Livvy (9 page)

“I’ll go,” Rachelle says. “I’ve got some sketching to do.”

“Okay,” I finally agree. “This better be an amazing weekend.”

“You’ll never want to go back to Manhattan again,” Katrina says.

“Well, except for the kick-ass loft,” I remind her.

“Shut up,” she says.

An hour into the performance, I’m wishing I hadn’t volunteered to be the designated driver. I didn’t think anything of it when Rachelle, Katrina and I had discussed it earlier, because I didn’t think any of us would be allowed to drink since we aren’t twenty-one yet, but I was very wrong. No one cares, and even though the concert is fun, it’s obvious everyone else who’s drinking is enjoying it much more than I am. I don’t know these people well enough to start jumping around to the music and singing along at the top of my lungs.

Jon was the only person outside of my family that I’d ever felt that comfortable around. I check my phone for the twentieth time, wondering why I haven’t heard from him yet. I thought it was such a good reason to call him. I thought for sure it was neutral enough that he’d contact me. I thought for sure he would have softened a bit, but maybe I’ve pissed him off more. Maybe he expected an apology. If he hasn’t read my letters, he doesn’t know that I’ve already begged for his forgiveness–nor does he know that I don’t intend to do that anymore.

“Did you get my message?” I turn around quickly, stumbling into Emmanuel’s open arms.

“Hey!” We stare at each other for a second before hugging. “You come to these things? It certainly doesn’t seem like your scene,” I tell him.

“My best friend’s a baritone,” he explains. “Plus, it’s always a good place to meet drunk girls.” I make a face at him, showing my disapproval. “But I don’t have to do that tonight, now that I know you’re here.”

“Oh, don’t let me get in your way.”

“You’re so prissy sometimes,” he teases me. “I mean, don’t think it hasn’t crossed my mind to take advantage of pretty girls who aren’t thinking clearly–”

My jaw drops at his admission.

“To model,” he clarifies. “An uninhibited model is the best kind. But I don’t think my lawyer would be too fond of me allowing drunk women to sign my release forms. That probably wouldn’t hold up too well in court.”

“Well, good.”

“No, I provide the alcohol after they sign.” He grins, and with that smile, I can see how any girl would agree to model for him.

“No, you don’t,” I challenge him, turning away to look back at the stage.

“Yes, I do,” he says as he takes a step forward to stand next to me. “If they want it.”

“Do you sleep with them after that?” I ask him.

“That’s pretty personal, Livvy,” he says, looking at me suspiciously. “What if I said yes?”

“I wouldn’t approve.” I cross my hands in front of my chest.

“I don’t,” he says quickly.

“I’m not sure I believe you.”

“I want to be respected for what I do, Liv. I’m a professional, and I can separate my personal life from my work. A model never becomes anything more than that in the same night. That’s my rule.”

I nod a little, accepting his answer.

“I may ask her out for the next day, but that doesn’t break any rules.”

“Have you had a lot of girlfriends?”

“Compared to...”

“Anyone?”

“That’s too general. Let’s talk about you. How many boyfriends have you had?”

I glare at him, sensing he knows the answer. “You know, I don’t have to tell you that to know that you’ve had many more partners than I’ve had.”

“Partners,” he says, raising his eyebrows. “When you said ‘girlfriends,’ you meant lovers?”

I shrug my shoulders. “I don’t know.”

“Sure you know. Are you sizing me up, Liv? Are you seeing if I meet your standards? Your expectations?”

“I’m just trying to get to know you better, that’s all. Don’t read into it. And, I mean, if you don’t want to tell me, you don’t have to.”

“Four,” he says. I’m pleased with the answer, and smile as I sigh in relief. I think I could go out with a guy who’s–

“Four girlfriends and nineteen lovers.”

I laugh at his joke, eventually meeting his eyes to see them staring back at me, serious. He’s not kidding. “
Nineteen
?” I ask him.

“That’s a lot?” he asks. I nod quickly, definitively.

“But only four were girlfriends,” he says soberly, as if that’s a good thing.

“That makes it worse, you know,” I tell him quietly.

“Right, because you think it should mean something.”

“Yes,” I tell him. “And you said you did, too.”

“It would mean something... with you,” he whispers into my ear, pulling away slowly to see my reaction. I push him away.

“Let me be clear,” I tell him with a smile but meaning everything I’m telling him. “We have to mean something to one another first before I would even consider that.”

“I know,” he says. “And I like a challenge. I don’t mean anything to you yet?” he asks, feigning sadness.

“I really don’t know you yet.”

“Do I have a chance?” he asks earnestly. I shrug once more as I bite my lip to hide the smile. “What’s that look mean?” he asks.

“I don’t know–”

“Tell me where I stand right now.”

“No,” I say shyly. His voice is so sexy, and his mannerisms are...
wow
.

“I like nice girls,” he says. “I like girls who know what they want, and won’t settle for less. I like creativity and individuality. I love a beautiful smile,” he says as his finger touches my lip. “I like a girl who’s spirited and determined. I like someone who’s smart and curious. Do you live up to any of those things?”

By his definition, I’d say I’m pretty close to what he’s looking for. He drags his thumb down my bare arm. It feels nice, but it’s confusing to me, too. I feel something in me–desire, I think–and it seems too soon.

“I think you do,” he suggests, answering for me. “Now that you know how you affect me, tell me how I affect you.” He stares at me, waiting, and eventually moves his fingers back up to my face, brushing them against my cheek. I’m sure he’s noticed my hard blushing. I like the way it feels when he touches me like that. So slow, and soft, and sensual. My pulse quickens, and I feel it everywhere.

“It’s unexpected,” I answer him honestly. I dip my head and close my eyes, imagining it’s Jon’s hand that’s moving to the back of my neck; imagining that it’s Jon that’s pulling me toward him; imagining that it’s Jon’s mouth– “No,” I tell him, pushing him away at the feel of his lips touching the corner of mine.

He looks around the crowd, as if he’s checking to see if anyone saw the rejection. He kicks at something on the ground before looking back up at me. “Too fast?” he asks.

“You said you like nice girls.”

“Some nice girls kiss on the first date.”

“Not me,” I tell him.

“I know. This is our second, though,” he explains endearingly.

“It’s too fast for me,” I tell him, hoping it’s a good enough reason without having to tell him why. “Plus, this isn’t a date.”

“Again, do I have
any
chance with you, Livvy?” he asks.

“Of course you do,” I tell him. “I think you’re very attractive... and creative... and a little mysterious, and dangerous.”

“Dangerous?”

“Dangerous,” I confirm. Dangerous because I can see myself letting go with him, even though I barely know him and definitely don’t love him. “You make me feel sexy,” I tell him softly. “You make me want things I shouldn’t want.”

“Says who?”

“Me.”

“Why shouldn’t you want to feel sexy? Why wouldn’t you want to be with someone who makes you want things? You’re an adult. Sexuality is part of who we are.”

“It’s just too fast,” I reiterate. “I want those things. But I want it to mean something, too.”

He looks at me skeptically. “So, from what I’m hearing, I turn you on. You’re attracted to me. You think I’m dangerous, but wait–”

“What?”

“Didn’t you say the other night you weren’t afraid of me?” he asks.

I nod slowly, feeling his hand on my waist. I instinctively put mine on top of his, but I can’t tell if my instincts are to move it or keep it there. I keep it there. “That was before you...” I look away from him again.

“Before I got you hot and bothered,” he says with a satisfied laugh. My cheeks get hot again as I look away. He tips my head back to his, though, looking intensely into my eyes. “But it sounds like I have a chance with you.”

“You do,” I whisper. A part of me wants him to try to kiss me again, but I hear the other part screaming against that notion.

I see Katrina’s pink hair moving toward us. Finally, I move his hand from my body, signaling to him that we’re not alone.

“We’re not interrupting, are we?” my roommate says.

“Not at all,” I tell her, even though they are. I don’t know if I should be annoyed or grateful.

“Aren’t you happy we got her to stay on campus this weekend?” Rachelle asks Emmanuel.

“It’s a nice surprise,” he answers her. “Was there a trade-off?”

“We’re spending next Saturday in Manhattan, at Livvy’s loft.”

“You should come!” Katrina says excitedly. “I mean... maybe–” she stops herself after she caught her mistake too late.

“I’d love to,” Emmanuel answers, not letting her take it back. “I have friends in Manhattan. Maybe we could all go out.”

“I’m kind of having a party for my birthday.”

“Oh, well. If you want me to stop by...”

“Sure,” I say, wanting to be polite–but also wanting to kill Katrina for opening her big mouth. I don’t want to un-invite him, but the thought of him in Manhattan–in the loft–makes me sick to my stomach. I want to get to know him better, but not there. No matter how different the place looks, it’s special because of the time I spent there with Jon. He’d recreated a Mykonos scene, and we had made love there, and spent the entire night and morning together. No matter how much anger I feel toward him, I still cherish that time, and wouldn’t trade it for anything in the world.

“Great,” Emmanuel says. “You can give me your address in class on Tuesday.”

“Cool,” I agree.

“Ready to go to the after-party?” Rachelle asks me.

“Just tell me where to go,” I say with forced enthusiasm. “Are you going?” I ask him.

“I’ve got an early shoot in the morning,” he says. “Gotta catch the sunrise.”

“Okay, well, it was nice to see you here.”

He nods his head in agreement, putting his hand on my shoulder. He leans in and kisses my cheek. “It’s okay to want things,” he whispers.

The rest of the night, without Emmanuel and without alcohol, I find myself on a swing in the front yard of the house we’d gone to, alone with my thoughts and a phone that never rings.

CHAPTER 6

“I have to wonder if you might be behind the class pairings,” I admit to Emmanuel on Tuesday as we walk around the campus.

“It’s not my fault we have an uneven number of students,” he explains, pointing across the street to guide me. “Someone had to get stuck with the TA. Why not you?”

We’re looking for an everyday, ordinary object to photograph. It’s a lesson in framing and perspective, and the assignment is to make it look anything but ordinary. We have the entire class–an hour and a half–to take the picture. Of course Emmanuel doesn’t have to participate, so he’s helping me find my object and being a general distraction. He did bring his camera, too, but he’s just been shooting candids of me.

“I don’t think I understand the lesson,” I tell him. “I just find something normal and shoot it at an angle that’s not, like, straight-on?”

“You could... but remember, it’s about looking at the whole picture. You can’t digitally crop anything out, so you have to consider everything you see in the viewfinder. That means you can set things up to make the final product more visually stimulating.”

“It doesn’t have to be one object, though, right?”

“Right.” He holds the door for me as we go into an independent bookstore. The smell inside reminds me of the public library. I inhale deeply, missing those afternoons.

“Do you read much?” I ask him.

“Not really. Magazines every once in awhile, but not books. Nothing holds my interest that long. I think I’m too visual for books.”

“That’s impossible,” I argue. “You can’t be too visual for books. It’s not what your eyes see, it’s what your mind conjures up. I have more vivid images dreamed up by my imagination than anything I can see with my own two eyes.”

“Then you’re not looking hard enough.”

I roll my eyes at his response. “I don’t think you’re
trying
hard enough. You just see beauty and capture it on film? Is that all you do?” I wait for his response, finally looking up at him when he doesn’t answer. A soft flash startles me as he snaps another picture. “Oh, my god, please stop.”