Page 41 of Que Será, Syrah

“So, how long have you known?” she asks, abruptly changing the subject. “About us, I mean. Tell the truth; did you really recognize me right away?”

“Not immediately. It wasn’t until I saw the picture on your license,” I say, not mentioning the vague, but instant recognition her smile had evoked. “Also, your name—Legs, Allegra. That’s when it all made sense.”

Mm,” she murmurs. “So, you know what I think.”

“Nope. Not a clue.”

“We’ll just have to be each other’s sneaky links until you finish your investigation. Who knows? It might even be fun.”

“I’m not sure about that,” I say, still trying hard not to stare at her mouth, still failing miserably. “And, what about you? Aren’t you worried at all about your family finding out?”

“No. I told you. I don’t care what they think—not about something like that. Besides, it’s always been inevitable that your people and mine would be against our hooking up.”

“How d’you figure that?”

“It’s what you told me.”

“What? When?”

“Five years ago. You said then that my family wouldn’t approve of you. And you’re right! We’ve got the whole, ‘my only love, sprung from my only hate,’ thing going on.”

She’s quoting Shakespeare again and I groan in despair. “You’re doing it again, aren’t you?”

“I’m not doing anything,” she says shaking her head and gazing at me pityingly. “It’s this thing; it’s bigger than both of us. Do you really think it was just coincidence that I called you Romeo when you pulled me over?”

“You said it was dyslexia,” I remind her.

“It was. And jet lag, and sleep depro. But it was also fate.”

“Oh, fuck me. For real? You think we’re fated?”

“Well, yes,” she replies, looking surprised. “Duh. Of course, we are. What would you call it?”

“Uh, I dunno. A really terrible idea?”

There’s a slight pause, and then she smiles, “Yes. Don’t you love those?”

Between the pause, the wicked smile, the expectant gleam in her eyes, there’s only one conclusion I can draw. “Let me guess,” I say as I roll my eyes. “Another movie line?”

“See?” she says, smiling even more brilliantly. “You know me so well.”

And maybe I’m just looking for an excuse at this point. But it really is starting to feel like fate and I’m tired of fighting it. So, I give into the inevitable and do what I’ve wanted to do for far too long. I draw her close. “Maybe,” I murmur as I lower my face to hers. “But not as well as I’m going to.”

And then I kiss her. And it’s…Jesus Christ. It’s fucking earth shattering, is what it is. It’s life changing, soul-searing. It’s everything I remember—and more. The taste of her lips, the feel of her body pressed against my own, her breasts, her butt, her hair, her scent—they’re all so familiar, shockingly so. Familiar and perfect and irresistible. She’s everything I’ve been missing, everything I’ve been longing for—without even realizing that was the case—for five long years. Five and change, but really, who’s counting?

I bend her over my arm, tugging at her hair to expose her neck. I run my tongue up the length of it before returning to her mouth, losing myself in her kiss once again, content to dive in and drown there. She whimpers and sighs, clutching at me with her fingers, hooking one leg around my thigh. The world around us disappears.

Eventually, the need to breathe reasserts itself. I pull my mouth away from hers and straighten up—but I continue to keep my hold on her.

Sighing, she lets her leg slide to the ground. Eyes still closed she murmurs, “What’s in a name? That which we call a rose…would smell as sweet.”

I huff out a laugh. “Your obsession with that play is starting to concern me.”

“That play,” she replies mockingly, as her eyes meet mine. “You can’t even say its name, can you? Why? It’s not Hamlet, you know.”

“Hamlet?” I feel myself frown; even I know that’s wrong. “No, that’s not the play that people are superstitious—” I stop mid-sentence. “You know what? Never mind. We’re getting sidetracked. All I’m saying is that Romeo and Juliet is not a love story.” That’s a hill to die on—or, preferably, to not die on.

“You don’t think so? Tell that to the Swifties.”

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