“I can leave if you ladies want to be alone. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to intrude on anything,” he offers, still with that shit-eating grin on his face.
They’re both looking at me, making it my decision to be the bad guy and tell him that he can’t stay and eat dinner with us. Of course, I say it’s fine, that he’s welcome to hang out with us. I may have been raised with a silver spoon in my mouth, but my mom also made sure that I had proper manners. I will discuss this with my dear friend later.
Even though there’s an empty seat on the opposite side of Lauren, where I assume Lucca will sit, she hops off her stool and moves down one. “Here Trina, you move over one too, so that Lucca can sit on your other side. This way you can be in the middle and we can prevent any weirdos from trying to talk to you,” she explains.
I don’t make a big deal about it. I know exactly what she’s trying to do, and if I say anything, it will become more of an issue than it already is. “I think I’m surrounded by the two biggest weirdos in the place,” I grumble as I change seats. They both laugh at my comment and I can’t help but join them. Really what else can I do?
From that point on, the night goes by just fine… actually, much better than fine. I’m having a great time talking to the two of them, learning about where they grew up and their interests outside of work. Neither of them pressures me to talk about things I don’t want to, but I do find ways to add to the conversation without revealing too much about myself. Since we are all rather young, college is still fresh on our minds and we all have funny stories to tell of the ridiculous things we did not so long ago.
Lauren was born and raised in Staten Island, so like myself, she’s grown up in and around the city. She has a love for art, painting to be specific, that I never knew about. She actually went to school for it at School of Visual Arts in Manhattan, but seeing as there’s an overpopulation of aspiring artists in New York, she’s teaching elementary school while she continues to paint in the evenings.
Lucca, on the other hand, is originally from Florida. He left home to attend college and play baseball in Texas, where he just graduated in December. He joined the Teach for America Corp, a program that places you in a teaching position in an area of their choice that’s in need of teachers, but in return assists with paying for your master’s degree. Up until three months ago, he had never stepped foot anywhere north of South Carolina, and he’s now getting a crash course in city life. He’ll start working on his graduate studies in the fall at NYU, as well as being permanently placed in a school to teach at for at least two years, but until then he’s just filling in at ours.
After hearing his story, learning that he’s recently relocated and knows no one else here, I feel bad for the way I’ve shut him out and been borderline rude to him. I’m not sure why but at one point, I lean into him and whisper, “I’m sorry I’ve been such a complete bitch to you. I just don’t really like people much... I don’t trust them.”
He scoots a little closer to me, his deliciously clean scent teasing my nose, and whispers back, “I don’t think you’re a bitch, you’re just careful about who you allow to get close to you.” His warm breath lingers on my neck, sending shivers down my back and causing my belly to tingle. I close my eyes and enjoy the sensation for a brief moment, knowing full well that Lauren is watching us out of the corner of her eye. Before he pulls away, he adds, “And I plan on getting really close to you, Miss Foster.”
Thankfully, the bartender walks up with our meals just in the nick of time, or I may have stupidly said something back like “I want you close.” Once he retreats from my personal space, I’m able to release the breath that I didn’t realize I was holding. I focus on the plate that’s been set in front of me and try to regain my composure. Why do I let this guy who I barely even know get to me?
Lauren starts talking as soon as the food is delivered, preventing any uncomfortable lull in the conversation. She and Lucca begin discussing different diets and work out programs, and I’m happy to keep quiet for a few minutes. However, he doesn’t allow me too much time to retreat back into myself before asking about my exercise regiments. It doesn’t take me long before I feel at ease with them again as we talk about the advantages and disadvantages between yoga and Pilates-type classes compared to aerobic exercises such as spinning and Insanity. I love the sanctuary I find in all different forms of working out, no matter if I’m moving fast and working up a mad sweat or if I’m focusing on my flexibility and core strength in dictated poses and stretches. It’s when he asks where I work out that I feel the color drain from my face. I don’t like to lie — I usually prefer eluding from the truth. “Oh, at a gym close to my apartment,” I answer with a wave of my hand, acting as if it’s no big deal.
“Where do you live anyway? I don’t think you’ve ever said,” he challenges me. I can tell by the look in his eyes that his first question was purposely setting up this one.
“I live in Manhattan. What about you?” I ask, hoping to turn the spotlight back on him.
“Oh, a fancy city girl, are you?” he teases, but I don’t laugh.
Lauren cuts in, now knowing my sensitivity with the issue. “Lucca, you live here in Brooklyn like me, right?”
He’s studying my face, I guess trying to get a read on why I don’t want to discuss this. “Yeah, I’m just over in Park Slope with my cousin and another roommate. I came to visit him last summer, and he knew that I was getting ready to start the program, so he urged me to list New York as my first priority. They were looking to upgrade from their apartment in Bushwick, so when I was accepted here, it worked out for all of us.”
“Oh yeah, I love it over there. You did luck out,” she replies sincerely. “I’m here in south Williamsburg. I’ve been in my apartment with my college roommate now since we’ve graduated.” She stops and chuckles. “I really don’t stop to think about it, but she and I have lived together for almost six years now — all through college and the two years that we’ve been out. It sure doesn’t seem that long. However, that’s all gonna change here soon ‘cause she’s getting married at the end of the summer.” Her face drops and I can see the sadness in her eyes, which tugs at the strings of my heart. If things were different, I’d share a place with Lauren. I think that we could make it work. Unfortunately, they’re not, and I can’t.
Inevitably, the conversation comes back to me. I know he’s been dying to ask me something else to try and put together the puzzle that is me. “How long have you lived in Manhattan, Trina?”
“I’ve been in my apartment for five years,” I answer honestly.
“Do you have any roommates?”
“No, I live alone.”
“Wait a minute,” he scoffs. “You’re twenty two, right? And you’ve lived in your own Manhattan apartment for five years?”
I take a swig from my beer as I think about how best to word this. I don’t want them going off to try and research me, so I tell them enough to hopefully appease their curiosity, at least for tonight. I look back and forth between the two of them. “As you both can tell, I enjoy keeping to myself at work, and that is no different outside of the school either. I would appreciate if anything that we do or talk about, both tonight and in the future, is kept between us. I grew up with a bunch of nosy bodies around me, and I’ve learned that it’s best to keep a tight bubble of trust. I just don’t like people in my business, plain and simple.” I pause before going any further to make sure they are both in agreement. I then continue with an abridged and cleaned up version of my life. “I grew up in Jersey, but my family always had a place in the city for my dad’s job. I was home-schooled the last two years of high school so it allowed me to start college at seventeen. When I began attending classes at NYU, I permanently moved to the city. Because I don’t have much of a social life, I focused heavily on my studies and was able to finish in three and a half years. I graduated with my degree in Music Education about two weeks before my twenty-first birthday and began applying to schools immediatel
y. I purposely only applied to schools in lower socio-economic communities because I feel like I’m providing more to those kids than the ones whose parents can pay for them to take specialized music lessons or whatever.” I stop and shrug. “I love my kids and am very thankful for what I do. I don’t ever want any of the students, or administration for that matter, to know that I come from a background different than theirs.”
“Wow, I’m even more in awe of you now,” Lauren says as she throws her arm around my shoulder and squeezes me in a sideways hug.
“There’s nothing to be in awe over,” I argue. “Believe me… And please don’t treat me any differently. I’m still the same Trina that you’ve badgered and bothered for the last two years.
I twist to face Lucca and he’s just sitting there with a goofy smile on his face. “I knew there was a reason I liked you, Miss Foster.”
I playfully roll my eyes, desperately trying to lighten the mood. “Oh? And what reason is that, Mr.Ellis?”
“I need to keep you around to pay all my bar tabs. I’ve been looking for a sugar mama,” he replies before busting out in a fit of laughter.
I slap his arm and start laughing along with the both of them. If anyone else had made that statement, I probably would’ve been offended and insulted; however, since it was him, for some reason, I know that he is purely joking. I admire him for having the balls to even say it, to be quite honest.
The next two hours fly by and before we realize it, it’s after ten o’clock. We all have to be at work tomorrow morning at seven for a staff meeting, so we agree to call it a night. After quick hugs goodbye to Lauren, she takes off on foot to her apartment while Lucca and I head towards the subway. We walk in comfortable silence for a few minutes before he brings up our earlier conversation.
“I meant what I said earlier,” he states matter-of-factly.
Not sure where he’s going with this, I ask teasingly, “About having a sugar mama?”
He throws his head back laughing and then brings his gaze to mine. “No, not that.”
He stops walking and takes a step towards me, closing the distance between us. Cupping my jaw with his large but surprisingly soft hands, he lowers his face to where it hovers just inches above mine, our eyes locked on each other’s. I’m afraid he can hear my heart pounding in my chest or the wild zoo that has been let loose in my stomach, and suddenly I feel like a thirteen year old girl about to get her first kiss.
“I want to be close to you, Miss Foster,” he whispers.
“You just want what you can’t have, Mr. Ellis,” I reply in a much more seductive-tone than I planned.
Slowly, he leans down until his lips graze mine, kissing me gently. I’ve never felt lips so soft and tender before, and as much as I thought I didn’t want this, I wouldn’t dream of pulling away. The kiss ends long before I want it to, but then again, I could’ve stayed this way forever. He draws back just a bit with a warm smile on his face and a light dancing in his eyes. Stroking the pad of his thumb across my bottom lip, where I can still feel the tingle of his kiss, he then presses his forehead to mine and says, “I can, and I will, Miss Foster.”
The rest of the walk is a blur. I feel like I’m living in some fairy-tale dream; I know this isn’t my life, but I’m going to enjoy it until I wake up. We walk the rest of the way hand-in-hand to where we have to part and he gives me another sweet kiss before I get on my train.
“Goodnight, Lucca. Thank you for a great evening,” I mumble against his mouth.
“Yes ma’am, Miss Foster. I’ll see you tomorrow.” His smile speaks a thousand words.
And then, I disappear.
The day after my interaction with Daniel Saunders I’m afraid I’m going to explode at the seams with anticipation. I give Leo the day off because I don’t feel like taking part in my usual routine nor do I want to answer the questions I know he’s going to ask. I just need some time to work on my project.
As soon as I get a chance in the late afternoon, I pull the pictures up on my computer and begin editing them. I need to make sure that my face isn’t visible in any of them, but that his tattoo is in order to identify him. I didn’t even think about having him blindfolded and not being able to tell who he is. It’s something I will have to consider modifying on the next step of my plan. I’m just thankful I got lucky this time with the ink in the location that it was. After a little over an hour, I’m satisfied with two of the photos. Now I have to determine when I should release them. The child in me wants to send them off immediately, but I know I need to be patient. Timing is everything.
Thursday morning I wake up wondering what in the hell mess I’ve created. It was supposed to be an innocent dinner out with Lauren — one that contradicted my better judgment to begin with — and it ended up with me blabbing personal details and then later kissing Lucca. I don’t do the whole hearts and flowers thing, especially not with coworkers. I think about calling in sick, but decide against it; I may be a lot of things, but a coward isn’t one of them.
As I make the lengthy drive into work, I contemplate all of the different ways to handle the situation. I decide on telling him coworkers shouldn’t get involved because when the relationship goes bad, it causes unnecessary problems. Surprisingly, I even admitted to myself that I do like Lucca. Just having a conversation with most men makes me sick to my stomach, yet I find being in his presence both enjoyable and exhilarating; however, I can’t allow him to get any closer than he already is. I just can’t risk it.
I get to school a little earlier than normal and head straight to my room, hoping to avoid any early morning confrontations with Principal Matthews, Lucca, Lauren, or anyone else for that matter. My plan seems to be working as I scurry down the halls; that is, until I get in my actual room where Lauren is already sitting at my desk waiting for me.
“Well, someone’s here early this morning,” I say as I lock my purse away in the desk and hang my sweater on its hook.
She smiles like she’s hiding the biggest secret in the world. “We have staff meeting this morning, remember? Or did you forget while you were making out with pretty boy last night?”
Instantaneously, my face heats up and I know that my cheeks are blushing a crimson red. “Oh, right,” I reply calmly, not taking the bait. “I did forget about the meeting… well, I guess I’m glad that I’m here early then.”
Nodding knowingly, she stands up to allow me to sit down in my own chair. “Don’t get too comfy there. We have to be in the auditorium in less than ten minutes. You want to grab a cup of coffee beforehand?”
I try to act normal, hoping that she gets the hint I really don’t want to discuss last night whatsoever. “Yeah, that sounds good. Let me put up my lesson plans and I’m good to go.”
She waits quietly for me by the door for the few minutes it takes me to get situated. I know she’s dying to talk, the questions are multiplying in her head with each passing minute, but I’m not about to open that can of worms. We walk silently to the teacher’s lounge, go in to make a quick cup of coffee, and head out to the auditorium. The silence is neither awkward nor comfortable. It just…is.
We take a seat towards the back of the auditorium, as we typically do. I don’t want to talk to any of the other teachers and I want to stay as far away from Principal Matthews as possible. Finally, she breaks the silence.
“I really had a good time last night, Trina. I’d love to do it again sometime,” she says softly, which is completely out of character for her.
I can’t help but start to laugh. “You sound like you’re reading a script from What to Say After a First Date.”
Giving me a pouting face, she whines, “Well, what do you want me to say? I tried to talk about it with you in your room and you basically refused. You must’ve been miserable all night.”
“Come on, Lauren, you know that’s not the case. What I’m refusing to talk about is me and Lucca, especially here, but as far as hanging out with you both last night, I had a good time… you could even
say I had fun.” I smile brightly at her, hoping I’ve mended her hurt feelings.
“I had fun, too,” Lucca says as he climbs into the seat next to me from the row behind us.
Turning to him, I act annoyed. “Must you always sneak up behind me and eavesdrop on my conversations? It’s getting to be a bad habit of yours.”
“No, I mustn’t always,” he replies with that damn silly grin on his face, “but it’s so much more fun when I do because I like to hear you talk about ‘me and Lucca’ as if the two go together as a pair. Plus I really like that thing you do with your face when you get aggravated with me.”
I scowl at him as I hear Lauren giggling on my other side.
“Yep, just like that.” He leans over and pecks me on the cheek.
“What are you doing?!?” I ask angrily, my nostrils flare and my teeth grit together.
This is exactly what I was afraid of after last night. If anyone else saw what he just did, the rumors will be spread like wildfire around the school before lunch. Then, as if the moment couldn’t get any better, Principal Matthews walks down the aisle next to us, heading to the front of the room to conduct the meeting. Of course he stops to greet us.
“Miss Dulles. Miss Foster. Mr. Ellis,” he says as he nods his head slightly at each one of us. “It appears as if you three are becoming somewhat of a little trio. I guess Miss Foster has made quite the impression on you, Mr. Ellis.” He turns his wicked stare to me, making my skin crawl. “She’s a pretty thing and may act a bit gun-shy at first, but don’t let her fool you; she’s a feisty one.” He winks at me and continues his path down the walkway, whistling You Are My Sunshine.
I want to kill that man.
I hear Lauren and Lucca asking me what that was all about, but I don’t answer. I’m torn between the desire to get up and flee from the room and the yearning to end that sick fucker’s life. I do neither. I sit there throughout the entire meeting, my face stone cold, as I watch him twirl his wedding ring around his finger as he talks. I can hear his voice but my brain refuses to process anything he’s saying. I don’t know who he thinks he is or what he thinks he knows about me, but I’m at my breaking point with him. And my breaking point isn’t pretty, nor is it gun-shy.