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Neither attempt was working.
Unsurprisingly, the rest of the night had been a bust. And that was an understatement. The Tattooed Grump, as my friends had christened Michael, had hustled me out of the party and into a cab faster than Nonna shoving Joni onto the kindergarten school bus. I’d arrived home well before curfew, then slunk to my room, where Kate peppered me with questions until we both fell asleep.
At ten the next morning, she was still reeling from what had happened. I wanted to go back to sleep for at least two more days.
“I just can’t believe he said that to you,” Kate said as she painted her toenails purple. “He’s such an arrogant jerk. Who does he think he is?”
I gagged as the scent of polish filled the room. My own nails were in desperate need of attention yet again. Linda did them for me every week, and she’d applied a fresh coat last night. But last night’s tussle had chipped the bright pink paint.
“I don’t know, Katie,” I said. “It doesn’t really matter anyway. I’m not going to let Nonno’s charity project dictate my life. I was annoyed, that’s all.”
That was a lie. Annoyed wasn’t the word for how I felt when I recalled the way Michael had grabbed my wrist. Or the way he’d kissed me. Or how he’d towed me outside, under the bridge, and over to 138th, where he forced me to wait while he hailed a cab outside Mill Brook.
He hadn’t exactly liked the fact that we had to wait outside of Mill Brook until he found someone who would stop. And he really hadn’t liked it when my short pink dress attracted more than a few catcalls.
“If I ever see you in a place like that again, I’ll do a fuck of a lot more than just send you home,” he’d said after chasing away more of my admirers.
“Like what?” I jeered.
His gaze seared. “Like take you over my knee, contessa. Don’t fuckin’ test me.”
I hated the way my skin pebbled in response, and not solely out of anger.
The cab had arrived, and Michael shoved me inside after barking my address at the driver.
“I don’t make idle threats, baby girl.” His glare seared across my body one last time, in a way that still wasn’t totally unpleasant, much to my frustration. “Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”
“It’s fine,” I told Kate, pulling myself back to reality and the Young Women’s Society scholarship application that was still looking pretty damn blurry. “Nobody says we have to see each other anymore. You can bring over Nonna’s charity dinners from now on.”
Except I knew that would never happen. My sister would take one look at the “redecorating” I’d done and come right back at me with a million other questions.
Questions like “Why did you do this if you hate him?” and “Oh, you actually care about this one, don’t you?”
And then maybe I wouldn’t be able to say no without telling yet another lie.
Kate grumbled to herself. But before she could interrogate me some more, we were interrupted by a ping against our one window next to her bed.
She frowned when it happened again. “What the…?”
Keeping her toes flexed so as not to ruin her paint, she leaned over to look out the window.
I read a question about A Meaningful Experience That Informed My Character for the twentieth time that morning. Thesis One: A really stupid party. Thesis Two: Being snapped at by a hot, tattooed bad boy. Thesis Three: Being kissed by said bad boy. Thesis Four: No one cares because I’m pathetic.
“Uh…Lea? I think you should come over here.”
I huffed and tossed my notebook away. “What now?”
“You have a visitor. Of sorts.”
I crossed the room and got onto her bed so I could look out the window. At first, I saw nothing of note. But then I looked down into the alley between the house and the apartment building next to us. And there, waiting in his ever-present jeans, T-shirt, and a threadbare black hoodie, was Michael Scarrone.
“This guy,” I muttered as I shoved up the window, letting in an icy blast of wintry air.
“Ah! Warn me first!” Kate squealed, yanking her blanket around her shoulders. She didn’t move away, though, obviously eager for the show that was about to start.
I had no interest in the weather. I was too mad.
“What are you doing here?” I demanded as I leaned out the window, uncaring about the fact that I had on no makeup, my hair was a freaking mess, and I was wearing a canary-yellow bathrobe that was brighter than the sun.
