went full homophobic jerkwad. Jace is at Georgetown—he’s learning how to run the family business—but he came home to dance with me tonight. It was my idea—after he came out to me last month.
I flex my left arm, wondering if anyone will notice my new tattoo while we’re twirling around the crowded ballroom. In the coat room—not the mob-front coat room that’s not a coat room, but the real coatroom—I have a shawl. But it looks like my adorable smiling salamander won’t show too much. It’s my second little inky thing—gotten about a year after the adorable glass of lemonade just above my ankle on the inside of my lower calf. Lemonade from lemons. Salamanders for the regrown limbs.
With a final glance at myself, I walk quickly out of the parlor, feeling ready for whatever comes my way.
But not what’s right in front of me. It’s like a joke. One the universe just won’t quit playing. I’ve seen him two times…since, so at least this time, I’m able to brace myself for the pure bolt of adrenaline I get. It’s a wash of tingling sweat that leaves me ice cold in its wake.
My heart throbs as my body goes weak. I feel like I’m on the centrifuge ride at Coney Island: pinned to the wall, incapacitated as I drink him in, aching as he moves through me like poison.
He’s moving from the dining area into this narrow hallway, looking handsome in a tailored tux. He looks bigger.
Breathe.
He’s in front of me—less than twenty feet away. I can see his shoulders and his back and hips. His hair is short, but it looks good. A good cut. My eyes trace his nape, then down the muscle of his back. I notice the quality of fabric that strains to fit his shoulders.
He looks like he fits right in here. My legs stop moving. I suck air into my lungs, my gaze still locked onto him. Older Luca. My eyes keep getting caught on the crisp white collar of his dress shirt. It’s peeking out from beneath his black coat. I think about my fingers on buttons—
No.
The way his neck and shoulders—
Don’t look at his shoulders.
I watch someone fall in step behind him. It’s a shorter guy with curling blond hair, wearing a dress shirt and charcoal pants. Luca turns, angling himself toward the new guy, and I catch a glimpse of his profile as his lips curve into a smile.
His jaw looks stronger now, more chiseled.
In an alcove to my right, I spot a table with a candle and champagne flutes. I take a cool glass in my hot hand, watching as his form shrinks with the distance spreading out between us, watching as the dark hall swallows him.
He’s walking away, walking like I’m not behind him. Like he wasn’t ever mine.
I start walking, too. I’m moving toward him, each stride longer than the last as blood booms in my ears. My heart is racing, and I’m hot. So hot, I feel like my body’s flickering, growing brighter with each step.
I can see him. I can see him, and I want him to see me, too. I want him to know I’m here, to put his eyes on me and see me.
I want him to care. And if he doesn’t care, I want to make him care. I want to shove him up against a wall and bite his lip. I want to hurt him.
That’s not even true. I just need to be seen.
I can barely breathe, can barely coordinate my body’s movements, for the fear that grips me. If he doesn’t know me. If his eyes don’t flare with…something.
My heels clack against the hardwood floor. They sound so loud. I’m surprised he can’t hear them.
Someone I know catches my eye but I give her a smile and keep moving. He’s almost to the short hall that this one runs into. He’ll veer left, toward the elevators.
I watch as he disappears around the corner. I can feel the air move in the fabric of my gown as I rush, almost sprinting past some old men, talking in a semi-circle. I smell seafood and flowers as I turn into the small hall, aiming my gaze at the elevators.
I missed him.
I cover my mouth with my hand, my breath coming in these shallow little pants. I close my eyes as tears threaten.
Oh God.
It’s okay, though. This wasn’t a good idea.
My eyes burn, blurring out the elevator’s small, round buttons. My chest aches like someone’s