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Shit.
She giggles, and I keep rubbing. “Your hair is soft,” I say in a voice that vibrates.
“Thank you.”
I want to touch my dick so fucking bad. I shift my legs a little, hoping that a reposition might help. No. Fuck. That made it worse.
Elise is smart. She lifts her head up, and her cheeks are flushed. She’s smiling like she’s kind of sleepy, relaxed. But her eyes give her away, flitting down to my pants for a millisecond before latching back onto mine. “Thank you for that. It felt so good.”
I reach out to push some hair out of her face, but once I’ve got my hand on her—even her hair—I can’t seem to move it away.
“No boyfriend,” I say, my voice an octave too low. “I wonder how long that’s going to last.”
Her lips twitch. “What?” She looks puzzled—and self-conscious.
“Just every guy you meet with a functioning brain must want you.” The words come out so rough they’re almost hoarse—and her eyes widen. Then a blush sweeps her cheeks.
“That’s not true.”
“Oh yes, it is true…la mia rosa.”
She looks down again, and I know she can see where my boner strains at my pants. I shift so it’s not so fucking obvious and run my hands through my hair. “Sorry.” I’m almost scared to look at her, but when I do, she’s got this tiny smirk on her face.
“Sorry,” she whispers. Her smile widens—along with her eyes.
“Are you laughing at me?”
“Of course not.”
“I don’t know,” I say slowly. “I think you might be.”
She turns redder. “I would never.”
“I’m just kidding.” I stand up and turn away from her, toward the water. I feel her hovering behind me, probably afraid to get close.
Jesus Christ, Galante.
I grit my teeth and inspect the railing. There’s ivy curved around the iron; I trace a leaf with my finger, surprised to find it’s kinda shaking from…I don’t know what this feeling is.
“Sorry,” I say quickly.
“Don’t be sorry. I’m not upset.”
My finger rubs something between the iron and ivy. I reach down and brush my fingertips against it. Rope. I pull on it.
“A rope ladder,” I murmur.
I feel her stand up beside me. “Is it?”
I nod, drawing more of it out.
“I guess it’s some fire code thing,” she murmurs.
I drag it all the way out. The thing is long. “It’ll probably reach to the ground.” I stare at it while I work up the nerve to flash her a quick, palate-cleansing grin. “You think I can climb down?”
“Ummm…yes? But should you?”
“Might be fun.” My heart is still beating too hard. My hands feel weird and hot as I toss the rope over the balcony’s ledge.
“Are you really going to do that?”
I laugh, giving her a glance to be sure she doesn’t seem too freaked out.
“You are,” she laughs. “It’s one of those guy things, isn’t it? But let me tell you something, Galante. If you go, I go. You can go down first, but I’ll be coming down right after.” She smiles, as if I didn’t make the last five minutes awkward as fuck.
“I don’t know if that’s good.”
She puts a hand on her hip. “Are you saying you’re more capable than I am?”
“I’m saying I care more about you falling.”
“And I care more about you falling. So I guess that makes us even.”
I look down again, at the wet grass below the last wrung of the ladder. There are people milling in the yard, but not too many, and they’re not near us. I look at Elise again.
“If you get scared and decide you don’t want to come down, I could climb back up to you,” I offer.
She laughs, and it’s a funny little laugh—sort of a giggle.
“Oh no, I’m going to do it. I’m athletic. I’m a runner. And—” she squares her shoulders— “I play tennis. I’m also lighter than you and probably more limber.”
We share a smile, and I feel almost dizzy with it. “It sounds like the deal is sealed then, O’Hara.”
She widens her eyes at me, incredulous.
“What?” I laugh.
“Are you really going to go over the side of the balcony on a rope ladder you just found tucked in some ivy?”
I do—moving slowly and carefully, clutching the top rungs of the ladder with both fists so I don’t fall and scar Elise for life. Then I decide I want to scare her a little bit and flap one hand dramatically. “AHHHH—”
“Luca! You—” I laugh, and she scrunches her face angrily. “You jerk! I knew it was fake.”
“Sure you did,” I tease.
“I did!”
I start down the ladder, and once I’m seven or eight rungs down, I call up, “This is pretty easy. But you still shouldn’t do it.”
“Why not?” She sounds offended.
“I don’t know. It’s kind of wobbly.”
“I can handle wobbly.”
I laugh, and then I’m moving down more quickly, glancing at the dark expanse of grass below my shoes. Someone shouts, and I’m aware that people on a balcony above ours are peeking down at me.
