“Good. We’ll do it again.”
I’m not even sure what I’ve agreed to—a date or another tour of the city?
I’m in a good mood as I head into the school. It’s getting close to lunch, so I head straight for the Latin classroom to check in on the students. I round the corner, unable to suppress my cheesy smile, and almost trip when I see Noah leaning against the wall, listening in on the class.
Chapter Eight
Noah’s wearing athletic clothes. Sweat stains the collar of his gray t-shirt. His hair is damp and curled at the ends. Dark brown tendrils as beautiful as Bernini’s sculpture.
He hears me approach and turns slowly to glance back over his shoulder.
His gaze sears.
I wobble on my next step, then recover, annoyed with myself for having any sort of reaction to Noah, let alone one like this.
I have my postcards in hand along with the chocolate bar I couldn’t pass up.
It’s the almond one I knew he’d like. The heat’s melted the edges, but I lift it up and show him.
He doesn’t look the least bit impressed with it or me.
His tone is acerbic when he asks, “How was your date?”
I almost tell him it wasn’t a date, not really, but then why bother? What does it matter if Noah knows the truth?
“It was fine.”
“Planning to leave your post at Lindale to move to Rome for good?”
“Why? Thinking of knocking down our connecting wall so you can take over my classroom?”
“It would be nice.” He acts like he’s mulling it over. “I’ll help you pack.”
“So quick to be rid of me? Who will you annoy when I’m gone?”
He turns and, in doing so, invades my space. “I don’t annoy you.”
The snort I produce is so loud it could wake the dead.
“So what’d you guys do?” he asks.
I shrug nonchalantly. “Stared into each other’s eyes. Played tonsil hockey.”
“What’d you really do?”
“He took me to get donuts.”
Noah groans like a wounded animal.
I inch closer, twisting the knife. “They were fresh out of the fryer. A heaping plate of them sprinkled with powdered sugar. Some were filled with cannoli cream that dripped out of the side. Are your pants tight yet?”
He lifts his fist to his mouth like he might need to bite down on it.
“Sounds filthy.”
Laughter wells up inside me to the point it hurts to stifle it. I look down at the floor, compose myself, then peer up at him from beneath my lashes.
“He asked me out again.”
“And?”
“I said yes. He’s such a gentleman. So handsome too, don’t you think?”
He shrugs. “Not my type.”
“True. It wouldn’t be your type without the devil horns and pointy tail. You’d be bored to death.”
“That’s not even close to what I’m looking for in a woman.”
I take another stab at guessing. “She kidnaps Dalmatian puppies. Has a fetish for fur.”
“My my…what an active imagination you have.”
I snap my fingers. “I’ve got it. Serpent hair and a bad personality. Her gaze turns men to stone. You like her to handcuff you in bed.”
His gaze catches mine when he replies, “Black hair. Fair skin. Big eyes. A mouth that never stops talking. She buys me chocolate when she misses me.”
My heart lurches in my chest as he steals the chocolate bar right out of my hand and tosses it deftly into the air, catching it again a moment later.
I recover quickly. It’s something I take pride in.
Noah doesn’t mean a word he says, I know that. He’s trying to goad me, and going by the flushed feeling on my cheeks and the little skip-hop rhythm of my heart, he’s succeeded.
“Hilarious,” I intone, sounding deeply unamused.
The power balance is off, and I want it back as it should be.
I step right to him, press my chest against his, and tilt my head back so I can look right into his eyes. I can smell his sweat, and I try my hardest to hate it. “Is that why you went for a run while I was gone? Had to burn off all that jealous rage?” I skate my finger down the center of his chest, pretending not to notice the hard muscle. “How sad.”
He catches my arm in a viselike grip to still my movement. I gulp. I’d forgotten about our size difference. His hand engulfs my wrist. I’m a twig he could snap right in two.
“Careful,” he warns.
Or what?
There’s commotion behind the closed door. Chairs screeching, backpacks zipping, students laughing and talking over one another. Latin is officially over and in a second, that door will fling open and students will flood out into the hall.
Still, Noah doesn’t release his grasp.
He’s doing this on purpose. Making me sweat.
I try to wrench my arm free, but he doesn’t let me.
He wants me to surrender, but I can’t bring myself to say it. Instead, I let my hand go limp.
There. Happy?
Noah squeezes my wrist gently and then drops it just as the door’s yanked open. We didn’t have a second to spare.
“Ms. Cohen, I know Latin!” Brandon proclaims. “Veni, vidi, vici!”
“I already forgot what that means,” Lee says, following after him. “Is that ‘seize the day’?”
“I came, I saw, I conquered,” Noah corrects, looking straight at me.
In the afternoon, we head out on another excursion. This time we go to the Pantheon.
The crowds at the Trevi Fountain were child’s play compared to this. Out in the piazza, it’s nearly shoulder-to-shoulder room only. We might as well be trying to get front row to see Beyoncé at Coachella. Vendors shout in English and Italian, trying to sell little miniatures of the Pantheon, art prints, and t-shirts. Tourists hold up their iPhones, trying in vain to get an unobstructed photo of the church. A slow-moving line curves around the building.
The chaperones are spread out around the group to ensure we all stay together. Lorenzo leads at the front, waving us into the church and past the line since we have a reservation for our tour. Thank god.