Lessons in Gravity (Study Abroad #2), page 10
“Good for you,” I say, and I mean it. “I love your new band, even if it has a terrible name and four songs to play. Why haven’t you written more, if you don’t mind me asking?”
Javier shrugs. “Haven’t been very inspired lately. I’m hoping being home for the holidays might make my muse sing.”
“Well good luck,” I say.
He grins. We stop at a light and he turns to look at me. “Thanks. I’m gonna need it.”
The rest of the drive to my señora’s apartment is quick. Traffic isn’t that bad—it will be much worse tonight, when the city throbs to the techno beat of its infamous discotecas—and Javier zooms across town with ease.
“Up here?” He points to Calle de Villanueva.
“Yep. We’re the building toward the end on the left, with the blue door. Hard to miss.”
Javier glances out his window as we make our way up the street. “Salamanca. Very nice neighborhood. You girls lucked out—so close to city center, to the parks and museums. It’s such a lovely area, isn’t it?”
“Lovely.” I try the word on for size. “Yes. That’s exactly what it is.”
The truck hums as Javier slows to a stop in front of a familiar blue door. He puts the truck in park.
“I’m going to say it again.” I unbuckle my seatbelt. “Thank y—”
“Don’t. It was a pleasure. I enjoyed myself, and hope you did, too.” A pause. He runs a hand through the hair at the back of his head. “And thank you for your apology.”
“Sure,” I say. “Yeah. Thank you for yours, too.”
“So, um. How about I get your number?”
I cock a brow, teasing, even as my heart skips a beat. “My number? That’s pretty forward of you, Uncle Pervy. I thought you wanted el amor with María Carmen?”
He laughs. I like the sound of it—masculine, deep, sincere.
“Uncle Pervy just wants your number so he can text you the next time his band has practice.”
“Here, I already have my phone,” I say, grabbing it from my pocket. “Give me your number and I’ll text you so you have mine.”
He gives me his number. I save it under the contact name “Uncle Pervy”, because, really, it’s just too good not to use.
“All right.” I type up a text. “Sending it over now.”
His phone pings on cue. He swipes his thumb across the screen. “Awesome. Thanks.”
He leans over my lap to look at my phone. “Did you save me as Uncle Pervy? Christ, you did! Change it, please!”
This is fun; part of me wants to stay and engage in more witty repartee with Javier; I’m a little bummed our cultural adventure is over. But I have plans to go out tonight with the girls, and I’d better get a nap in if we’re going to stay out until our usual four or five A.M. Which, believe it or not, is pretty early by Madrid standards.
Plus this conversation feels…I don’t know. A little flirty. And I definitely don’t want to be flirting with Javier. He was an orgasmic lay, I’ll give him that, but it was a one time thing. I don’t want anything else. And Javier—he wants someone else. Someone to fall for.
So yeah. Flirting with him is stupid for a lot of reasons.
I push my weight against the door, opening it. A gust of chilly November air invades the cocoon-like warmth of the truck. “Really, Javier, thank you so much for letting me tag along today. This was amazing.”
“But I’ll see you next week, yes?” He rests his wrist on the top of the steering wheel, fingertips brushing the dashboard. He looks at me. “Leo will be terribly disappointed if you don’t come to our practice.”
“That guy and his—what did he call it?”
Javier shakes his head. “I want no part of that—er, part.”
I grin.
He grins, too. “Buenos noches, Maddie. I’ll be in touch about Wednesday.”
Good night, Javier, I reply in Spanish. I close the door and make my way around the truck.
Javier waits until I’m inside before he drives away. A second later, my phone pings. It’s a text from Uncle Pervy.
[praying hands emoji] Please, please change my name in your phone. How old r u? 20? I’m only 4 yrs older than u. Not old enough to b Uncle Pervy [praying hands emoji]
Even as I roll my eyes, I can’t help but smile.
I’ll b 21 on December 3, thank u very much, I type back. See u Wednesday, Uncle P.
Chapter 10
Maddie
Wednesday
The Usual Madrileña Spot
I’m the last one to arrive at our weekly Madrileña gathering.
Laura shoulders back her perfectly coiffed waves to give me a kiss on the cheek. “Don’t you look cute! I’ve never seen you wear those leggings before. Are they real leather?”
“Hello no,” I reply, taking my customary seat next to Vivian. “I got them at that big department store on Gran Vía for, like, twelve euro. They’re actually pretty comfortable. Here, feel them.”
Rachel looks me up and down over the rim of her wine glass. “They’re super hot, Mads. You’re going to see a boy after this, aren’t you?”
“Not a boy,” I reply. “A band. It’s for my thesis.”
“Anonymous sexual encounters with members of a band are part of your thesis?” Katie asks. “If I had known that topic was up for grabs, I would’ve nabbed it myself. Your research must be quite…explosive.”
“Earth shattering,” Laura adds with a smirk.
“Mind blowing,” Rachel says.
Vivian wags her brows. “Oh, there’s blowing all right.”
I bite back a grin. I don’t remember whose idea it was to start calling ourselves the Madrileñas—literally, the Madrid girls—but the name stuck. There’s five of us from the Meryton in Madrid program—me, Vivian, Rachel, Katie, and Laura—and while most of us didn’t know each other back at Meryton, we’ve bonded over the trials and triumphs of studying abroad. We meet every Wednesday evening for wine and tapas at a cute little restaurant down the street from my apartment. We bitch, we laugh, we drink too much vino tinto de la casa (red wine of the house).
If it wasn’t for the Madrileñas, I would’ve drowned months ago. Just when I think I can’t carry the weight of my hurt—just when I think I’m about to go under—they come to the rescue. They’re great girls; smart, loyal, and just about as obsessed with sexual innuendo as I am.
“No blowing,” I say, waving down the waiter. “Not tonight, anyway. Rafa’s uncle has a hookup at a really cool historical venue where his band plays. I don’t know if any of you have heard of it—El Monasterio de los Humildes Reales? It’s basically a medieval castle that got turned into a monastery, which got turned into a theater. Javier’s helped me gain access to it—a friend of his works there. I’m hoping to do some research at them, maybe come up with some ideas to use in my thesis.”
The Waiter with the Wandering Eye, as we call him, sets a heavy pour of red wine in front of me. I thank him, but like most men with two eyeballs and a penis, he ignores me and stares at Laura instead.
“That still doesn’t explain why you’re wearing pleather leggings,” Viv says. “You sure you don’t have a little crush on Uncle Javier? He’s really cute. Like, really.”
Rachel wrinkles her nose. “Uncle Javier? I didn’t know you were into older men, Maddie.”
I take a sip of my wine. God that’s good—a little spicy, deliciously fragrant. I came to Spain never really having drunk wine. We started drinking it because it was the cheapest thing on the menu—cheaper even than water. A couple months later, and now I’m totally obsessed.
“Javier is twenty four,” I say. “Not much older than us. And I already did some ‘research’ with him, as you ladies call it, a couple weeks back. Which of course means I don’t have a crush on him.”
“Why? Was it bad?” Katie nibbles on a triangle of manchego cheese. “The boning-slash-research, I mean.”
I take a long pull of wine, a pleasant tingle in the back of my knees beginning to stir. “No. It was good. Really good, actually. But he’s into this other girl, and I’m—well. I don’t go back for seconds. It was definitely just a one night stand.”
“A one night stand? Really?” Rachel says. “From what you’re telling me, this guy is not only super hot, he’s super nice, too. I mean. He was a great lay, he’s in a band, and he’s helping you with your thesis? What’s not to like? If I were you, I’d be seriously crushing on this hombre, whether or not he’s digging someone else.”
“Javier got drunk and told me he’s ‘looking for love’.” I curl my fingers into air quotes. “I’m looking for orgasms. Two completely different things.”
Viv tilts her head. “Are they really?”
“For me they are, yes.”
“Orgasms are the best,” Laura says, holding up her glass. “I had three this morning.”
“Three!” We clink glasses. “That soccer stud of yours has a gift.”
“The man’s got magic hands. And a magic tongue, now that I’m thinking about it.”
Ever since the start of the semester, Laura’s had this thing for a star soccer player on the Madrid team. “It’s the man bun,” she said. “I have a weakness.”
She also has balls. When she saw said footballer at a bar a couple months back, she had just enough liquid courage to go up to him and say hello. They’ve been fuck buddies ever since.
“Well,” Rachel takes a long pull of wine, “best of luck on your thesis, Maddie. I know you’ve been stressing about it lately. I have no doubt this monastery place is going to be the break you’ve been waiting for.”
“Let’s hope so,” I say. “Can you believe we have, like, a month left in Spain? It’s flown by.”
“Hard to believe we wanted it to fly by at the beginning of the semester,” Vivian says. “Remember what a head case I was? I couldn’t speak the language, I was failing my classes. I just wanted to go back home.”
“And now you’re staying another semester in Madrid,” I say. “A whole year in Spain. Good for you.”
Viv smiles. “It’s not too late for you sign up for the spring semester, you know. The deadline is the first week of December.”
“Trust me, there’s nothing more I’d rather do. With everything going on back home—well, let’s just say I’ve enjoyed being a world away from all that shit. But I’ve gotta get back to Atlanta to check up on everyone, especially my mom. My parents are trying to sell the house, and we have to start packing it up. Plus I don’t think my dad is going to pay for me to spend another semester here. I mean, I’d love to come back for grad school when I’m on my own dime. But until then, I don’t think I’ll be studying in Spain. Which means I have to cram as much research into the next month as I can. The clock is ticking on getting my thesis right.”
Katie wiggles her eyebrows. “Then let’s hope this Uncle Javier situation works out.”
I almost jump when my bag, hanging from the back of my chair, vibrates.
“Speaking of,” I say, digging out my phone. Not gonna lie, I thought Javier might’ve forgotten about me; I haven’t heard from him since I saw him last weekend at the Monastery.
Buenas noches, Maddie. My heart does this weird fluttery thing as I read the message from Uncle Pervy. I hope u r still up for band practice 2nite? I can pick u up.
I’m actually out with some friends for a quick glass of vino, I text back. I can just take the Metro and meet u there?
He responds right away.
Don’t want u taking the Metro alone at nite. Tell me where u are and I’ll come get u.
I should’ve known Javier would be a gentleman—he’s been nothing but a total stud when it comes to manners and kindness—but still, his thoughtfulness takes me off guard.
“Anyone know the address here?” I say.
Rachel looks over her shoulder at the door. “We’re on—wait, I think I remember it—Conde de Aranda? Something like that. Why, dear friend, do you ask? Is this Uncle hombre of yours coming to join us?”
I roll my lips between my teeth to keep from smiling. “He’s coming to pick me up, actually. He has a car, so....”
“So,” Katie says. “That means you’re going to bone in the backseat?”
I let out a sigh of resignation. “I don’t go back for seconds, remember?”
Vale, I reply. I type out the address. Thank u very much 4 coming 2 get me.
I’ll be there in 30, he replies. Thank u for coming.
For the next twenty-five minutes I can’t sit still. The girls chat about their plans for the weekend—a trip to the Royal Palace, some clubbing—and we moan about a bullshit paper due Friday in our cultural experience class.
“Whoa,” Laura says, looking over my shoulder out the restaurant windows. “Mads, is that him?”
My pulse drums in my ears as I turn around in my seat.
A sinister black Range Rover is pulled up in front of the restaurant, its headlights cutting a lane of yellow through of the darkness. I can hear the hum of the engine, that throaty, slightly threatening rumble.
The light inside the truck is on. A guy is bent over the passenger seat, digging something out of the glove compartment.
His mints. The cinnamon Altoids, the ones that smell like him.
He sits up on his seat and turns his head. His eyes latch onto mine.
My blood jumps, a tingly leap.
Oh, it’s Javier all right.
And he is even more handsome-hot than I remember. Hotter even than he was in the videos I took of him playing guitar. The videos I may or may not have replayed a few—er, more than a few—times since this weekend.
He holds up his palm in greeting, a tin of Altoids tucked between his thumb and forefinger. A small smile curves at the edges of his mouth. His stubble—his dimple things—the slick hipster wave of his hair—they are out in full force.
“Ho-ly shit,” Rachel breathes. “Maddie, if you don’t want him, I’ll take him. Gladly.”
I slide out of my chair, tucking my hair self-consciously behind my ear.
“I’ll see you guys in class tomorrow,” I say.
Katie shakes her head. “I sincerely hope we don’t see you in class. Because you’re still tied to Uncle Javier’s bed, obviously. Vaya con Dios, amiga.” Go with God, my friend.
“Not gonna happen!” I call over my shoulder.
***
Javier
Maddie’s face is flushed from the cold as she climbs into my truck. I look and see her girlfriends staring at me—us—through the windows of the restaurant. I offer them a smile. They turn away, giggling.
“Hola, Maddie,” I say.
She meets my eyes. “Hola,” she replies. “Qué tal?” How are you?
“I’m very well, thanks,” I say. “How about you?”
“Sorry about them.” She nods at her table of friends. “They were very intrigued by Uncle Pervy.”
“Who wouldn’t be?” Turning my head, I lean toward her and brush my lips against her cheeks. I bite back a grin when she shivers, digging her hands into the pockets of her huge puffer jacket. I can smell the red wine on her lips, a spicy, sweet scent.
I’m inundated by a warm awareness of her body. Its shape. The way it moves. The nervous excitement running through it, making her ever so slightly jumpy.
The way my body responds to it, her body. The desire that curls between my thighs. I shift in my seat, suddenly uncomfortable.
I’ve been looking forward to this evening all week. I’m excited to play with the band, of course.
But the more I thought about it, the more I realized my excitement had a lot to do with Maddie. Her excitement is contagious, and even if I was a bit annoyed at first to have her tagging along, now I’m happy to help her. Turns out she’s an absolute joy to be around. I loved watching her fall for the monastery, a place I fell for years ago. I loved that she loved my new band. I loved how she danced to our music and laughed with Leo. I am all too eager to have her at practice again. If she were a part of this new life I’m building here in Madrid—which she’s not, obviously—she’d fit in with my crew pretty well. I dig that about her.
I don’t dig her dig her, of course. Whether or not she’d fit in in my life here, she has no interest in being a part of it. I may be looking for my happily ever after, but she told me point blank she isn’t. And I’ve had my sights set on María Carmen for so long—I’ve thought about her so often—I know there’s no better girl for me.
Maddie is fire. Hot to the touch, wild. Unpredictable. I’ve been burned by girls like her before. I’ve learned my lesson the hard way.
I don’t want fire. I want comfort. Connection. Things I know a girl like Carmen is capable of sharing with me, her bougie boyfriend aside.
But judging by the tent I’ve just pitched in my pants, my traitorous dick begs to differ. Today I woke up with raging morning wood—I don’t know why, I felt like I was fifteen again—so I climbed in the shower and began to rub one out. Lately I’ve been concocting some explicit fantasies about Carmen’s curvaceous body, so I thought I’d revisit one or two of them.
But when I closed my eyes and leaned my forehead against the cool tile, I didn’t see Carmen.
I saw Maddie. The sated look in her deep blue eyes as she surrendered to her orgasm again and again and again. Her strident confidence in bed. How she met me stroke for stroke, how unafraid she was to say what she wanted; how unafraid she was to take it.
Take me. And I gave to her, willingly.
I saw her smile, the way her eyes lit up, as she clapped to the beat of my newest song.
My orgasm hit me like a ton of bricks. When the shockwaves subsided, I felt so guilty for thinking about Maddie instead of Carmen, and so fucking confused—I don’t want Maddie, and she doesn’t want me—I turned the spigot all the way to the right and let the water singe my skin. A punishment, I guess, for indulging in another dead end with another girl who isn’t right for me.
