Losing Johnny by Rachel Dunning

Author:Rachel Dunning [Dunning, Rachel]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Goodreads: 23788864
Published: 2014-12-12T05:00:00+00:00

-4-

After a good twenty minutes, Tiago left the dancefloor in a vacuum and strode toward me like a cheetah. Before I knew it, I was in his arms and he smothered me with a kiss so tender my legs almost buckled. His chest heaved with exhaustion, and he tasted like sweat.

“Why didn’t you join me?” he said.

“Oh, y’know, I’m not much of a dancer.”

Nicole winked at me.

Behind her, in the distance, Simone fumed.

CHAPTER TWELVE

~ Touch ~

-1-

Saturday, May 30

Tiago met me at the Delancey station the next morning at eight, grinning like a school kid when he saw me walking up the subway stairs. We kissed like old lovers outside the McDonald’s while people stormed past us.

“Good trip?” he said, looking down at me with eyes of fire.

“Subway ride? Yeah, great. Got to see a lot.”

He put his arm around my neck and we walked down unfamiliar streets for me. I’d been to the Lower East Side before, but not here exactly. The buildings were low, except to the north, where large brown blocks of brick apartments speckled the view. A blue condo building jutted out of the south like a modernistic wart.

Ten minutes (and perhaps thirty Asian and Indian restaurants) later, we were at his block. A boutique store on the right, a Thai restaurant on the left.

The interior of the building was typical New York. Chipped paint. Gray walls. Old stairs. It was ugly.

“Please excuse the interior,” he said. “If I were Bono’s son I’d be living on the Upper West Side. Alas, I’m a mere dentist’s son.”

We walked up four flights of stairs to a light-starved corridor.

When he opened his door for me...

...everything was different.

Bright sunlight splashed in from open drapes. The air was fresh, lightly scented. Crisp flowers stood on a side table with a mirror behind them. The open-plan room extended in one large column from an entrance, to a tiny kitchen, and finally to a TV / living room. “After you,” he said.

Two giant abstract paintings livened up the walls. But the couch didn’t look too comfortable, more like an oversized beanbag made for three. In the corner was a TV, a few DVDs.

“Welcome to my abode.”

“It’s not bad,” I said.

“Admit it, you were expecting worse.”

“Well, after I saw the chipped paint outside...”

“Student living, what can I say?”

“But, honestly, for a bunch of boys staying here, I really was expecting worse.”

“And you would be right. The place usually looks like a pigsty. It’s clean because, well, I cleaned it this morning. I wanted to impress you.”

I wrapped my arms around his neck and lifted my toes to reach him. “I’m impressed.”

“So who are your roommates?”

“You met them yesterday—Erik, François?”

“Ah, the German and the French guy.”

“Yes.”

“Very international.”

“It makes for interesting conversations.”

He took me to the window, showed me the street. He turned back to the living room. “So, this is it,” he said. Then, “I know this is going to sound so corny, but...let me show you my bedroom.”

It didn’t sound corny.

“For a guy who’s so good with the ladies, I had expected you to show me that first.

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