Lisa Desrochers: A Little Too Much

“Tony. Hold up,” I say as he slouches past. “Have you seen Les Misérables ?”

“My grandma has the DVD,” he says, looking at the floor between us and shoving his hands in his pockets.

“You like it?”

He just stares at the floor and nods.

“I wasn’t joking,” I tell him. “Your voice is amazing. Have you taken lessons?”

He shakes his head.

“Have you done any plays or acting? At school, maybe?”

He shakes his head again.

“You should. I could help you find a community theater group if that’s something you want to try.”

“How much does it cost?” he asks, finally opening his mouth.

“It depends. Most of them are free to participate in, but if there was a costume fee or something, maybe the church could help you. I’ll talk to Padre.”

“Okay,” he says and I feel suddenly hopeful. He’s so shy that the stage thing might be hard for him. But it might also really help him—draw him out of his shell and make him see how good he really is.

He hangs his head and shuffles out through the side door he came through as Christian catcalls him again from the free weighs.

I scowl at Christian and he smirks back as I make my way to Alessandro.

“You have a fan club,” he says with a glance at the three girls, who are skirting the half court past the dance class that’s just starting.

I feel my face scrunch. “Really? They didn’t seem to like me much.”

He smiles. “They’re demanding that you come back.”

“What do you know about Tony?” I ask.

“I’m glad he came. He’s a really good kid, but he lives with his grandparents. They do what they can for him but they don’t have a lot of money.”

“He’s got an amazing voice. He needs to do something with it. I want to help him find a community theater company.”

“I think that’s a wonderful idea.” For a second he looks like he wants to kiss me, and I lean in just a little, but then he loops his towel around his neck. “I just have some scheduling I need to work out for next week and then I’m finished here. Are you free this afternoon?”

“Yeah. We’re dark tonight.” It’s a little bit of a stretch. We haven’t officially opened yet, so “dark” just means we don’t have rehearsal, but a little rush zings through me at being able to say that. We’re dark tonight. We . As in: me and the rest of the cast. Our director is a hard-ass, but in a good way. She expects perfection. Preview performances start next week and she’s been riding us pretty hard, but tonight, we’re off.

I step closer to Alessandro and . . . mmm . The smell of his sweat is making things happen between my legs. I want to lick him in the worse possible way.

“Hilary,” he warns, his voice low.

I open my eyes—I didn’t realize I’d closed them—and I’m inches from the crook of his neck. I inhale his scent deeply, then back away. “So . . . were you wanting to do something?” Me, please. Say you want to do me . “This afternoon?”

He smiles, slow and easy. “There’s something I want to show you.”

“When?” Say now. Please say now.

“As soon as I get cleaned up,” he says, plucking at his T-shirt. And I totally want to suck the sweat off that shirt.

“I’ll be waiting . . . unless . . .” I flick a glance around at the kids, then lean closer. “Unless you need help in the shower,” I say low in his ear.

A smile twitches his lips. “As appealing as that sounds, there are likely children in the boys’ locker room.” His hand slides up from my waist and his finger traces the curve of my breast stealthily as he turns away. “But hold that thought.” He says it all cocky, without looking back, and the tingle between my legs spreads.

AN HOUR LATER, we’re waiting for the Roosevelt Island tram.

“Are we on repeats now?” I ask. “We can’t have run out of things to do yet.” Until my rehearsals cut into our Thursdays, we’d gone to watch the David Letterman Show at the Ed Sullivan Theater, walked the High Line, taken trapeze lessons on Pier 40 (which was where we were headed the day I, stupidly, told him I couldn’t see him anymore), and wandered parks we’d never been to before. And, yes, we also went to the Empire State Building.

Maybe the Statue of Liberty for his birthday tomorrow? It’s the only thing I can think of that we haven’t done. But that feels sort of lame.

He smiles. “There’s something we missed last time.”

We find seats at the back of the tramcar and I nuzzle his neck as we rise out of the city. “I was really hoping for some alone time,” I whisper. “You know you get me all hot when you box.”

A cocky smile pulls at his mouth and it makes me ache harder. But he doesn’t say anything.

He takes my hand and we flood out of the tram with the herd and walk up the main street.

“This is a nice place,” he says.

I look around at the condos and apartments with all the green around them. “Yeah. Quiet.”

He starts up the walk toward one of the condo buildings. “Peaceful,” he agrees, fishing something out of his pocket.

“Where are we going?” I ask, squinting at the building and then at him as he pulls out a key.

“In,” he says, shooting me a grin. He slides the key into the lock and holds the door for me.

I step through, feeling suddenly disoriented. “What’s going on?”

He presses the elevator button, then pulls me into his arms and kisses me. And that’s all the answer I get. The elevator comes and he escorts me inside, then presses 9. When the doors open again, he directs me to the end of the hallway and slips his key into the lock of a door there. Number 904.

The door opens into a big, bright, open room with plush white carpet, and a large kitchen off to the left. But what’s right in front of me is Manhattan. This is obviously a corner apartment, because two full walls of the main room are glass. One looks across the East River at the Upper East Side. The other wall of glass looks south, toward the tram and the Queensboro Bridge.

“Wow . . .” It’s the only coherent thought my mind can form. I pull my eyes away from the breathtaking view and squint at Alessandro. “Whose place is this?”

He looks at me for a heartbeat, as though he’s trying to gauge my reaction. “Mine.”

It takes me a second to absorb that. “Oh my God.”

He reaches for my hand and gives it a gentle tug, coaxing me through the door. I step deeper into the room and look around. “This is amazing. How can you afford this? Rents here have to be crazy.”

“I bought it. The victims of the 9/11 attacks were compensated well. I’m choosing to invest it in a little piece of New York.”

The bottom drops out of my stomach. “Holy shit. You’re rich ?” I knew his studio in the West Village couldn’t be cheap, but . . . “Why didn’t you ever say anything?”

He turns one arm out in an almost shrug. “There’s really nothing to say. The first I knew of the money was when my mother signed all of her accounts over to me just before I came back to New York. I tried to give it to my grandparents in Corsica, but they refused to take it. I’m investing it until my mother has need of it.”

I move to the sliding glass door to the balcony that looks across the river toward the Upper East Side. It’s sunset over the city, the sky streaked with crimson, gold, and gray. “This is incredible.”

He steps up behind me and slips his arms around my waist. “ You are incredible.”

I turn in his arms and the smolder in his gaze goes right to my groin. He looks a little dangerous when he wants sex, like a starving wolf.

In one beat of my racing heart he has me pressed between his hard body and the window. And he is starving, because his kiss devours me. His mouth moves hungrily on mine, his teeth nipping my lips and his tongue tasting every part of my mouth.