Read Online When in Rome by Amabile Giusti - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Amabile Giusti
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it.”
“You know, tongues usually do tend to be wet.”
“But not this wet!” I say. “I’ve kissed guys before, and I know that Tony’s tongue was much wetter than average. And then there was the movement . . .”
“What movement?”
“Well, up and down, back and forth. It was like tongue choreography!”
“So what did you do?” Luca asks.
“I told you! I threw up.”
“I meant before that. When he was playing tonsil hockey with you.”
“I think I was paralyzed.”
He laughs and almost spits out his coffee. I can’t help but join in. Sure, if I think about that horrifying tongue or the fact that I let him explore my mouth with said tongue or how I gifted him with the slimy contents of my stomach in a show of gratitude, I want to smother myself with a pillow. But if I pretend that the mishap happened to some other moron who doesn’t even know how to kiss, then I can see the humor of it.
“Anyway, it’s not my fault,” I say. “I’m a great kisser.”
“I’ve got my doubts about that.”
“You might be an expert when it comes to sex, but you’ve clearly got a lot to learn when it comes to kissing.”
“How do you know that?”
“There’s no way you can devote the proper amount of time to kissing when you’re so busy howling.”
“I kiss like I fuck—brilliantly.”
“Are you offended?” I say.
“No, I’m just saying that someone as awkward as you doesn’t really have any room to talk here.”
“And I’m just saying that you’re a conceited asshole.”
“Come here, you distrustful little witch.”
It all happens in the blink of an eye. He jumps up, grabs me by the collar of my robe, and kisses me. Oh. My. God . I let his tongue open my lips. It’s slow, nothing choreographed, and tastes mildly like coffee. We break apart, and I bite my lip. He caresses me, then dives back in, this time embracing me. When he finally pulls away, there’s an insolent smile on his lips.
“So? What’d you think?”
“Well . . .” I feign indifference, pretending that my legs have not turned to spaghetti under my robe. “I don’t know, it wasn’t anything mind-blowing . . .”
“You want a war?” he laughs. This time he picks me up and sets me on top of the table, cradling my head in his hands as he kisses me again. I tremble all over, inside and out.
Suddenly a voice brings me back down to earth. Behind us in the hall, a bunch of keys jangling in her hand, is my nuisance of a mother, dressed to the nines. She must have recently dyed her hair; I see new shades of cognac in an ombré pattern. She blinks like a porcelain doll, watching us with a mischievous look beneath two miles of eyelashes. Luca sees her and startles.
“No, my dear,” she says shamelessly. “It’s quite all right! I tried to call you all morning, Carlotta, so I just dropped by to see how you were doing. I have your keys, remember?”
I’m speechless. I open and close my mouth, and all I can hear is the amplified smack of my lips. I know exactly what she’s thinking, and it’s going to be impossible to explain to her that Luca and I were just kidding around, that there’s nothing between us, that my perch on the table with my legs spread wide open has no sexual implication. I jump down and readjust my bathrobe, cursing the unfortunate moment when I gave her those keys.
Mom approaches Luca, shakes his hand, and sizes him up. She approves. Better, she’s intrigued. They talk in the kitchen while I run to get dressed, and I hear her laughing at his jokes. I’ve forgotten my headache in the terror of trying to figure out how to get rid of her as soon as possible, before Luca decides to move out and leave me with just the memory of the taste of that amazing kiss. I throw on something haphazardly—jeans and a sweater, chainmail . . . I really have no idea. I’m so confused, I can’t even see straight.
When I get back, my mother is informing Luca about my teenage years. In fact, she’s so
“You know, tongues usually do tend to be wet.”
“But not this wet!” I say. “I’ve kissed guys before, and I know that Tony’s tongue was much wetter than average. And then there was the movement . . .”
“What movement?”
“Well, up and down, back and forth. It was like tongue choreography!”
“So what did you do?” Luca asks.
“I told you! I threw up.”
“I meant before that. When he was playing tonsil hockey with you.”
“I think I was paralyzed.”
He laughs and almost spits out his coffee. I can’t help but join in. Sure, if I think about that horrifying tongue or the fact that I let him explore my mouth with said tongue or how I gifted him with the slimy contents of my stomach in a show of gratitude, I want to smother myself with a pillow. But if I pretend that the mishap happened to some other moron who doesn’t even know how to kiss, then I can see the humor of it.
“Anyway, it’s not my fault,” I say. “I’m a great kisser.”
“I’ve got my doubts about that.”
“You might be an expert when it comes to sex, but you’ve clearly got a lot to learn when it comes to kissing.”
“How do you know that?”
“There’s no way you can devote the proper amount of time to kissing when you’re so busy howling.”
“I kiss like I fuck—brilliantly.”
“Are you offended?” I say.
“No, I’m just saying that someone as awkward as you doesn’t really have any room to talk here.”
“And I’m just saying that you’re a conceited asshole.”
“Come here, you distrustful little witch.”
It all happens in the blink of an eye. He jumps up, grabs me by the collar of my robe, and kisses me. Oh. My. God . I let his tongue open my lips. It’s slow, nothing choreographed, and tastes mildly like coffee. We break apart, and I bite my lip. He caresses me, then dives back in, this time embracing me. When he finally pulls away, there’s an insolent smile on his lips.
“So? What’d you think?”
“Well . . .” I feign indifference, pretending that my legs have not turned to spaghetti under my robe. “I don’t know, it wasn’t anything mind-blowing . . .”
“You want a war?” he laughs. This time he picks me up and sets me on top of the table, cradling my head in his hands as he kisses me again. I tremble all over, inside and out.
Suddenly a voice brings me back down to earth. Behind us in the hall, a bunch of keys jangling in her hand, is my nuisance of a mother, dressed to the nines. She must have recently dyed her hair; I see new shades of cognac in an ombré pattern. She blinks like a porcelain doll, watching us with a mischievous look beneath two miles of eyelashes. Luca sees her and startles.
“No, my dear,” she says shamelessly. “It’s quite all right! I tried to call you all morning, Carlotta, so I just dropped by to see how you were doing. I have your keys, remember?”
I’m speechless. I open and close my mouth, and all I can hear is the amplified smack of my lips. I know exactly what she’s thinking, and it’s going to be impossible to explain to her that Luca and I were just kidding around, that there’s nothing between us, that my perch on the table with my legs spread wide open has no sexual implication. I jump down and readjust my bathrobe, cursing the unfortunate moment when I gave her those keys.
Mom approaches Luca, shakes his hand, and sizes him up. She approves. Better, she’s intrigued. They talk in the kitchen while I run to get dressed, and I hear her laughing at his jokes. I’ve forgotten my headache in the terror of trying to figure out how to get rid of her as soon as possible, before Luca decides to move out and leave me with just the memory of the taste of that amazing kiss. I throw on something haphazardly—jeans and a sweater, chainmail . . . I really have no idea. I’m so confused, I can’t even see straight.
When I get back, my mother is informing Luca about my teenage years. In fact, she’s so
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