Sophie's Smile: A Novel (21 page)

“Well, you won’t catch me ordering a side salad for my main course. I love food and I’m not a picky eater, which is why I have a difficult time dieting.”

“You’re not trying to diet right now, are you?” Liam questioned, concerned.

“No, not really.
Although I probably should consider it.”

“Why? You’re perfect.”

I believed him, but I still felt uncomfortable by his candid honesty. “Thanks,” I mumbled.

“Really.
You are beautiful.” He soft brown eyes stared longingly into mine and held there until I smiled.

After dinner, Liam unexpectedly turned the opposite direction from where we parked, strolling down the street, passing a few heat lamps, until we ended up at Café
Zucchero
.

“What are we doing here?” I asked, puzzled by the second Italian Restaurant.

This one seemed fancier, with its rich brown canopy and outdoor heat lamps. Two hostesses stood beside a fixed lectern dressed in black, hair tied back, a smile fixed on their pretty faces, greeting the people as they strolled by, and the gourmet dishes that filled the crowded room looked expensive.

“We, my dear, are getting dessert.”

My eyes bugged out as we faced the glass cases by the door, lined with delicate pastries, cakes, and gelato. The smells of rich chocolate, creams, and espresso beans lined my nose. Although the seams of my jeans were already tight against my content belly, I couldn’t control the urge to taste something sweet.

“Wow.”

“Would you like to eat here or take it back to my place?”

“I’m stuffed. So we should probably take it to go.”

“That’s what I thought.”

“Have you tasted cannoli before?”

Question marked my face. “No, but I’ll try it.”

“Okay, we’ll split one because it’s kinda large.”

The man over the counter carefully packaged one cannoli in a white Chinese-take-out-style box and handed it to me. A cannoli looked like a crispy pastry tube filled with thick white cream, sprinkled with powdered sugar, and dabbed at the ends with miniature chocolate chips.

“What’s the filling made out of?” The texture looked thicker than cream.

“Ricotta cheese.
It’s good. Trust me.”

“I trust you.”

And I did trust him. Ever since I met him, his perfection left me wary but his actions and words were filled with honesty and careful concern for me. His attention never deviating to an obviously attractive, suggestively-clad girl that stood across the street. He was always fixed on me, ever so carefully, as if he was worried that I’d run away or break apart.

Once we got to his place our stomachs miraculously made room and we dispatched the cannoli in a couple bites.

“
Mmmm
…” I murmured.

The shell was buttery and flaky, as it crisped into the soft pillow of thick, sweetened ricotta custard. The mini chocolate chips added
a bittersweetness
to the dessert. It was delicious.

I followed Liam to the living room. Carefully watching, as he lit the fireplace and a candle, left the lights dimmed, turned on
Amelie
, and brought a blanket to the couch. He motioned for me to sit directly in front of him, angled so we both faced the screen, feet stretched out on the couch, his chest as my pillow, his arms wrapped around me, hands tangled in mine, and the blanket covering me as I was covering him.

It was difficult following the movie, not because it was French and I had to read the subtitles, but because Liam was behind me, pressed against me, constantly smelling and petting my hair, leaving his warm breath on my skin, his lips lightly kissing the crown of my head.

The movie finally ended. He let go, I let out a deep breath—I didn’t realize I was holding it—and was mentally preparing myself for the date to end.

“The movie was good.”

“Yes,” he murmured as he returned the movie back into its case and changed the settings on the TV from movie to music. My pulse quickened as I began to realize that Liam hadn’t meant for the night to be over quite yet. He had other plans.

I froze quietly on the couch, sucking in my breath, as he headed back toward me. He sat next to me as he leaned in to kiss me in one, fluid motion. His lips softly met mine, lingering hesitantly at first, lovingly. My lips instantly parted against his and his tongue took its cue to explore—hot and wet, but not as hungry as it was at the beach. His hands started to roam along my back, pressing me closer to him. He moved calculatingly fast.

The next moment I was lying beneath him, his lips never leaving mine, his haggard breath waiting patiently for some oxygen, his chest bare and skin hot. My eyes hazed over as I desperately tried to regain focus. I noticed a large tattoo inked into his left arm, tried focusing on it, but I couldn’t make out what it was.

My body sent chills downward as his hands started down my neck, along the dips in my shoulders, lingering, ever so slightly, against my quivering skin.

My reaction to his touch delighted him in many, unforeseen ways. His eyes seemed dazed and cloudy, his mind was shut-off and numb, but his body was writhing, constantly, against mine. I felt his urgency heighten and soften.
His motions animalistic and in a way somewhat innocent.

My body began to crush under his weight and I felt something harden uncomfortably against my thigh. I tried twisting slightly to lessen the jabs but I was held captive against him, under him.

While my body was thrilled and excited, tingling for more, responding to his, my mind was frantic and terrified, wondering when he would stop and how far he would go. I seemed to be having an out-of-body experience. And by some miracle or another, my clothes stayed where they should, on my body.

I felt a tiny relief when he stopped. Composing
himself
before he lost complete control—funny, I thought he let go completely, but I guess a part of him was able to turn the switch in his brain back on.

I was quiet and still as I watched him. He looked haggard but happy.
His eyes dancing and his face beaming with a childish grin.
Looking down, I noticed what was jabbing my thigh a few minutes ago and I gasped. He definitely enjoyed himself.

29

The drive to my house was quiet and uncomfortable. Then, as if he knew I needed some reassurance, Liam cleared his throat, “So, I wanted to explain the whole status change on MySpace. I wanted you to know that for me, I am very committed to you. I don’t feel like I need to look around for something better because I like what we have going. And for me, there isn’t anyone better.”

I just sat there listening, so he continued, “I feel like I have a responsibility to you…a responsibility to make your first relationship special and wonderful in every way that I can. I understand that everything is new for you so I am fine with going as slow as you want. Okay?”

All I could muster was a faint, “Okay.” He seemed fine with that for now as he leaned in to kiss me good night.

We can go as slow as I want?
That’s what I heard but that’s not what happened.
No.
I shook my dizzying head.
No, that’s definitely not what happened.

Of course I didn’t stop him, I didn’t say anything really except for “No” when he tried reaching for the clasp, which thankfully, I was able to do.
What’s going to happen next time?

Everything seemed to be progressing to the next level each time we met.
What should I tell him?
He seemed so happy and enthralled by my presence—I couldn’t assume he would be satisfied with my performance…or lack thereof—
and here I am, so stirred up in the fantasy of it all
.

~ Liam ~

30

Returning home, my heart continued to pound and my limbs were still trembling from the mind-numbing excursion. Feeling as if I had taken a feel-good drug, I was oddly rejuvenated and carefree. The experience left me in a daze; I all but floated back to my room. Somehow I was able to get ready for bed, and as my head connected with the pillow, my body instantly retreated into the most restful, deep and dreamless sleep of my twenty-three years.

The next morning I woke up grinning like a bastard, humming the
Happy Days
theme song.

“Hey Bud, you’re in a good mood,” Dad commented, his eyes puzzled but content.

“Yeah I am. It’s a wonderful day.”

“Uh…okay,” Dad said as he glanced out the window, catching a gust of wind strangling an already limp hibiscus, blurred by the gray fog that blanketed the morning sky.

Whistling now, I smeared a thick slab of peanut butter across two slices of toast at once, squeezed a squiggle of honey over it, poured myself a tall glass of OJ, and brought it to the table to enjoy.

Dad watched me now, carefully, as I wolfed down my breakfast and chugged my glass of OJ.

He cleared his throat and then casually asked, “So, how’s Sophie?”

“She’s wonderful,” I gushed.

“That’s good.” Hesitantly, he continued, “You know, you should probably take it easy…you don’t want to get hurt…like your old man.”

“Dad, don’t worry. Sophie isn’t like anyone I’ve ever met. She’s special. Hell, she’s not like anyone you’ve ever met, either. Actually, you probably should worry more about her than me.”

“What do you mean?” He asked, puzzled and concerned. Shock plastered his face as he continued, “You’re not forcing anything on her, right?” His tone was stern and shockingly parental.

“Dad, I’m not a
perv
.”

He let out a harsh breath, “I know you’re not…so, what do you mean?”

“Just, that she’s naïve, sweet, and pure. She’s twenty-one years old and I’m the first guy to ever approach her and notice her…well probably not the first to notice her, but I am the first to ask her out and take her on an official date.”

“Really?”

“Yup.
So don’t worry. I’m careful, but she is probably more careful about me than I am about her. Also, well, I’m already too smitten by her to backtrack now. It’s too late. All I can do is hope she feels the same way about me.”

“Good luck, then,” he said as he gave me a hard pat on the back. He turned so I wouldn’t notice the shimmer in his eyes.

“Thanks, Dad.”

Opening my general Chemistry book, I decided to get a head start on Monday’s lecture. I booted up my computer, first checking my email, and my eyes widened as I spotted one unread message in my Inbox from my angel, Sophie:

January 22, 2006 4:08 PM

Subject:
…about last
nite

Body:

Hi Liam,