man walking the Earth. Even from afar I could see he was the kind of handsome that made women turn their heads if they happened to walk past him on the street.

I couldn’t remember ever seeing him before. Anyway, even if he was a regular I wouldn't have seen him. Most of my time in the bistro was spent in the kitchen. He had the hair, the beard, the height, the bone structure, everything you’d expect a gorgeous man to have. It was almost comical to see a man like that really existed. To me, he looked like an erotic novel imagined male lead.

Nevertheless, as good as he looked, his appearance wasn’t what had me so interested in that scene. It was the way he was looking at the girl sitting across from him.

She was his complete opposite.

Where he was tall and blond she was a short, curly haired black woman. She was beautiful. No doubt he was looking at her as if the sun itself revolved around her.

I could see he affected her the same way he surely would affect any woman. She was all flushed cheeks and shy little smiles, but she didn’t look at him quite as dazzled as he looked at her. She looked at him with a caution that had me wondering what the fuck had been done to that girl to make her almost immune to the charms of man who looked like that.

“Earth to Laura?” The snap of Riley’s fingers in front of my eyes shook me out of my head.

“What?”

Riley was looking at me with a funny expression. “Let me just wipe this here.” He ran his thumb on the corner of my mouth. I slapped his hand right off. “Hey! I’m just trying to help you. You were drooling a little.”

“Don’t be stupid, Riley.”

“Oh, come on, you were gawking at the guy.”

“No, I wasn’t! I mean, I was, but not at him.” I pointed to the girl who was now almost melting into her chair while Thor kissed her hand. “I was looking at her.”

Riley’s eyes followed the direction of my pointing finger. I saw it in his face when he registered how beautiful she was.

“Wow. She’s stunning.” He said under his breath.

“They make an improbable couple, don’t they?”

He returned his dark eyes to my face, smiling, and I knew he was thinking exactly the same thing I was.

“Kind of like you and I in high school, uh?”

“Yeah.” I agreed, remembering what an odd pair we used to make. Two skinny teenagers who, to the outside observer, had nothing in common. “Kind of.”

I allowed myself to watch the girl again. She had a look on her face I knew all too well. She might even try to hide it, but that girl was in love with the Thor guy sure as I lived and breathed.

I suddenly felt a little envious of her. Not because of ‘Thor’. He was something alright, but not my type. No. I was envious because I wished I were that in love with someone who would be just as in love with me as that guy evidently was with her.

Usually, I told Riley everything. Absolutely everything. Except for this thing I started feeling when my younger sister had a baby about a year ago. I was in my mid-thirties. I worked like a dog. I didn’t have a boyfriend, nor any prospect of finding one soon. With each passing day I worried I wouldn’t find anyone in time.

My last boyfriend was almost three years behind me, and the only sex I was having lately was with Riley. Riley, who was also the only man I’ve ever been in love with.

Marriage and children were never things I ambitioned in life, not until I realized I was five steps from being a 40 year old spinster having sex with her best friend because she didn’t have anyone else (that if Riley didn’t find someone himself by the time we were 40). I wanted to have a family. Maybe a baby or two. And I feared that if I didn’t get started on that before long, time would pass me by and I would wake up someday to see my chance was lost.

***

Sophia, after I had voiced my insecurities to her, presented me with the worst solution ever.

“Have a baby with Riley.” Said she mildly, while we waited for my flight.

“What?! Have a baby with Riley? Are you high or something? What an idea! To have a baby with Riley! Jesus, Soph!”

“What?! You two are friends.” There was something about her tongue whenever she used that word to refer to Riley and I. “You’re not getting any younger as you said yourself, and I can’t see Riley settling down anytime soon, so why not? He’s got money. He can afford to have a baby. You’re already fucking, so it could all be done naturally. You could be like those hippie parents with forward thinking ideias. What is it called? Progressive parenting? Anyway, you don’t have to marry a guy to have his babies, Laura.”

My sister was insane. That was the only explanation for the ideas going around in her head. She was two years younger than I, a mathematician and about ten degrees crazier. There was very little common personality connecting the both of us, although most people thought we were twins. I had my head well glued to my neck, while hers was in fantasy land. Funny thing though, she was the one who was good with numbers and rationality. Always making sure I had the bistro’s finances in order.

We shared our mother’s eyes, her curly hair, and our father’s long legs. Sophia also had been lucky enough to have inherited the big boobs from our aunts.

“I don’t want to have a baby with Riley, Sophia! I want to have a baby with a guy I’ll be in a relationship with! A romantic relationship!” I rebuffed her mad suggestion. “Anyway, I’m not in love with Riley!”

“If you say so.” She muttered.

Sophia’s theories about how unaware Riley and I were of our eternal childhood love for each other annoyed me sometimes. Actually, it annoyed me all the time. Luckily for me, the calling for my flight saved my ears from more of her babbling.

“That’s me. Bye, Soph.” I hugged her, already wanting to cry just thinking about a whole month away from her craziness.

“Find some Frenchman to fuck while you’re there, will you?”

“Shut up, Soph.”

“Or did Riley fuck you goodbye so good you don’t even want sex anymore?”

“Bye, Sophia!” I walked away from her only half faking my irritation.

“Bye, Lo! I’ll miss you! FUCK SOME FRENCHMAN!” She screamed at my back.

I put my middle finger in the air and left a giggling Sophia and her foolish theories about whom I should have babies with or whom I should fuck behind.

***

When Paris was just an idea, I had been stupid enough to think a month would be way too much time to spend there. When I lived and breathed the city? I wanted to stay forever.

Riley had been right, as usual. There was so much to see, so much to do, to eat, to drink. Oh, to drink. I didn’t know how on earth I’d keep myself from being twenty four seven drunk on French wine. And it was so cheap, too! I made a mental note to research just how much it would cost me to import some of that wine for the bistro.

The weather was interesting. Not as hot as I would’ve liked, but nothing uncomfortable, too. The only trouble was that my French wasn’t all that good. The little I knew was rusty and I knew very little.

S’il vous plait!

Au revoir!

Bonjour!

Ça va?

Pardon!

Those little expressions were probably all I knew for sure. Needless to say I was having a hard time keeping up with my French cuisine (though I suppose in France you simply called it cooking lessons) teacher’s fast tongue.

The lesson of the day was pretty classic. Coq au vin. A dish I had made a bizillion times at home, but as I had just learned (or rather seen from what the teacher was doing), I had been doing it the wrong way. Shocker.

Apparently, the very first thing I did wrong was to buy a chicken that was already dead and frozen. Can’t do that. The right way was to get a living, breathing cock and kill it yourself.

“Oh, Jesus! I won’t kill a damn cock!”

I thought I spoke this at a low enough voice that only I would have heard. But I was wrong yet again. Seemed I had been loud enough to catch my teacher’s ear. What became very clear when he marched my direction.

He stopped before me with his hands clasped behind his back like a general before his recruit. I almost gave him a military salute.

“Mademoiselle, avez-vous dit quelque chose?”

Shit. What the fuck did he say?

“Non.” Was the first thing that popped into my mind and rolled out of my tongue.

I didn’t even know whether he had asked me any yes or no questions, but I figured a No  was a pretty classical answer that would make him realize I didn’t know any French and let me be.

The teacher looked at me like I was stupid. Which at the moment I probably was. He was a tall, bulky man wearing a mustache I didn’t deem all that sanitary for a cook. He squinted his eyes, tilting his chin up as if judging me a useless creature.

“Comprenez-vous?” His intonation hinted at another question.

I decided that sounded enough like a question. From what I remembered from my short French lessons he was asking me “Do you understand?”

How do you say “I don’t understand a fucking thing!” in French, again?

That was a question I surely answered with a “Non.”, shaking my head and feeling like the dumbest being on the planet.

He surveyed me for a long moment with a look of disdain, than yelled something to the rest of the students. “Y a-t-il quelqu’un qui parle anglais?” My limited French told me he’d asked them if anyone knew any English.

He looked around at the others. There were about twenty of us standing in the little henhouse behind the school building. Most of them just assumed a blank expression as if the man hadn’t said a word.

So  much for helping a neighbor in need, uh?

I just silently cursed myself for not putting more effort into learning French, but then again where would I find the time? I just figured somebody here would know some English. Everybody everywhere knows English, right?

I was just staring at my feet feeling my face in flames when the teacher spoke again.

“Parlez-vous anglais?” He asked someone.

I couldn't see who. The teacher had his back to me and was standing directly in front of whomever he was talking to.

“Oui.” A deep, husky, male voice replied.

Then they plunged into a conversation that happened way too fast for my brain to process.

Finally the teacher turned to me, said something I would bet my toes on being very rude, and left. At the spot he’d been standing a second ago another tall man stood. This one far more pleasant looking.

“Hello.” He said in a accented voice. “I’m Rocco. I’m to be your partner and help you with your linguistic difficulties.”

Linguistic difficulties?

I was about to tell Mr. Linguistic Difficulties I had no such difficulties, when I, belatedly, caught on his irony and his looks.

He was handsome. Oh my, he was handsome.

My interpreter was evidently older than I. One of those men who only get better with age, like a good whisky. A few strands of silver hair brushed his temples giving him an extra charm. I was gawking up at him when he smiled me a graceful movement of lips that wrinkled the corners of his deep green eyes. So deep, in fact, I’d drown in them if I wasn’t careful.

Like a robot being turned on, I introduced myself extending him a sudden hand. “Hi. I’m Laura.”

I only hoped I didn’t look as stupid as I thought I did.

He looked down at my hand, amused, then took it. His hand engulfed mine with warmth. “Laura. Nice to meet you, Laura.”

“Likewise, Rocco.” When he said my name I expect him to put that French purring on the R. I was still holding his hand when I asked. “You’re not French, are you?”

This time he laughed freely and I found the sound to be very pleasing to my ears. “Only half.”

“What’s the other half?” I asked bluntly, making him lift his eyebrows and his mouth twitch with the smile he tried to keep inside it. I silently scolded myself for interrogating a man I had met only five seconds ago. “Oh, god. I’m sorry. Forgive me. I talk too much.”

Rocco pulled his hand, which was still in mine, and gently made me release him from my hold. “The other half is Italian, Laura. And don’t worry. I like a girl who can chat.”

Half French, Half Italian? Was he even real?

What happened next was the most embarrassing thing I could have done. I presented Rocco with the laugh Riley liked to call Laura’s piggy squeal. There was an oinky noise there somewhere.

I promptly covered my mouth with my hand, feeling like my face would melt from the heat and apologized to him for a second time.

“I think you and I will get along really well, Laura.” Rocco’s mouth smiled at me, and the heat from my cheeks travelled way down south.

Yeah, we’d get along fine he and I.

****

Excluding the part where Rocco snapped a chicken’s neck, everything he did had a sort of grace to it. It seemed to me like he was way too good a cook to even need to take a course in French cuisine. He moved around like a man used to commanding a kitchen. I had developed a bit of a crush on him, which I could already tell he didn’t reciprocate.

He was extremely polite with me. Most of the time he spent in the gigantic culinary school’s kitchen was used translating the teacher’s command into English so I could keep up. I didn’t know much about him except he was 43 and had come from a part of Italy called Valpolicella. Every evening, when class was over, he’d say goodbye with a chaste kiss on my cheek and just leave. No “Hey, Laura. Wanna grab a bite?” or “Laura, would you like to have dinner with me?”

So my first week in France was marked by my struggle with the language while I absolutely kicked ass in the kitchen once I understood what I was supposed to do (thanks to Rocco). The mean, nazi teacher even started to look at me with some sort of silent appreciation when he realized I could, if not speak any French, at least make a decent souffle.

One surprising evening, around the middle of my second week, Rocco didn’t give me my so anticipated goodbye kiss. Instead he did something much better.

“Laura.” I just loved the way he said my name with that accent of his, prolonging the first syllable and elevating it before dropping the last one. “Do you like Italian food?”

I had to physically keep myself from jumping up and down, screaming YES! YES! I LOVE ITALIANS!

“Who doesn’t!” I said with amazing exterior calmness.

His mouth, that looked like it had been made for smiling (or maybe something else entirely), crooked at one corner. The act was pure sexyness and brought about a delicious feeling down below my belly. “I’m feeling homesick lately. I wonder if you would like to eat some pasta with me?”

I sank my teeth on my bottom lip to keep myself from answering him too fast and eager. “I would absolutely love to eat some pasta with you, Rocco.” I said, smiling broadly.

“That’s wonderful. Here,” He reached behind him and his hand emerged holding the little moleskine he used to write down recipes. He scribbled something down on it and ripped the page, offering it to me. “Here’s my address.”

“Oh, right. Your address.” I just eyed the paper extended to me with some reserve.

Rocco laughed. “I just thought I’d cook for you. To impress you, maybe.”

“Of course.” I finally took the paper from him, smiling awkwardly. “I’m sorry, Rocco. I’m not used to guys cooking for me. I'm usually the one doing the cooking.”

“Don’t worry, bella. You’re a beautiful woman, but I won’t attack you.” He leaned in and gave me the expected kiss on the cheek. “Not unless you want me to.” He added into my ear.

The little hairs on my arm rose with a shiver I couldn’t contain. About five minutes ago I didn’t even think Rocco realized I was a woman, who’s to say offer to attack me if I wanted him to. And I might want him to if he didn’t stop throwing that sexy smile my direction.

Rocco put visible effort into not laughing when he saw the stupid shocked expression on my face. Before I could say anything though, he climbed on his bike.

“See you at eight?”

I just nodded, speechless.

“Bye, bella.” And smiling, he rode off leaving me statuesquely standing there trying to remember if I had packed any sexy lingerie.

****

Rocco lived in one of those lovely, but tiny, Parisian apartments. As soon as I stepped inside the wonderful scent of tomato sauce, basil leaves and olive oil assaulted my nostrils. My mouth watered instantly.

“This place smells heavenly!”

The cook in me didn’t know you’re not suppose to stick your nose into people’s pans the first time you visit their home. I couldn't help myself, though. I was already dipping my finger into the red sauce and tasting it.

“Oh, and it tastes like heaven, too!” I turned around to see Rocco standing behind me and almost shaking with laughter. “I’m being inconvenient again, aren’t I?”

“No, Laura. Your impulsivity is very amusing. I like it very much.”

“Yeah. Riley’s always saying it’ll get me into trouble one day.”

“Riley?” He asked, frowning a little.

“My best friend.” I explained dismissively.

Rocco only nodded leading me to a chair in a conveniently small table. That was when I noticed the candles.

“Would you like some wine, Laura?” He offered.

Candles and now wine?

“Absolutely! Let’s give me an excuse to make you laugh other than me embarrassing myself.”

Rocco poured me a generous glass of wine and went back to his kitchen to give our dinner its final touches. I thought the timing perfect to satisfy my curiosities about him.

“Rocco, how come you speak such good English?” In spite of his heavy Italian accent, his pronunciation was perfect.

“I travelled a lot in my teens. Worked in a restaurant in New York for three years.”

I drank some of the wine, humming to myself in appreciation of both the wine and Rocco. If there’s anything that can turn me on is a cultured man who can cook.

“But you were born in Italy.” I continued with my inquiries.

Rocco moved about his kitchen with astonishing speed, stirring something here, another thing there. “My mother’s Italian, my father was French. I was married to an Italian woman as well.”

"Was married“?” I asked him with my complete inability to be subtle.

He turned to me and leaned on the kitchen sink, crossing his arms over his chest. I couldn’t help but stare at the bulging muscles there.

“What do you think of the wine?” He pointed his chin to the full glass on my hand. I blushed hotly.

I gulped a good amount of the  wine, trying to hide my shame behind the glass.

“It’s wonderful. Is it Italian, too?” Rocco clearly didn’t wish to talk about his wife. I bit my tongue inside my mouth, once again berating myself for being so damn curious.

Was it possible he was still married?

He offered me a little wry smile and returned to his pan. “No. We produce it here in France.”

I almost choked on another sip of the delicious red wine. “We?”

“Yes. I own a winery.”

“You own a fucking winery?”

“A wine company, actually.” He said matter-of-factly.

“Ok, so back it up a little.” Rocco returned to the table, placing cutlery  and a white handkerchief in front of me. “You’re half French, half Italian?”

“Yes.” He confirmed. His broad mouth amused.

“You can obviously cook.” I eyed the perfect pasta plate he’d just set in front of me. He pressed his lips into a line clearly trying not to laugh. “You’ve travelled a lot. You own a wine company! And on top of all that you look like this!” I gestured up and down his body.

That was when he lost his battle with his urge to laugh. I suddenly realized I was behaving like my sister. All raw honesty and no sense of when to keep my thoughts to myself. I blamed it on the wine.

“Yes, bella.”

“So, basically. You’re perfect, Rocco.”

“I wouldn’t say that, Laura.” He said as he sat himself down on the only other chair the size of the table allowed to exist.

Dear Lord, why must he keep saying my name like that? Doesn’t he know what an accent like that does to a woman panties?

“Something must be really wrong with you, then. Are you sure you’re not a pervert, a murderer or something awful like that?”

Are you sure you’re not still married? Was the question I didn’t voice.

That made him laugh again and look at me in a way that had me blushing.

“No. I’m just a man having dinner with a beautiful woman.”

At this point, after the idiot I was making of myself, I didn’t see the benefit in pretending to behave normally. He already knew my tongue was way too loose.

“Yes, and you think I’m beautiful,” I brought the wine to my lips again. “There’s that too.”

Rocco bit his smiling lips, then said “Oh, well. You are.” only to have me squirm in my chair. The wetness pooled in my underwear was already uncomfortable, but not at all unpleasant.

“Took you long enough to ask me out, though. I mean, you didn’t say a thing that entire first week…”

Wow. Subtle, Laura. Sophia would burst with pride if she could hear you right now.

“I was trying to find the best way to approach you.” He forked some spaghetti, put it in his mouth and slurped it, making a funny sound. The scene of the Lady and the Tramp sharing the spaghetti kiss flashed in my mind. I wouldn’t mind sharing my spaghetti with Rocco. Not at all. “I did offer myself to help you, didn’t I?” He added.

“Yes.”

“I wouldn’t have done so had you not been so beautiful.”

I knew I blushed again because the heat on my cheeks had nothing to do with the alcohol. With the pretext of folding my napkin over my thigh I cast my eyes down. “Well, if that’s the case, I’m glad you found a way to approach me.”

“Me, too.” He said, licking his upper lip in a way that should be considered a crime, so sexy it was.

Thoughts of what he could do with that tongue fired my imagination. I felt a warm, delicious shiver run down my spine. Something told me Rocco knew exactly what kind of feelings he was stirring in me.

“Now, Laura.” He sipped his wine, then went on. “It’s my turn to know a little about you.”

Rocco didn’t know what he was asking for. But he soon found out. He asked me about my about job and I plunged into the story of my life. I told him about the bistro, about my sister Sophia, and about Riley, of course.

Rocco was surprised to hear my best friend, Riley, was a man. Needless to say, I edited my description of my relationship with Ry. That would be awkward to explain.

And, hey, Riley is my best friend. We’re just friends, but we fuck. Yeah, we fuck, but we’re friends. It’s nothing complicated, though. Just sporadic sex. Might be worth to mention it happens with alarming frequency, too. What can I say, I like sex.

Bad idea.

“We’ve been best friends since we were 8, or 9 years old. Not sure. It’s simpler to say I’ve known him my whole life.” I hoped that explained things better.

“Sounds like he’s really special.” There was something about the way Rocco spoke. I thought I recognized his tone. I chose to ignore it, though.  

“Well, he’s my best friend.” I couldn’t help the rush of affection that washed over me whenever Ry popped into my mind.

“Hum.”

Hum?

For the second time I ignored Rocco’s reaction to me mentioning Riley and focused on the food. I wolfed the pasta he admitted to have made with his own two hands from scratch.

“Just some good eggs and the right kind of flour.” He’d humbly said, when I remarked how wonderful the texture and taste were.

What is it about a man who can cook?

Plates clean, and glasses refilled too many times to count, Rocco pushed up from the table and walked over to his record player. The piano from 'Can't Help Lovin' Dat Man’ filled the room. Rocco walked back towards me and offered me a tentative hand.

“Dance with me?”

I took his hand and stood on my feet, swaying a little. I only didn’t fall because he pressed me tightly against his chest, knocking my breath away.

“Steady there, bella.”

I took a deep breath that made me hyper aware of my breasts squashed against his chest. “I think I had way too much wine.” I smiled up at him. “How cliché of me.”

One of those sexy smiles tugged at the corner of Rocco’s mouth as he began dancing. One step to the left, another to the right, taking me with him. I was a pretty good dancer, but his wine had thrown me off my balance. Luckily, Rocco could lead well. It was almost hypnotizing the way his green eyes were fixed on my brown ones.

“You’re even more beautiful all flushed from the wine.” He said, almost whispering.

I was feeling so giddy by then, I looked down at my feet biting my lip to hide the big, stupid grin that threatened to split my face in half.

We moved together to the sound of Billie Holiday’s voice. My body couldn’t be more firmly pressed against Rocco’s. I could feel his warmth burrowing into my dress. The smell of his aftershave combined with the wine was making my mind foggier by the minute. I stopped dancing before I collapsed in his arms. He glanced down at me, puzzled.

“I think I need some air.”

Suddenly, he was all concern for me. He rushed me to his balcony, opened the French doors, that were simply doors in Paris, and promptly brought me a glass of cool water.

“Are you feeling better?” He asked, pressing a warm, big hand to my damp forehead.

I put a hand on his chest to calm him down. “I am. I really am, Rocco. Thank you.”

I allowed myself to stand on his balcony for a while, appreciating the Parisian lights and the cool air of the night blowing on my face. Remembering my earlier indiscretion, I deemed that a good opportunity to apologize.

“Rocco, I’m sorry about my uncontrollable curiosity earlier. About your wife, I mean. I had no right to be so intrusive.”

A corner of his mouth lifted with an effort intent on hiding some emotion.

“That’s life. In constant motion. That part of my life simply ended. Don’t be sorry for it. If I were still married I wouldn’t be able to be here enjoying this beautiful night in the company of a beautiful woman.”

If he were still married. He wasn’t married anymore. Thank god. He was probably just divorced. That made my indiscretion somehow better. The fact he’d called me beautiful again didn’t pass me by either.

“When you put it that way.” I leaned against the balcony railing and saw Rocco’s eyes surveying my body from head to toe.

I’d worn the only black dress I had packed. It wasn’t the longest dress in the world, its hem barely reached the middle of my thighs. I hadn’t really packed thinking about romantic candlelit dinners with handsome men.

“What about you, Laura?” His eyes were not on my face when he spoke.

“What about me, Rocco?” My voice had automatically become softer and somewhat sexier.

Funny how your body language subtly changes, without you even acknowledging at first, when the sexual tension increases and something in the air around you shifts.

“Don’t you have someone?” He asked.

“Of course not. I am here, aren’t I?” Did he think himself that hot that I’d accept to go on a date with him even being someone else’s girlfriend?

Rocco shook his head as though I had just said some blasphemy. “How can such a beautiful woman be alone?”

I didn’t particularly like his choice of words there. Alone. That annoying word made me think of Riley somehow.

“I’m not alone. I simply haven’t met anyone interesting enough to keep me.”

At my cheeky answer he took a few steps towards me, stopping just a few inches from touching the full length of his body to mine.

“What would it take to keep you?”

Tentatively, I bit my bottom lip and let my eyes linger on his mouth. “Maybe more of this wine?”

Rocco’s hands slipped around my waist and his forehead touched mine. “You’re bellissima, Laura.” With his lips less than an inch away from mine, it was impossible for our mouths not to brush each other’s when he spoke. “Sei una bella donna.”

Whatever the fuck he said, it sounded sexy enough that I closed the space between us and kissed him.

His mouth was warm and it tasted faintly of the wine we had both been drinking. A soft moan escaped my lips when he licked my bottom lip before his tongue invaded my mouth. Rocco’s big hands slid down from my waist to my ass. He grabbed a handful of it, pushing the hardness inside his trousers against me.

My hands tangled themselves in his wavy hair as I kissed him hungrily, loving the way he touched me, as though he’d been wanting to do it for ages. All of a sudden he broke the kiss and just stared at me. His green eyes were dark with lust. I just stood perfectly still as his hands went under my dress and he hooked his thumbs on the waistband of my lacy panties. I nodded in consent when his eyes asked me for it. He pushed them down my legs, gradually sinking to his knees as the flimsy fabric slid down, all the while keeping his burning eyes on mine.

Rocco kissed my knee before putting my leg over his shoulder. I shuddered with anticipation as his lips brushed the soft skin of my inner thigh. We went upwards, stopping only to administer little sucks on my skin that I was sure would leave a mark.

“Ah!” I moaned something like a suppressed scream when I felt the warmth of Rocco’s mouth suddenly closing on my clit.

He began gently, licking me as though he just wanted to know what I’d taste like. Rocco sucked, inhaling loudly on the center of my body, right there on his open balcony for anyone who happened to look up to see. Arching my back, I had to grab to steel railing of the balcony in order to keep myself from falling. With my other hand I grabbed a handful of his hair, trying to bring his face closer to my pulsing pussy.

All those combined feelings coursing through my body were wonderful. The fresh Parisian air gently ruffled my hair as Rocco devoured me with torturing slow speed. He delicately ran his tongue around that tiny nub of overly sensible nerves, driving me crazier by the second. I pulled his hair so roughly I heard him groan a satisfied sound that echoed through me as he continued sucking and flicking me with his tongue. When I tensed and he felt me wanting to shake and shatter, he moved down to tease my folds with unhurried generosity.

“Oh, god, Ry-” I bit my tongue and snapped my eyes open, my heartbeat suddenly wild. “Ri-Right there!” My body was used to another tongue, and my mouth was used to screaming another name. Upon realizing my mistake, I tried my best to fix it.

Looking down, I saw Rocco was still lost in me. He hadn’t noticed the fact I had almost called him by my best friend’s name while he was on the verge of making me come.

It took me a second to expel Riley from my mind and re-focus on Rocco.

He went on with his assault, digging the tips of his fingers on the flesh of my hips, holding me still as I went mad with pleasure, almost climbing his face. I inhaled sharply when my body surrendered to the increasing pleasure. A tremor took hold of me and, just to be sure, I bit down on my lip to keep me from screaming anything. Any name. Be that as it may, I still had to force myself to focus on the man who was presently making me come, because an idea (or in this case a name) it’s like a deadly virus. Once it burrows its way into your brain you can’t get rid of it anymore.

****

Later that night, when my legs were too weak and trembling to allow me to walk, Rocco carried me to his bed and showed me just what a wonderful lover he was. Skilled, attentive, patient, absolutely fantastic.

However, the whole time he was touching me I had trouble turning off my mind. I enjoyed it all very much, came at least three times, but my thoughts kept wanting to go a direction they had no business turning to.

****

The next morning I walked back to my hotel. Rocco had insisted I let him take me, but I felt like stretching my legs a little. So I had walked all fifteen minutes from his place to my hotel, barefeet and grinning like an idiot. Anyone who saw me on the street wouldn’t mistake me for anything else but a satisfied woman.

The first thing I did upon arriving was to prepare myself a bath and call Riley. The latter might not have been the best of ideas, considering the thoughts on my mind the night before, but who is a girl to call after such a lovely, lovely date but her best friend? Besides I had called him, or e-mailed him, everyday since I had landed in Paris. I saw no reason to make an exception.

“Ry! He’s perfect!” I enthused.

Over the phone I gave Riley a minucius description of Rocco, careful not to do the same depicting the night we had shared. Riley’s steady breaths were the only sound on the other side of the line for awhile, then his voice came through, reaching me.

“Yeah. He sounds great.” His tone didn’t indicate any emotion in particular. He only sounded a little tired. Bored. I attributed that to the time or the long day he had at his sci-fi convention.

“He’s incredible. He’s going to take me to dinner at the top of the fucking Eiffel Tower, Ry!”

“Wow. Didn’t even know you could do that.”

“Yeah! You can!”

There was another silent pause that stretched for long enough to worry me the call had suddenly ended.

“Ry? You there?”

I heard Riley’s sigh, heavy and long. “So you’re like...dating this guy, Ells?” He asked.

I had to stop to think about my answer. I had slept with Rocco, had agreed to have another date with him, but I wasn’t sure that meant I was dating him. Anyway, I’d leave in a couple of weeks. There’d be no point in forming an attachment to him.

“No. I don’t think so. It’s just a thing while I’m here, you know.”

“Right.”

I knew Riley like the back of my hand. Better, in fact. I probably had looked at Riley’s face more times than I had studied my own hand. Something was wrong with him. Even his damn breathing over the distance of an ocean told me that much.

“How was the convention, Ry?”

“Fine.” Monosyllabic answer. Strong sign he was all but fine. He was never fine when he said he was fine. Normally, he hated this conventions so much, he had lots to complain about.

“I found your book here! Fancy that! R.L. Fitzgerald and his time travelling adventures in French!” I said, trying to cheer him up.

“Oh, yeah, we had that translated.” He would’ve sounded more enthusiastic had I told him I had a bad rash.

“You ok, Riley? You sound weird.”

I heard another sigh and the shuffling of paper. “Yeah, yeah. It’s just that I have this deadline for the new book, but I’m blocked. It’s weird when you’re not at the bistro. It just doesn’t feel the same without my muse around.” In my mind, I could see with perfect clarity the smile he tried to fake. It killed me that something might be wrong with him when I wasn’t there to help. “When are you back?” He asked.

“In 2 weeks.”

“I miss you, Ells.”

“Miss you too, Ry.” And as I said the words, I felt them sting. “Be a good boy. I’ll be back soon.”

“Ok. I guess I’ll see you soon, then.” He said. “I love you.”

This time the pause came from my side.

“Love you too, Ry.”

I hang up, wishing furiously I could be magically transported to where he was just to give him a hug and make him tell me what was actually wrong with him. His beat up excuse “Oh, It’s just the book” hadn’t worked in years. It was never the damn book. It was something else. Something else entirely.

***

Quicker than I would’ve liked, my time in France was almost over. I had only a weekend left. Most of my time had been spent either cooking or being fucked by Rocco. The more time we had together, the easier it became for me to get absorbed by him. And when we had sex I found that he was all I could think about and his name was the one I screamed with every orgasm.

Rocco made me wish I had more time with him. That, when only a few weeks ago, I couldn’t have fathomed a whole month away from work.

He made a point of taking me to all the sites a tourist in France absolutely can’t miss. We went to the Louvre, The Arc de Triomphe, Notre Dame and, of course, the Eiffel Tower. And he didn’t just take me to see the tower, he took me to a restaurant up in the tower with a lovely view of the Seine and a delicious meal I was sure he paid a lot for.

I was enjoying being wined and dined way too much for my own good. Leaving would actually feel a little bitter.

For my very last weekend, Rocco took me to his winery, as he’d promised he’d do. Before the sun was even up, we left Paris and drove for almost 7 hours to the south of France. I didn’t mind the long drive one bit. I got to see the sun rising over the most beautiful scenery I’ve set my eyes upon.

His winery was located at Languedoc, simply the biggest wine producing region in the whole damn world. The place was a feast for the eyes, a combination of the blue of the sky, the sepia of the ground, the green, red and brown of the leaves. It was all breathtaking. Everywhere you happened to turn your head to, you’d meet extensive vineyards as far as the eye could see. By the time we reached our destination the sun was already up and warming my skin.

Rocco let me loose in one of his warehouses. I was like a child in a toystore. We had a wonderful lunch at the main house, where he actually lived, and I couldn’t stop staring everywhere, so grand and gorgeous it all was.

When a woman poured me my third glass of wine I wondered just how rich Rocco was. The man owned a wine company with wineries in France, Italy and California, too. He even had servants to pour his wine! With a little practice I controlled my tongue and didn’t make such a fool of myself as to ask him “Hey, buddy, just how rich are you, anyway?”

All I cared about was how utterly perfect he was being to me. I didn’t think myself the kind of woman who would be all silly and giddy over being romanced like this. But then again, I had never been romanced like this. Ever.

I spent the day being shown the extent of Rocco’s property. He showed me the vineyards, some of which were on his own lands, some others were part of some cooperative. We visited warehouses, laboratories, the bottling lines, wrapping up our little tour at a wine tasting where I forgot you’re not supposed to swallow every wine you taste.

As a result of my wine tasting I got a little dizzy. Rocco lay a blanket under a vineyard where we remained until the light of the day vanished.

“What variety of grape is this?” I asked him, pointing to the lustful bunch of black grapes hanging above us.

“Cabernet Sauvignon.”

“Of course. Only my favourite wine grape!” Rocco was lying by my side with his hands crossed under his head looking up at the grapes. “I got hand it to you, Rocco. You sure know how to seduce a woman.”

He gave me that little crooked smile I now knew to be his most charming feature. “Good to know. I didn’t even have to try very hard. You’re very easy, Laura. Especially after a few glasses of wine.”

“Oh, yeah?” I slapped his shoulder in mock insult. “So you admit to inebriating me, uh? I knew that was your plan all along. Get me drunk then get into my pants.”

Rocco laughed and pushed himself to his knees to pick me a bunch of the dark grapes. He lowered the bunch down to my lips. “Open your mouth, bella.”

I did as he told me to and he dropped a grape into my mouth. Its was surprisingly sweeter and juicier than I would have expected it to be.

“Mmm, this is delicious. So sweet!”

Rocco kissed a corner of my mouth, whispering “Almost as sweet as you, bella.”

I smiled giddily, lifting my head to reach another grape from the bunch he was holding.

“I’ll be sorry to see you go, Laura.” His voice was suddenly low with a trace of sorrow. I believed him. He would be sorry to see me go. I realized I’d feel the same.

“You know, I’m surprised to say I’ll be sorry to go.” I turned sideways, propping myself on one elbow. “I thought I’d go crazy a whole month away from my bistro! Now I actually wish I could stay longer. Guess I have you to blame for that.” I leaned over and planted a closed mouthed kiss on his lips. “Thank you for the wonderful time, Rocco. I’ll never forget it.”

Rocco eyed me softly then pulled me in for a long kiss. The sweetness of the grapes I’d eaten transferred to his mouth. He laid his strong body over mine, kissing me with thorough patience, the way he would were that the last time he’d kiss me. And I guess, in a way, it was.

His lips skimmed my collarbone, and his fingers pulled my top down exposing the swell of my breasts. He kissed the soft mountains too, going from the left to the right one. I was breathless by the time he reached my mouth again.

“Laura.” The seriousness underlining his tone made me sit up. Rocco waited for me to adjust my top before continuing. “I have to go to New York next month. I have some business to attend to there. I was hoping I could see you again. In fact, I would love to be able to see you again.” He reached out a hand and caressed my cheek. “I’d hate to think this is the last I’ll be seeing of you, bella.”

Suddenly it struck me just how much I wanted to see him again. To keep seeing him. There was something about Rocco, his maturity I supposed, that attracted me to him. Had I met him in other circumstances I would’ve thought him the right man for me. The man I’d try and make my plans work with. But things being as they were I was scared. He lived in another continent and I was already pretty taken by him. I wasn’t sure deepening our connection would be very wise.

“I would love you to see me again, Rocco.” I said, in spite of myself.

He smiled. “Good.” Then kissed me again, reaching a hand down to lift my skirt and make love to me under a vineyard.

***

“Wait a minute. You met a guy who’s rich, handsome, half french, half Italian, and owns a wine company?”

“Yep.”

“Why aren’t you married to him already?” Sophia asked, while she drove me from the airport to my house.

“He’s too perfect, Soph!”

“Yeah. Clearly.”

“He also lives in another continent!”

“Well, something had to be wrong with him.” Hearing my discontent sigh, my sister reached blindly for my hand without taking her eyes off the road. I clasped our fingers together, looking down at them ruefully. “Will you see him again?” She asked.

“He says he’s coming here. In a month or so.”

“What did Riley thought of him?”

The question made me look up at her, wide-eyed. It was impossible for me to have a conversation with Sophia where Riley wasn’t a subject to be covered. Maybe she was the one harnessing a childhood love for him.

“I don’t know. Nothing I guess.”

“Huh.”

“Huh? What do you mean huh?”

“Nothing, Laura.”

I scoffed, annoyed. “Soph, I love you, but you’re a royal pain in my ass.”

“Yep. I am.”

She drove in silence for a couple of minutes until it began to make me feel uncomfortable.

“So…” Since she’d mentioned Riley, I felt compelled to tell her about that little thing concerning his name.

“What did you do, Laura?” She asked, picking up at the undertone in my voice.

In doubt with Soph, it’s always better to just spill it. “I almost called Rocco Riley once or twice.”

Sophia, the attentive driver she was, turned her head back and forth between the road and me. “What do you mean almost called him Riley? You mean in bed???”

Defensive, I said. “We weren't on his bed.”

Her eyes were fit to jump out of their sockets. “Shit, Laura!”

“Come on, Soph! Riley’s the only guy I’ve slept with for the past six months, you know. I’m used to saying his name when I come! It doesn't mean anything!”

“Doesn't mean anything...right.” She gave me a reproving look. “When I masturbate thinking about Henry Cavill it means nothing. When you physically fuck one man thinking about another when you come, it means something, Laura!”

“Stop saying nonsense! I didn’t fuck Rocco thinking about Riley.” I hadn’t done that, had I? “It means nothing! Anyway, Riley’s is coming over later.”

“To fuck you?”

“No, Sophia, we’re not bunnies. We don’t just fuck, we are fucking friends, too. We actually enjoy talking to each other! Besides, he doesn't annoy me half as much as you do!”

“Okay, easy there.” She squeezed my hand lightly. “But will you keep fucking him? I mean, now that you’ve met Mr. Perfect?”

That was something I knew I had to think about. That was also something I was avoiding thinking about. At the moment, I could only think about sleeping the jet leg off. Nevermind who I fucked and who I didn’t. I would postpone dealing with that until I woke up.

“Don't ask me hard questions, Soph.”

“Well, you better make up your mind before some other hard thing forces you to.”

***

RILEY

Laura was one of those women who had no idea how beautiful they were. She wasn’t the most beautiful woman in the world or anything like that. She wasn’t even the prettiest one I knew. My eyes, however, saw her as the most beautiful a woman could ever be. But that might only be because I loved her so damn much.

She was my best friend. The best person in the world, as far as I was concerned. She was also the love of my life, though I doubted she knew that.

After thirty straight days away from her, I was looking forward as much as I was dreading seeing her again. Through the phone, hearing her talk about how she had met the perfect guy was one thing. But to actually see her face while she talked about him, about how fucking perfect he was, smiling that smile I  pictured on her face whenever I thought of her...That would be shit.

I arrived at her house, easily making my way inside with the key she’d given me the day she bought the place. Her kitchen was probably my favorite place in the world. I loved its smells; The herbs she cultivated right outside in her greenhouse, or the fresh fruits she insisted she must have on her table. She was always cooking something in there, especially when I came around. Her house felt more like home to me than my own sterile apartment.

“Is this apple pie I smell?” I yelled over the music playing. Ella Fitzgerald. The other love of my life.

Laura jumped, startled, clutching a hand to her chest. “Jesus, Riley!” Her startle quickly faded and in its place was a wide, welcoming smile. The kind that could always make me feel better even if I were having the worst day of my life. Her face lit up and she opened her arms to me. I didn’t hesitate to walk into them.

I hugged her tightly. The gesture came to me as easily as the urge to breath. In that embrace I conveyed to her just how much I had missed her. I pressed my mouth and nose to the soft curve of her neck, smelling the coconut oil she used in her curls. As I touched her, it was like those thirty days had, in fact, been thirty years. When you’re used to having someone ever present in your life, a month without them will feel like an eternity.

I wrapped my arms around her ribs, momentarily lifting her foot from the ground. “I missed you, Ells.” I said.

She giggled, clearly tipsy, as I lowered her down. “I missed you too, shithead.”

“Shithead?”

“You never called me, Riley!” She drew back, pouting her full brownish lips. My shoulder received a little punch she must’ve intended to be playful, but half drunk people never could measure their strength very well.

“Well, I figured you’d be too busy having romantic dinners at the top of the Eiffel Tower.” With Mr. Oh So Perfect and Rich and Handsome.

“Oh, that I did.” Her lips lifted in the smile I was hoping she wouldn’t smile.

“So, how was it?” I didn’t really want to know, except she’d tell me anyway so I just asked her upfront. Rip off the band-aid.

“Oh, wonderful! Beautiful! Amazing! I want to go back!”

I pulled up a chair as she did a little waltz on her way to the kitchen sink, where her wine rested. She was already tipsy. All foolish little smiles and unsteady feet; In my favorite state. It was surreal to me how she could never built up a tolerance to wine. She drank at least a glass every single night.

“Ells, you do know you have a problem, don’t you?”

She wide-eyed me over the rim of her glass. “I do?”

“You’re an alcoholic, darling.”

My joke was replied with a loose, wide grin. The kind only people besotted with wine could muster. “Shut up, Riley.” She twirled my name loosely around her tongue. I had to smile at her.

“I’m serious, honey.”

“But Ry, you have to taste this! It’s so good!” She walked to where I was seated, leaning over her table. On their own accord my eyes travelled to her breasts, squashed against the wooden surface, before they effortly went up to her face. “Here. Try this. It’s delicious!”

I sipped the wine from the glass she had thrusted under my nose and nodded in appreciation. I wasn’t much of a wine guy, but the thing really was good.

“It’s from Rocco’s winery.” She said, instantaneously bittering my mouth.

Oh, right. Perfect Fucking Rocco. Of course she loved his fucking wine. Why wouldn’t she?

“It’s alright,” I half-lied. “But I’d rather have my beer.”

“On the fridge.” She jerked a thumb towards her red fridge where she kept a reserve of long necks exclusively for when I came around.

I drank my beer to wash out the aftertaste of Perfect Rocco’s wine and watched her moving about her kitchen, singing along with Ella.

Sometimes, while I looked at her like that, just being completely herself in her own element, I played a little mental game with myself.

Why do you love her so much Riley?

I supposed I had the little things to blame. Little things like the smell of cinnamon on the tip of her fingers because she knew I loved cinnamon on everything you could add it to. Or the gentle sway of her hips which had absolutely no rhythm at all once she exceeded her two-glasses-of-wine-limit-until-Laura’s-half-drunk. I loved it when, after sex or even regular sleepover nights, I'd wake up before her and watch her sleep with all those wild curls around her head. I loved to tangle my hands in her hair while she kissed me. Loved to tug at it as hard as I knew she liked, pulling her mouth away from mine only to have the pleasure of watching her, flush faced and parted lips, silently beg me to kiss her again.

She opened a cabinet above her head and had to stand on the tips of her toes to reach something on the top shelf. I was about to go get it myself, but the crochet top she had made herself lifted a little exposing her tattoo. It was a little red carnation positioned between the dimples on the small of her back. I loved that tattoo. I remembered holding her hand the day she decided to get it. She cried through the whole ordeal.

I loved her for the little things. Simple things. Like the fact she was Laura. My Laura. And I just loved her for that. Because she was in my life. Because I couldn't remember a time when I didn't have her by my side.

“Do you need help getting that, shortie?”

“No. I got it.” She finally reached what she’d been aiming for. “And I’m not short, Riley.” She added, eyeing me over her shoulder.

“You are shorter than I.” I teased.

“Doesn’t make me short. Makes you overgrown”

I continued to watch her, just torturing myself really. I didn’t know if our arrangement was still standing. The point of visiting her, other than just seeing her after thirty damn days, was to understand how deep involved with this Rocco she was.

If I made a move and it led us to her bed, then I’d know I was still fine. If I tried to kiss her and she pushed me away though...Then I’d have much less time than I thought I did.

Truth be told I would deserve to be rejected. I’m a lazy idiot. Five years we’ve been doing this let’s-just-have-sex-when-we-want-to thing. I could’ve have tried to get her back meantime. But I didn’t. All I cared about was the fact that I had her whenever I found myself wanting her, what happened frequently.

Now this Rocco guy had come along. And the way she talked about him stirred some unfriendly feelings in me. Sure, she had dated guys before. She just never talked about them quite so enthusiastically. They were just guys lucky enough to pass through her life. Same way I dated a woman or two even after we started having no strings attached sex. In the end we would always find ourselves single again. And in her bed or mine.

Something was different about her though. Even before she met her perfect man.

“Riley?”

I realized I had been staring blankly at my beer while lost in useless thoughts.

“What?”

“Wake up, buddy.”

Laura was standing in front of me, moving her hips softly to and fro, with one inviting hand extended my way.

That hand seemed to say "Come on, Riley. Get up and glue your body to mine while I rub it on you and drive you fucking crazy when you don’t even know if you can touch me later tonight."

Laura knew I couldn’t dance for shit. That didn’t stop her trying to teach me, though. Not even after I had stepped on all of her toes bad enough to leave her limping for a couple of days.

“I’ll step on your toes, Ells.”

She downed the rest of her wine like it was a shot of tequila, set her glass down on her table and grabbed my arm, yanking me up to my feet.

“My toes are immune to you.”

She pressed her body so close to mine I tensed when her breasts touched my chest.

Strange. I was so used to touching her.

I put my right hand on her small waist, she tangled the fingers of our left hands together and put her other one on my shoulder. We (or maybe only she) began to move. I did my best to accompany her even though my legs and hips had nowhere near the grace hers did. Also, I wasn’t as giddy as she.

Didn’t take me long to step on her toes.

I immediately stopped dancing, if what I was doing could be called dancing. “See, I told you I’d step on your toes!”

“Come here, Riley.” She pulled me back to her, holding my hand with renewed purpose. “I’ll teach you how to dance even if it’s the last thing I do.”

“You’ve been trying to teach me how to dance since prom, Laura. Almost 20 years of failed lessons should’ve convinced you I’m no Swayze.” Laura ignored me. I stepped on her toes and we stopped again.

“Riley!” She said, throwing her hands up in mild exasperation. “How is it possible for you to suck so much at this! It’s simple. Like sex!”

“Are you saying I suck at sex too, Laura?”

“No, Riley. I’m saying you shouldn’t suck at dancing.” This time when she resumed her swaying she rested her cheek against mine, and pressed her free hand on the space between my shoulder blades. “We just have to move together.” She shifted her hips, fitting them into mine. “Forget about your duck feet. Focus on your hips. You move when I move.”

Her hips swung, and she let the hand on my back slid down to my ass. When she moved, she guided me with a demanding hand on one cheek.

“You’re grabbing my ass, Laura.”

“Yes. Nothing I haven’t done before. Now feel it.”

“Feel what?”

“The rhythm.”

“Oh, right.” What I was feeling was no rhythm.

With Laura’s guidance my hips found they could move, after all. Where hers went, mine followed, just like when we did missionary and her hips thrusted up hungrily, following mine, every time I pushed out of her.

“That’s it, Ry. You’re doing it.” She said with a satisfied smile. To me, it felt like we were trying to dry-hump while standing at a 90 degree angle. All that sex talking was getting to me. “Now let’s move your duck feet. One to the left, one the right. Like this.”

She stepped back with her hands still on me and moved her feet, showing me what I was supposed to do. I knew well enough what I was meant to do because she’d given me that same lesson a thousand times before. And a thousand times before I had failed at it. Be that as it may, I wasn’t about to stop her. Any excuse to be this close to her was welcome.

Laura’s body touched the full length of mine again, and by some miracle (and her hand still on my ass) I managed to dance without hurting her feet. I was hardly breathing afraid to lose my rhythm.

“Look at you, Mr. Duck Feet! You’re dancing!”

I looked at her face and any concentration I had on the dancing was drained by her beaming smile. Without even acknowledging it at first, I leaned over and kissed her.

Laura’s breathing changed with surprise, but she kissed me back, nonetheless. I was afraid maybe she’d pull away and say Oh, no! We can’t because of Rocco! but she didn’t. Instead, her hand down south squeezed and all the effort I had put into not getting hard while she rubbed her hips against me, vanished. Her other hand grabbed my hair when my tongue entered her mouth, enjoying her receptiveness.

I kissed her for a long time. I kissed her until she was moaning, breathless. And when she drew back for breath I weaved my fingers through her curls and brought her mouth back to mine, then kissed her some more. I kissed her to let her know I had missed her like hell. I kissed her to let her know I loved her and sex wasn’t all I wanted from her. I wanted cinnamon smelling mornings everyday.

“Wow.” She drew back gently, standing at arm's length from me, flushed and breathing raggedly. “Somebody missed me.” She glanced down between us, to the obvious hardness constricted by my jeans.

“Well, you shouldn’t have grabbed my ass.”

Her lips quirked up a little. Not quite in a smile, though. My glasses were hanging askew on the bridge of my nose. She straightened it, then removed her hands from me completely.

“Riley.” That was it. She said my name the exact way she did it just before we broke up some fourteen years ago. Nothing good ever followed that tone of voice. “I’m not sure we can do this.” She added, standing at least five feet away from me.

“Rocco?” Stupid question, Riley. Of course it’s about Rocco. Bet your chips on it.

“He’s coming here.” She sounded almost apologetic, as if she owned me the explanation. I guess she kind of did. “Next month.”

I could just tell her.

Tell her you’ve always loved her and fuck this Rocco. Tell her before he comes here and makes her fall in love with him, Riley. Tell her!

“He’s coming, like...to stay?”

She shook her head. “Not really. He’s got some business here, I guess. It will be just a visit.”

If it’s just a visit why can’t I touch you?

I glanced down at my feet, clicking my tongue. “You guys are gonna try the long distance thing?”

The way she regarded me made clear she understood what was implied in my question. Long distance hadn’t worked for us when we were crazy in love with each other and only a country away. How could it work for her and some guy she met a month ago who lived an ocean away?

“I don’t really know, Ry. I mean, I think I’d like to-”  

She didn't finish that sentence. A sharp sound made her jump. Her kitchen timer announcing my pie was ready. Suddenly, I didn’t feel like eating it anymore.

Laura turned her back to me and removed her pie from the oven. Antiseptically, as if on autopilot, she set two plates, two forks and the steaming pie on the table. She didn’t even wait for it to cool down a little. She just cut two slices off of it, burning herself on the process, and lay a piece on each of the plates.

I stared down at my apple pie slice, inhaling the scent of cinnamon it gave off.

“Do you ever think about the future, Riley?”

I raised my eyes from my plate to see Laura sitting on the chair next to mine holding her refilled wine glass.

I had to ponder that. This kind of existentialist questions invariably had the same kind of answers. “I guess so. Doesn’t everybody?”

She shook her head slightly. “That's not what I mean, Ry. I mean, do you ever think about your future? What you want your life to be like some five years from now.”

I forked a piece of pie. It was still hot enough to burn the roof of my mouth. I opened it wide pulling air in. Laura was gazing intently at me with an unsettling  seriousness. I tried a chew or two and swallowed the hot pie. It went down burning my throat. I sipped my beer to cool my pipe down before I answered her.

“Not really, Ells.” I said with sincerity. “I’m just leaving one day at a time.”

She cast her eyes down, swirling the burgundy liquid in her glass. There was some transient insecurity in her eyes that made her bite the corner of her lip.

“I want to have a baby, Riley.” Her voice was small enough that I almost didn't understand her. Actually, I thought I had misunderstood her.

“WHAT?” I asked her flabbergasted and too loudly, like a man with hearing problems.

Still staring at her drink, she shrugged almost apologetically. “I want a baby.”

It was lucky I didn’t have a piece of pie in my mouth in that moment, because I would’ve choked. Even without it, I did choke. Externally, I was paralyzed, only my brain was hollering at me.

There's another chance, Riley! That's your last! Seize it! Tell her! NOW, you idiot!

Laura’s voice was even lower as she continued, unaware of my shock. “I’m a woman, you know. I’m not getting any younger. The clock is ticking for me.” When she brought her eyes up to meet mine I tried my best to put on a neutral expression. “I want to have someone and I want to be a mother before it’s late.”

As her best friend I was supposed to say something supportive back. I couldn’t though. It never crossed my mind she had been feeling that way. Of course, not. I selfishly tended to think of Laura as an extension of myself. I wasn’t contrary to the idea of having a family one day. However, that wasn’t something occupying my mind at the moment.

Silence stretched for a while, until I physically made my mouth form words.

“Why are you telling me this now, Ells?”

Laura made another short pause to bite at her lip. She always did that before telling me something she was afraid to voice.

“I like Rocco, Ry. I really do.”

Oh, man. She likes him and she wants a baby. You're in deep shit, Riley.

Under the table, my hands clenched into fists. “You’re thinking…” An unwanted humorless laugh escaped my lips. “You think Rocco might be the guy?”

“Maybe.” Uncertain. Apologetic. “I don’t know. But I like him and I like liking him.” Her eyes didn't meet mine when she spoke. That was for the better. Not even with all the will in the planet could I have disguised the expression on my face.

Why does she sound so sorry for wanting what she wants?

Laura was behaving like a child telling a parent about some naughty thing they'd done.

Why didn't I know she wanted babies? Shouldn't I have known? Am I not her best friend? Who the fuck would know her better than I?

My forehead was already tense from my furrowed brows when her voice finally reached my ears.

“Riley? You there?”

I was getting what I deserved. I had years to tell her. Years. Now we were both on that age where casual sex became a senseless activity and serious adult urges replaced the need to have some fun. Stupidly, I hadn’t bothered to worry myself over such things. I had her. Her body. I had a good life. I had more money than I had expected to gain with a degree in English. I was young, I was living the life. Why would I worry about children and the future? Why wouldn't I think sporadic sex with me would be enough for her forever? Why would I think she'd meet some perfect guy in Europe? Beautiful as she was?

Yeah, Riley. Guess you thought you two would be doing this friends with benefits routine until you were 80 years old, you idiot.

“Rocco’s older than I.” Her voice was underlined with unmistakable guilt. Like when we were children and she'd tell me she’d eaten the last cookie. It was clear she felt like she owed me that explanation. “He’s got this maturity I envy. He’s been married once. He's seen a lot. Been to a lot of places. He’s handsome, he’s smart, he’s kind. He’s just...He’s perf-”

“Perfect, yeah. You’ve said so.” I didn’t mean to sound so bitter, except it couldn't be helped. Every time she mentioned this Perfect Rocco a sort of antagonistic feeling seized me. I saw him as the enemy. The competition.

“I’m not sure I can afford to wait any longer. I have to actually start searching for the things I want rather than just expect them to fall out of the sky. Look at Soph! My younger sister beat me to it. I’m wasting time and viable eggs here.” She gave me a wan smile I wasn’t able to return. “You’re the last man I loved. You’re also the first. And I'm almost 36 years old, Riley. Soon enough children won’t be a viable option for me.”

She sounded embarrassed to say those things to me. I thought she told me everything. She did tell me everything. Why hadn't I heard about babies before?

She was afraid, Riley. Maybe she didn't think you'd understand.

Was that it? Did she think I wouldn't be able to understand her? To support her?

Well, you do have sex with her. Maybe she thought you’d feel pressured into having this baby yourself.

That's nonsensical.

I had always been her best friend, since forever. She always came to me with her problems. I had always listened to her, helped her even when I didn’t know how.

She had also said she wanted someone. Not just to have a baby, but to have someone.

That someone could be you, man. Just fucking TELL HER!

“I thought you hated kids.” She usually wasn't very fond of the little things.

She gave me a roll of her dark brown eyes. “I hate other people's misbehaving children, Riley. I won't hate my own child.”

I nodded. The only reaction I could manage.

It was unfathomable to me that Laura, someone I had known for over 20 years, was feeling something so deep and so personal without me knowing about it. I, who could tell her mood by her breathing. I, who could hear her unspoken thoughts by her smiles. Me. Riley. Her first love. Her best friend.

You, who is in love with her. You who didn't even know what was going on in her head.

I opened my mouth not knowing what I was going to say until I said it. “I want you to get everything you want from life, Ells.” I reached for her hand, resting on top of the wooden table. “I only want you to be happy. If having a baby with Rocco is going to do that, then have a baby. I’ll support you. I always do.”

Laura’s eyes flashed with something that looked to me like disappointment. It happened way too fast for me to judge all the meaning in that look though.

As her friend I said what I was supposed to say. What I thought I was supposed to say, anyway. As a man who loved her, I was only bullshitting myself. I wanted her to be happy. More than anything I wanted that. Though a darker, more selfish part of me wanted her to be happy with me. Being mine. And mine alone.

“I’m not saying it has to be with Rocco, Ry. I’m not even sure he’s really coming here. It’s just that meeting him got me thinking about what I want for my life.”

There was a kind of big-eyed expectancy in her face. She seemed to be crestfallen. And that sense that she was trying to apologize for something wouldn't leave me alone.

Once again I felt neglectful of her as a friend. I’d been so consumed in my wanting her, as a man, I had failed to dig deeper into that little change I had noticed in her a while back.

She was right about not getting any younger. None of us was getting any younger. He'll, we'd be arriving in middle age land soon. And she was a woman, too. If I got the itch, I could sire children at the age of 70, provided that the guy downstairs didn't let me down. Laura was enslaved to her natural condition.

For the second time, I opened my mouth to say one thing and said another completely different from what I needed to say.

“Ells, just do what you think you need to do in order to be happy. I’m not sure I would have this courage, you know.” I laughed a nervous, ridiculous sound, horrified at myself when I heard Laura's apologetic tone mimicked in my voice. “I know nothing about babies, but I promise I’ll be the best uncle in the world.”

She removed her hand from mine, preferring to hold her wine glass instead. The smile she forced herself to give me was a little down at the corners. “Yes. I’m sure you’d be a wonderful uncle, Ry.”

“Yeah.”

None of us said anything else in the moments that followed. With every tick of the clock I felt more and more uncomfortable. The sensation was foreign to me. Especially around Laura. She was my safe place. My home. Who I could always feel good being myself with.

What the fuck just happened?

Why do I feel so wrong?

Why do I feel like saying that I'm sorry? Why?

Because you just lost your last chance, Riley. That's why.

To shut my mind up I ate my pie tastelessly, chewing it out of obligation for all the trouble she went through to make it. We made small, awkward talk with long, uncomfortable silences in between. She told me about the things she’d seen in France, subtly not mentioning Rocco anymore. I told her about the progress I was making with my book, the sci-Fi convention I had been obligated to attend until we finally reached the point when it wasn’t socially rude for me to say I had to go, making up an excuse that was plausible, if not good.

“I have to wake up early tomorrow. I have a meeting with Andrew. He wants to know how book 7 is going.”

“Oh, right. We're in book 7 already. Have you killed Laura yet?”

She smiled so forcefully up at me I had to fight a sudden urge to kiss her with all the tenderness I could muster. She was only faking that smile for my sake. So I wouldn't worry or feel bad about leaving her.

“No. I plan to give her a romantic interest. There are some sex scenes involved, too. It makes her death more tragic if I do it after she experiments a little happiness. You know, the calm before the storm.”

“Yeah, I know.”

Contrasting strongly with the tipsy, dancing woman she had been when I first arrived, Laura was now melancholy. Her eyes were somehow larger, glossy. Widened as she fought against the itch to cry.

“I really have to go, Ells.” I lied a little. Or a lot.

What kind of friend was I? I could stay, but I doubted I could’ve helped her. Somehow I knew that if I stayed we would inevitably end up naked on her bed. As much as I would like that, I knew it’d be very, very wrong after all the words passed between us.

“I’m glad you came, Ry. I really did miss you.”

I pushed up from my chair, pulled her to her feet and hugged her. Her lips pressed against the skin of my neck. Her arms were tight around me. She exhaled a shaky breath and I could've sworn I felt the wetness tears on my skin.

“I love you, Ells.” I said in her hair, idiotically wishing she could understand  what I meant.

She pulled away. Sad smile and dry eyes. “I love you too, R.L Fitzgerald.” And I wished that meant so much more than it did.

I left accompanied by a sense of foreboding, leaving Laura listening to Ella sing one of my favourite songs.

“Yeah, Riley. You got it bad and that ain’t good.” I muttered to myself. “It ain’t good, at all.”

***

Here’s what I understand about being in love with someone you cannot (or maybe can, but don’t) have. Me being one of those rare creatures who only ever truly loved a single woman his entire life: You will take ‘em as you can get ‘em.

After college, when I came back home, I thought maybe Laura and I would pick things up where we had left them. She was dating some unimportant guy, but I just thought maybe she’d ditch him for me. After all I was me. The one to whom she had said when we broke up “It doesn’t matter whether we’re together or not. I love you anyway. I always will because you’re the love of my life.”

Well, my hopes proved to be hopeless, because she dated the guy for a full year after we graduated. In that time I dated other girls, too. I wasn’t going to sit like a jealous idiot waiting for her.

But I also never told her I wanted her back. I just hoped, silently, she would came up to me and say “Hey, Riley. I still love you like crazy. Let’s get back together.”

So I guess you could say we not being together presently was both our faults. Mine for being lazy. Hers, for not giving me a window when I had the courage to jump in.

We moved on with our lives. As friends still because, no matter who was in love with whom or who had broken up with whom, I needed her in my life. I was used to having her around like the air I breathed. I had to call her every new idea I had for my books. She had to tell me about every interesting thing that popped into her head. We just had to talk. We loved one another. Romantically or not.

I wasn’t surprised in discovering I was good at being just Laura’s friend. Even when we were an actual couple I’d been her best friend. Friendship was something extrinsic to our sexual relationship.

For years we worked wonderfully as friends. I wasn’t even aware I was still in love with her. Most of the time I could see, being the man I am, that she was a beautiful, sexy woman and I was attracted to her. How could I not be? Though my love for her was dormant, I still loved her. And I knew I did. But I thought I only loved her as I friend. That the heart wrenching, passionate love I had for her as a teenager and young man had morphed into a kind of brotherly affection, however incestuous. I was proved wrong when we (she more than I) had one too many on my 30th birthday. I still suspect she put something she shouldn’t have in my cake.

She’d been drunk that night. As drunk as I’ve ever seen her and Laura’s the girl who taught me how to drink. However particularly vulnerable to wine she might be, she is known to hold her liquor. That night, though...

I wasn’t as drunk as her. I hadn’t even touched the cake. I wasn’t a cake person. She had only made it for the symbolism. Blowing candles and all that shit. Anyway, I remember everything about that night. Unlike her I know exactly how we ended up waking up in the state we did. Next morning, when she had asked me what had happened though, I had told her “I have no fucking idea.”

Once again I had the silent hope she’d come to me. Ask me to try again. Ask me to be hers. She didn’t.

But hey, you’ll take ‘em as you can get ‘em.

I felt bad after that. A little like I had taken advantage of her. She’s Laura, though. She can take care of herself. To be honest, she’s the one who can take advantage of me if she decides to. More than bad or guilty, though, I had felt stupid. Stupid for not realizing how much I still wanted her. How much I still loved her. Otherwise I could've very well stopped her when she threw her drunk self at me that night, asking me to kiss her.

Second time we slept together none of us had been drunk. Not too much, anyway. Just lonely, perhaps. I sure as hell was. Furthermore she’d been so damn beautiful that night, at her sister’s wedding, I’d have to be made of ice not to want to kiss her. Once my feelings for her had resurfaced when I thought they were inexistent, I caught myself constantly wanting to kiss her, or touch any part of her I could get my hands on.

She let me kiss her that night. Let me undress her. Make love to her, three or maybe four times, I don’t really remember. All I remember is that from that day forward we had a few other escapades until we sat down to talk, at her suggestion.

“We should stop.”

“We really should.”

“Let’s stop.”

“Yeah, let’s. But it was good, wasn’t it?”

“Yeah. Really, really good.”

“Then why stop?”

“Our friendship is too important.”

“Yeah.”

“But, oh god, it’s good.”

“Yeah, it really is.”

“Really good…”

That discussion had ended with our clothes out of our bodies and our answer clear on our mutual desperation to get our bodies together.

“Let’s not stop. Let’s just be careful.”

I had no reason to be careful as it was. I was way past the point of being careful.

That was my second chance. My second lost chance when I could have said to her ‘Laura, let’s try again. I still love you’, but I didn’t. Instead I thought This way you can have her. What if you say something and she says no and you lose her as a friend too? Then what will you do?

So I had said nothing. And our friends with benefits arrangement steadied. We both dated other people in between. I never minded those guys. Small fishes. Nothing serious, just fire in haystack. Burned bright and strongly, lasted a few months, than it was over and we were benefiting from our friendship again.

It wasn’t just that I loved her. It was that, well, she’s Laura. My first girlfriend, my first love, keeper of my virginity. The embodiment of everything I wanted in one woman. Our bodies were like halves of the same whole. Sex was always great. Mind-fucking-blowingly good.

I knew she has never felt as sexually comfortable with anyone as she did with me. She didn't mind asking me for what she wanted and letting me give it to her. And oh, did I like giving it to her.

I got lazy. Accommodated. I took her for granted. Then she went and met a perfect man right when she felt nature calling her to motherhood.

I understood her. Of course, I did. And for a second there I had almost offered myself to her‘I’ll have a baby with you if you want.’ She’d say yes to that. We’d be like those people who have babies with their best friends just because they were tired of waiting for the ideal person to come along and they wanted a parent who’d be around. I could’ve offered myself, yeah. I could’ve. Except I’d perpetuate myself as the friend. Knowing I would forever be just a friend was too cruel.

What I should’ve done is grasped my third change as it passed in front of me. ‘I want to be the man, Ells. I want to be with you. I want to be the father of your baby in a couple of years or so. Me, not fucking Rocco.’

Instead, as I’d done before, I kept my mouth shut.

A fourth chance might never pass me by.

***

It was early when I left Laura’s. Way too early. Usually I left at four in the morning or I didn’t leave at all. We’d go to bed around five a.m. to just sleep, because we’d be too tired after talking for hours on end. We’d wake up around noon, she’d make us breakfast without my help because You’re a fucking disaster, Riley. You’ll break my kitchen in half’, then we’d eat, talk some more, watch a movie, I’d write a few pages, because I found that I wrote better with her around, and we’d end up on her bed again. Naked this time.

Sometimes I’d catch myself thinking ‘If you lived together, were married to her or something like that, this would be your life. Everyday like this. This wonderful routine of smelling cinnamon on her hands and doing the same thing every fucking Saturday morning for the rest of your life. And you wouldn’t even get tired of it. Ever. It would be total bliss.'

No routine for Riley, though. Nope. Because Riley was too much of a pussy to tell the woman he loved that he loved her.

That thought was in my head as I was walking absentmindedly to her bistro when it hit me she wouldn’t be there. I had just left her alone in her house half an hour ago. Funny how even as I tried not to think of her my feet took me to the place where I was used to finding her. I continued walking all the same. Clementine would be there to pour me some coffee.

Forgetting to pay attention to my strut I stumbled on some woman on the street.

I knew it was a woman because the contents of her purse went scattering across the pavement. I dropped to my knees at once, picking up her things and muttering endless I’m sorry’s.

“Riley?” A familiar voice called.

I lifted my eyes to her and surprise wasn’t enough of a word to describe what I felt. I just stared at her for a few moments before I found my voice.

“Suzanne?” I heard myself say.

Was it really her? Suzanne? Dear god!

“Oh, my god! Riley!” She joined me, kneeling on the pavement and wrapping her arms around me before I fully realized she was a real human being and not just a figment of my imagination. I might just have been imagining ex girlfriends.

Without much of a reaction, I hugged her back astonished with how much I needed the contact.

Suzanne was the one to pull away first. When she looked at me I could tell she was genuinely happy to see me, giving me that wide sincere grin that was her trademark. I was still having trouble processing the fact she was really there.

Suzanne was the very first person I dated after Laura. The first one I slept with. She’d been my rebound, and I good one at that, because I dated her until my very last day at Stanford. When we graduated I broke up with her for no reason at all, except for the juvenile hope I’d get back with Laura once we were living in the same city again.

Suzanne and I got back to our feet and I was still stupefied while she babbled. She was a very talkative girl.

“Riley! I can’t believe it’s really you! Oh, my god! What a crazy coincidence I should bump into you out of all the millions of people in this city! Look at you! You haven’t changed a thing! Still handsome as ever!”

I shook my head, taking in the reality of her. Her full smiling lips, her big, round green eyes, the dark hair, and the tanned California girl skin.

“Suzanne!” I felt the need to say her name again. “Wh-What are you doing here?!”

“I was transferred here. I moved only a week ago!” She put a hand on my shoulder, giving me a sweet, endearing look. Her eyes had always been my favorite thing about her. “I had meant to look you up.”

“Well, you’ve found me.”

“Yes! I’m glad I did!” She laughed all spirit and carefreeness as only she could be.

I thought of Suzanne as the girl I could’ve really been in love with had I never met Laura.

We were two people just standing there looking at each other with disbelief and astonishment. Suzanne’s face changed a little. Her freckled nose smoothed when her crinkling smile subdued.

“How are you, Riley? You have the same look on your face you had that first time we met.”

I met Suzanne about six months after breaking up with Laura. I had gone to some party against my will and was sitting on the stairs of a sorority house, just being miserable when this sunshine of a human being sat my side and asked me what was wrong. Blame it on the cheap tequila or maybe just sheer patheticness, I told Suzanne all about Laura and our break up. I had thought 'Here's someone who cares.'

She patiently listened to my whining, took me to a burger place where she bought me a milkshake then told me the simplest thing, but just what I needed to hear that specific moment.

“You’re going to be fine, Riley.”

And she was right. Three months after we met at that party she became my girlfriend. I would always think of her as the best girlfriend I ever had. Second only to Laura herself.

“I’m fine, Sue.” I surprised myself with how easy it was for me to fall back into old habits. All that in ten seconds, just because she gave me that warming smile.

She knew me quite well. Obviously, she didn’t believe me. I was not fine.

“You’re never fine when you say you’re fine.” Laura used to say.

“Listen, Riley. I know we just bumped into each other. But you look like you need to talk. I know it’s been..what?” She stopped, mentally counting the years that separated us from our last encounter. “12, 13 years? But I was going to grab a bite at this place I just discovered, you’ll love it. They have cinnamon rolls! Want to come? Catch up a little?”

My plan was to drink alone, so why not join a person who’d done me so much good once upon a time?

“Yeah. I would like that.”

“Let’s go, then.”

She started walking and I followed her, completely dumbstruck with how life can sneak up on you sometimes.

***

The place Suzanne had just discovered was, by a sarcastic joke of fate alone, Laura’s Bistro.

“Riley!” Clementine all but yelled when I came in after Suzanne.

She turned around lifting a quizzical eyebrow at me. “You’re famous, uh?”

“Hey, Clementine.” I said to the girl, then “I come here a lot.” To a curious Suzanne.

There were two little booths in the little bistro. I remember Laura had insisted on having them. “For the kids in love.” She had said.

I sat across from Suzanne, marveling at how little she had changed. Her hair was shorter, molded into one of those modern cuts with the ends stopping at her jaw. Back in college days it used to be very long. All the way to the middle of her back. Her eyes was still as beautiful as ever, however. There were faint little lines in the corners of her eyes telling she wasn’t 23 anymore.

“Hey, Riley.” Clementine tired me sometimes.

She was a pretty thing, but too young and silly for my liking. I liked her a lot, though. I simply wasn’t interested in her. Laura said she had a crush on me. I didn’t see it. I thought of her flirtatious comments as silly jokes.

“Man, you look shit.” She gracefully added when I glanced up at her ironically smiling face.

Suzanne only looked between with amusement.

Clementine fixed her eyes on her and if looks could kill, Sue would be already stinking.

“I’d like a-” I tried to order.

“French toast and black coffee” She finished the sentence for me, not even bothering to write my order down on her pad. I spent more time at the bistro and Laura’s house combined than I did at my own apartment. I didn’t even have any food in my refrigerator. “And you, miss?” She turned to Suzanne, smiling her best false smile.

I gave the girl an apprehensive look.

“Ah…” Suzanne studied the menu, indecisive. “I’ll have the same. I trust Riley’s tastes.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Clementine asked, turning her palms up.

“Clementine.” I said warningly, glaring daggers at her.

The girl huffed, showed me the tip of her tongue and strutted back to where she came from.

The moment she was gone Suzanne burst into laugher. “One of your groupies?”

“She’s just a kid. An annoying one.”

“Oh, right. You come here a lot. Wait!” Her face lightened the way it used to whenever she got an idea. “It this where you write?”

“Yeah.”

Suzanne had been the second person to read the draft of my first book. She had also encouraged me to dedicate some serious time to finish it.

Clementine returned with our coffees. She made a spectacle of pouring Suzanne’s, almost spilling the hot liquid into her lap.

“Jesus Christ, Clementine!” She was seriously beginning to annoy me.

“Where’s the boss?” She asked.

“What?”

“The boss. You’re never here without her.” She darted an accusatory look at Suzanne and I darted an apologetic one. Sue only smiled.

“She’s home.” I said to Clementine who scoffed before finally showing me the back of head.

I turned my eyes back to Suzanne who was studying me shrewdly. “I think I know what’s happening here.”

“Care to enlighten me?” I thought she’d make a joke, say something to light the mood but instead…

“This is your Lucky Laura’s Bistro, isn’t it?”

I had to look away from her knowing eyes when I answered. “She’s not my Laura, Sue.” Then the full of her words sunk in. “Lucky Laura?”

She smiled into her coffee cup. “Yeah. That’s what I used to call her. She’d have to be very lucky to have a guy like you so in love with her.”

Feeling like I owned her too much, I had been completely honest with Suzanne as to why I was breaking up with her. Even if that meant being a jerk. In turn, she had been completely understanding. Suzanne was an incredible woman.

“So, she’s not your Laura, then?”

I shook my head. “She isn't.”

“Is it bad of me to say I’m glad to hear this?”

I couldn’t help the little smile crooking up my mouth. “No, Sue. It isn’t.”

Time flew while Suzanne and I talked. She told me about her job as a lawyer, and about how she’d gotten a spot as a partner in a NY firm. I heard her talk about some travelling she did around South America. Some boyfriend who broke her heart after we parted ways. And I told her about my books. About no girlfriends in particular and about Laura, of course. How could I not mention her?

I couldn’t tell how many hours we killed in conversation until Clementine’s displeased person came back to anounce it was closing time. I offered to walk Suzanne home, being glad to learn she lived only fifteen minutes away from me.

When we said goodbye, none of us could predict the direction of our heads and the kiss I had meant to land on her cheek took half her mouth instead. We laughed. I, awkwardly. Suzanne, heartedly.

“Would you like to come up, Riley?” She invited me, not hiding in the slightest what she meant.

Another thing I liked about her. She wasn’t coy. She had always said what she wanted. Clearly and directly. In truth, her impulsive honesty and loquaciousness reminded me of Laura in a way.

Those few hours with her, reminiscing a time when I had been so young and lost, but at the same time, so much more honest and free than I was now, had left me feeling nostalgic. I knew where I would wake up tomorrow if I said yes.

“I don’t think-” I was going to deny her, but as I was saying no my hyperactive mind screamed at me Why not go up with her, Riley? Remember how good you used to feel with her? Besides, Rocco’s coming in a month. I rethought my answer. “Yeah. Yes, Sue. I would like that very much.”

She smiled at me, visibly happy with my answer and turned her key on the lock of her building’s door.

****

It wasn’t until a month later, when I had the bright idea to take Suzanne as my date to the dinner party Laura was having to introduce Rocco, that I made the choice that would turn my life upside down. Actually, the four of our lives.

****