Page 35 of Prosecco with My Professor
They are not constructive thoughts, and I am reading a lot into a chance encounter in the hallway, but the thoughts exist regardless.
This puts me in a sour mood for the rest of the day. I run errands in the morning, then return to the apartment to change into my football uniform for the afternoon match. I ruminate in a stew of anger, worry, and a bit of sadness. Even Vincente comments on it Sunday afternoon over lunch. Emma has had all weekend with another man, and I am unreasonably cranky about it.
I don’t see Emma or her ex at all until that evening. She’s returning to her apartment at the same time I come back from dinner. Bruce is nowhere to be found, and neither is her daughter.
I get to the lobby door first and hold it open for her.
“Hi,” she says as she passes, her eyes bouncing back and forth between mine.
Once we hit the stairs, I ask, “Did you have a good time with your daughter?”
Emma’s face lights up.Prosecco, I think.
“It was so good! We ate way too much”—she pats her stomach—“and walkeda lot.”
“And Bruce?” We reach the top of the stairs.
“He was there.”
A wonderfully ambiguous statement. I know I don’t have any right to ask Emma about this, but I do anyway, because I’m a weak man who can’t help it. “He brings you flowers, flies in from the States. I think he had intentions, no?” We’ve arrived at Emma’s door, and I lean against the wall next to it, crossing my arms.
“Santo—” A door slams upstairs, and Emma glances up. Stepping back, she gestures me into her apartment, and I follow. “He did have intentions,” she admits after shutting the door.
My heart jumps. She looks hesitant, wary even.
“I have no right to this, I know. But he does not deserve you.”
Emma raises her eyebrows. “You don’t know me that well, Santo. We had one night together, and it wasn’t that good.” She laughs, but it’s the sad kind. “That was my fault, I know.”
“It wasn’t your fault. So you have hang-ups. Lots of people do.”
“You don’t know my history, Santo. You don’t know what my sex life has been like, you don’t know the things that I enjoy, you don’t know…” She hesitates, biting her lip. “You don’t know a lot about me. It’s pretty presumptuous to think I deserve some idealistic life.”
“Don’t say that!” I snap at her, anger rising. “Don’t talk about deserve or not. Think about what you want in life, and ask yourself if Bruce can give it to you.”
“God, Santo.” She drops her hands. “I didn’t even say I was going to consider it.”
“You’re not? You have a history and kids together.”
“Are you trying to convince me to be with him or not?” She throws her hands out in exasperation.
I don’t knowwhatI’m trying to do. “I just want to make sure you know that you have options.”
“I have options? Oh, really? What exactly are my options here? I don’t have men banging on my door who want to have sex with me.”
She could, I think, but bite my tongue. She’s so much sexier than she gives herself credit for. If she went out to meet someone…
My hands clench, and my jaw tightens. There are enough men like Bruce out there, like the ones catcalling her on the street. I may not be the son my father expected or the husband my ex-wives wanted, but if I know one fucking thing, it’s how to please a woman.
“If you ever think about going back to Bruce,” I grit out. “Tell me.”
“And what, exactly, will you do?” She crosses her arms and cocks her hip as if presenting me with a challenge.
“I’ll show you exactly how good it can be myself.”
18
Emma
