I’m in the bathroom and coming hard into my hand, just as I hear the door to the apartment open. I clean up and look myself over in the mirror before I step out. My cheeks are flushed but, other than that, I don’t think it’s obvious that I’d gotten off thinking about her while she was out getting food.
“I didn’t know what to get you,” she says, rifling through the paper bag on the counter, grease stains peppering the sides.
My stomach automatically turns. The fast food was for her, not for me.
“But,” she says, waving some greasy puck at me. “The classic sausage and egger seemed the best bet for you. At least, that’s what I hope it is. It was all in Portuguese so who knows. You have some crazy options.”
I sit down at the island and take the greasy sandwich from her. Maybe it’s not the worst thing.
Meanwhile, she’s leaning across the counter and savagely ripping into a breakfast sandwich of her own.
“Oh my god,” she moans, fingers at her lips, eyes pinched closed. “This is so good.”
I can’t help but stare, wishing I’d at least changed out of these grey sweatpants and into something else. I’m hoping my dick is spent enough to behave itself.
She meets my eyes and smiles, mouthful of food.
“Charming,” I tell her.
And yet from the knowing look in her eyes, she knows I actually mean it.
“Sorry,” she says, chewing fast. “I’ve been eating those pastries so often, I’ve forgotten what American fast food tastes like.”
“I assume Marco has taken you to Pastéis de Belém.” Lisbon is famous for these little custard tarts and the city is crawling with places that make “the best ones,” but the one at Belém is at least credited as the start of the pastel de nata craze.
She shakes her head. “No. Is it good?”
Where the fuck has my brother been taken her this last month?
Wait. Don’t answer that.
“It’s the best. There’s always a line and it’s chaos, but it’s worth it. Get him to take you there.”
“Why can’t you take me there?”
I hesitate. “Because Marco has to do something for you.”
“He does plenty,” she says, putting her half-eaten sandwich aside and moving onto the flat potato thing.
This is the part where I should shut up. Just shut my damn mouth and let Ruby and Marco figure their own shit out. I’ve always been so fucking good at letting things go, not caring, acting like nothing really matters except the game, and even then, I’m known as the guy with nerves of steel.
But I’m not that way around her.
I wish I was.
“That’s not what I gathered yesterday,” I say.
She stares at me for a moment, chewing, then puts her potato cake down. “Did I say something when I was drunk?”
“Not really.”
She swallows and sits back, her arms stretched in front of her, a few loose strands of hair falling in front of her face. “I was having a staring contest with a horse, I remember that.”
“You were fine,” I tell her. “I shouldn’t have brought you there.”
Her eyes snap to mine, fire in them. “No, you shouldn’t have. What were you even thinking?”
I open my mouth to protest but she has me there. “I’m sorry. I guess I just wanted the company.”
“Was that your way of making me realize that I’d never have a future with your brother?”
“What?” I shake my head adamantly. “No. Not even a little. That never crossed my mind…why would you think that?”
“Because it was apparent from the moment I stepped foot there that I didn’t belong. It wasn’t just the crowd. I could tell with your mother. Your stepfather. The way they looked at me. The things they said. And I know why Marco never told them about me. Because I’m embarrassing.”
“You’re not embarrassing, I—”
“I am. Okay. To that crowd I am. I’m just a young backpacker. I don’t know what I’m doing with my life and I certainly don’t belong there with that set. Look, I’m okay with it. I really am. I know Marco just wants to be with me because, well, let’s just say he has his reasons.”
I should leave this conversation, change it. But I can’t.
Because I have to know.
“What do you see in him?” I ask, my voice low.
She cocks her head and searches my face for a moment. “You’re asking what I see in your brother? Shouldn’t you know that?”
She’s right. There are a lot of reasons why someone would want to be with my brother, good reasons too, and our strange rivalry shouldn’t cloud that. I look away, feeling ashamed. “Forget I said anything.”
“You don’t think I deserve your brother?”
“That’s not what I said.”
“You don’t think he deserves me?”
I clamp my lips together. I won’t be able to lie.
She stares at me for a moment, gives a slight shake of her head. “You know how to have fun, don’t you Luciano? Or has it always been the game? The team. From day one? No room for anything else.”
Do I know how to have fun?
That’s my whole image.
Easy going.
Fun-loving.
Always with a soundbite.
“Do you?” she repeats, and that’s when I know she’s on to me. “Or is it just a mask? Is it just what you want people to see, to hide the scared little abandoned boy you are inside?”
I stand up abruptly. I don’t have to listen to this, from her, someone who is with my brother, someone who doesn’t know me.
She reaches out and grabs my arm, pulling me toward her.
“I know what I said last night. That we’re the same,” she says, her grip tight, a wild desperation in her eyes. “You want to know what I see in him? I see the way he sees me.”
“He’s ashamed of you,” I practically cry out, and it’s too late to
