If the person at our door had been either of her smoking hot sons instead, I would have probably tried to act nicer – or chickened out, depending on the moment. The youngest of the family, Marco, was probably sixteen or seventeen. He was slim and fit and had chocolate brown hair and eyes. His skin was perfectly tanned, and he liked to wear his swimming trunks a little below his waist to show off his tan line. He was a shameless flirt, always surrounded by a big group of friends and hopeful girls. He was one of those naturally charming people who always ends up being stared at whenever they’re around; the exact opposite of myself. I even caught my sister ogling him a couple of times, which was weird to say the least.
Marco was hot and I had eyes to acknowledge that, but he wasn’t my type. More accurately, he had been my type, in the past. My first crush was pretty much like him; a charming, popular, straight guy with a smile to die for and a girlfriend constantly hanging off his arm like a handbag. Needless to say, crushing on a guy like that could only end up in flames. Which it did, by the way.
Everything Marco had in common with my first crush made him strangely unlikable in my eyes. Rationally, I knew it wasn’t his fault that he reminded me of Brian… God, even thinking his name made my stomach burn as if I had drunk gasoline and set it on fire.
“Hi there.”
A male voice spoke to me from the fence separating our backyard from our neighbors’. I turned around, startled, as I hadn’t heard anybody getting close. Maybe I was too lost in my thoughts?
I looked at the man standing on the other side of the fence, with his arms nonchalantly resting on it, and I felt my heart stop for an awfully long second.
Rosa and Giuseppe’s oldest son, Roberto, was gorgeous. Tall, broad shoulders, olive skin and a wonderfully trained body, brown messy hair and stubble and perfectly defined cheekbones. Not to mention his eyes. I had never seen him close enough to tell whether they were green or blue, but whatever the color was, they were fucking shining.
Following actors and models on social media, I had always been well aware of the existence of people like him, but it was the first time I was meeting one of them. He was one of those marvelous creatures, gifted with charm, beauty and elegance, that nature sometimes releases into the world. They are on a whole other level compared to us normal, boring human beings, and we can only watch them in awe and daydream.
Roberto was the only masturbation material I ever needed that summer. And now he was standing there, on the other side of the fence.
It took me a few seconds to remember how to breathe. The man of my dreams was speaking to me. In English. And he was stunning. Looking closely, he was even better than I remembered. His eyes were green after all, and his eyelashes were fucking pretty. Can eyelashes even be pretty? It never occurred to me they could be, but his were pretty. The prettiest. And those teeth. I was positive they were actually pearls. That man was a vision. Maybe an angel.
I mentally slapped myself for wasting time thinking of his eyelashes and his ridiculously perfect teeth and tried to focus on the fact that he had spoken to me. He had an accent, but not as strong as the other Italians I had – barely – spoken with in the previous days. It was interesting. Sexy, I dare say.
“Hello,” I said, hoping my body language wasn’t betraying my thoughts. “Do you need something?” I asked, and instantly regretted it. Trying to hide my embarrassment, I ended up sounding rude. Why was talking to people always so hard?
“To be honest, yes. But first of all, nice to meet you. I’m Roberto.” He shot me one of his amazing smiles. He really needed something, and I found myself hoping I could really help him with whatever he wanted. How could anyone say no to that face? He must have an easy life.
“I’m James. Nice meeting you too.”
“You look surprised,” he said. One thing I understood about Italians by now was that they love small talk. Even when they approach you for a particular reason, they must start their conversations with small talk. I hadn’t decided if I liked that or not yet, but right now I was talking with Roberto, so I was more than willing to hear him say anything.
“I am, actually. I didn’t think any of you spoke English.”
“I travel a lot for work. I didn’t talk to you until now because my mother said you didn’t want to be bothered.”
I couldn’t repress a chuckle. “No offense, but how would she know that? We don’t even speak the same language.”
He smiled and shook his head. “I figured. She said you ‘made her understand’ that you didn’t want to be bothered.”
I raised my eyebrows so high that my forehead hurt. “I don’t understand. Was it something we did?”
“No,” he said, as if he was trying to hold back a laugh. “It was something you didn’t do.”
I was more than confused. “Has it anything to do with the pie?” That had been the only interaction my family had had with our neighbors so I supposed it must be connected to that.
“Well, she did say you didn’t invite her in after she brought you the pie. Like, not even for coffee.”
I blinked my eyes a couple of times. “Were we supposed to do that?”
“No,” he said immediately. Then, after a few seconds, “But sort of. Yes. I mean, you didn’t have to. But you kinda did.”
I couldn’t believe we were having such an absurd conversation. Without even realizing it, an unrestrained laughter came out, directly from my chest. I laughed like I hadn’t in years, until my eyes were wet. Roberto was laughing too, though not as much as me. I was chatting and laughing with the most handsome man on the planet, because of a stupid pie and a supposedly mandatory invitation for coffee. The world was a mysterious place.
“Why?” I managed to say, breathless, after my laughter calmed down a bit.
“Because Italy.”
“Yeah, I guess that sums it up pretty well.” I dried my eyes with the back of my hand. “Well, now that the misunderstanding is clear, if there’s anything that I can do for you, I’m all ears.”
I lifted my eyes to look straight at his face and found Roberto looking at me intensely. He was smiling, just a polite, small smile which for some reason sent tingles to my stomach and made my mouth go dry. I moistened my lips and waited for him to reply. I wondered if he could perceive the maddening attraction I felt for him. I hoped I wasn’t being too obvious and making myself look ridiculous in his eyes.
“Thanks,” he said calmly. “Can I borrow some coal?”
“Coal?”
“We’re having a barbecue tonight.”
“Oh, well, we do have some charcoal.”
“Ah!” he exclaimed, pointing at me. “Charcoal. That was the word.”
“It was close enough.” I stood up from my chair, feeling like I was probably leaving part of my back stuck to it, and went to the garage to get him the bag of charcoal. I walked up to him at the fence and handed him the bag.
“Are you sure you don’t have to tell your parents?” he asked before taking the bag.
“We’re not planning to have a barbecue any time soon, so it’s cool. I’ll just tell them later.”
“Okay, thanks,” he said, offering his hand for a handshake.
I hesitated – my hands were pretty damn sweaty – but then I took it. His skin was warm, and just a bit rough. It felt good.