Wish Upon a Star

"On the other hand," Dale's father continued, "you're a strong woman to have survived this and want to stay on. My son has done well to have someone like you in his life."

With his final words, he looked at his son, who in turn looked out the window. I blushed, watching Dale. Dale's father smiled and turned to Bryan, who was standing sullenly by the door.

"Let's go, Bryan," he stated, and the two of them walked out of the room, leaving Dale and I together again.

"Your dad's a great guy," I said softly. "Not every dad would keep his son's secrets."

"No," Dale smiled, clearing his throat. "Not every dad would."

I suddenly felt very tired and looked at the clock. 6:15. An hour and a half since the guys had returned, but ages before I had planned to be awake. I leaned back against the wall and closed my eyes.

"You OK?" Dale asked concernedly.

"Yeah," I smiled, "just tired. Hadn't really planned to be up this early."

Dale glanced at the clock.

"Oh," he said. "I guess I never realized the time. I'm up, though... my adrenaline's pumping too much to sleep. But if you want to sleep, I'll get Jared's things out of here and see them on their way, too."

"All right," I nodded, slipping back under the covers. "That does sound like a nice idea."

Dale drew the curtains and sat at the foot of my bed as I closed my eyes. I could feel him watching me, but it was a pleasant feeling, not at all like the creepy-crawlies I got when Bryan had watched me earlier. I fell asleep quickly.

*****

When I woke again, it was nearly 11 a.m. Dale was watching French television and munching on the snacks I had purchased the night before. I smiled and tossed my comforter off with a flourish. Dale jumped.

"Morning, sleepyhead," he teased me. "I was beginning to think you'd sleep all day and we'd be a day late getting into Marseille."

"Shut up," I replied, throwing my pillow at him.

It hit him square in the arm, and chips flew everywhere.

"Hey!" he yelled. "That was my breakfast!"

"Some breakfast. It's nearly lunchtime anyway!"

"Yeah, well, hurry up and get dressed. We have to be checked out by noon, and our train leaves at 1:15. Plus, I'm starving!"

"All right, all right, I'm up, I'm up."

I rose and strolled over to my bag. I took my time picking my clothes and wandering into the bathroom. I noticed the only items on the counter were mine.

"Where's your stuff?" I hollered back into the bedroom.

"Packed up," Dale shouted back, "and the other guys left at 10 with my dad."

"Oh," I answered, inwardly pleased.

Dale and I were on our own. The feeling was exhilarating. I no longer had to worry about anyone else sneaking up on me; I no longer had to worry about him running off with a French slut. I grinned at my reflection in the mirror before I climbed into the shower. I still didn't have a plan for telling Dale how I felt, but just being alone with him was enough for the moment.

I climbed out of the shower a bit later and dressed rapidly, keenly aware that my sleeping in had indeed caused a delay. I threw my wet hair into a quick ponytail and dabbed on a bit of makeup.

Walking back into the bedroom, I heard Dale flick the TV off. He quickly tidied up the room as I finished packing, and by the time I was ready to go, so was he.

"You ready?" he asked.

I got an odd sense of déjà vu.

"As ready as I'll ever be," I answered.

"Then let's go," Dale said, slinging his backpack onto his shoulders.

With that, we walked out of the hotel room and on to Marseille.

*****

CHAPTER EIGHT: ON OUR OWN

We reached Marseille about 4 p.m. We found a hotel room and dropped off our bags before heading out to see the sights. Everything felt so calm, so natural. I began to relax as the afternoon turned into evening, and Dale and I chatted and joked with each other as we had always done.

As Marseille was only a pit stop on our way to Rome, we had no specific agenda. We traveled the streets leisurely and took photos as we saw fit. The day was warm, but not overly so, and we took our dinner as close to the seaside as our pocketbooks would handle. Neither of us was hurting for cash; we had been the 'rich' ones on the trip from the start.

After dinner, we strolled down La Canabière to a beautiful park area overlooking the ocean. The sun had set, but there was just enough of a glow on the horizon that the water appeared both black and gold. The view was stunning.

Neither of us spoke a word as we walked. Groups of young and old walked along with us, and laughter and shouts filled the air as day turned to night. With the night came a cool breeze off of the Mediterranean. At last, I turned to Dale.

"I guess we ought to head back."

I hated breaking the silence, but I'm not good at directions, and I didn't want to get too lost in a foreign city. Dale blinked, waking from his reverie.

"Yes," he said distantly.

He looked around.

"I don't recognize any of this," he said. "I guess we'll hail a cab?"

"Fine by me," I said, shrugging. "Are you tired, or is it just me?"

"No, I am, too... I have been up since 5 a.m., you know."

"That's my fault," I said. "I'm sorry."

"Hey, no, no," Dale commanded. "You know damn well it's not your fault. You don't have any right to blame yourself."

I gazed at my feet.

"Sorry. You're right, of course. But I'm still sorry you had to get up at 5 a.m."

"Then let's go home," Dale said, waving a cab over.

Half an hour later, we were back at the hotel.

"God, I'm exhausted," I said as I grabbed my stuff and headed for the miniscule bathroom. "I'm going to get ready for bed."

"Good idea," Dale agreed. "Once you're done, I'll be right behind you."

I brushed my teeth, washed my face, and began to change before I realized that I had left my boxers in the other room. It was an honest mistake; I never wore boxers at home – just a T-shirt and underpants – and in my fatigue, I had just left them in the backpack.

"Dale?" I asked as I stuck my head out the bathroom door. "Dale?"

No answer save a light snore.

"Oh, Dale," I whispered gently, walking out of the bathroom in nothing but my oversized T-shirt and a thong.

He was fast asleep again. I laughed gently. It was the second night in a row I was going to tuck him in. I hoped it wasn't going to become a ritual. I walked down to the end of the bed and began to remove his shoes. He stirred a bit as I untied them, and as I took the first one off, he opened his eyes.

"Shit," I said, embarrassed to be seen in my underwear. I grabbed an end of his comforter and wrapped it around my waist.

"What's wrong?" Dale mumbled, sitting up.

"Oh... nothing, just trying to tuck you in without waking you up."

Dale smiled.

"Getting to be a habit, is it?"

"Hope not," I grinned. "I'm not your mother."

"No, you're not. Gotta admit I'm glad of that."

"Anyway, I'm out of the bathroom now. You can go change if you want."

Dale heaved himself up and wandered into the bathroom. Immediately, I threw off the comforter and streaked over to my bag. I pawed through it, looking for a pair of boxers. Either I was blind, or they were at the bottom of the backpack. Just as I was in the midst of tossing clothes on the floor in my search, the bathroom door opened again. Dale came out, more alert.

"What time shall I set the alarm for in...," he trailed off.

I turned. He was looking at me and my pile of clothes like I had lost my mind.

"I forgot my boxers... didn't want you to see my underwear... at home, I don't wear them... boxers, not underwear...," I tried to explain, tripping over my words and mentally visualizing my face at about four different shades of crimson.

I tried to tug my shirt down, but of course it bounced back up, revealing my zebra-striped thong even more. The silence lasted only a moment longer before Dale's shoulders started shaking. He ducked his head and bit his lip, but he couldn't contain himself. A snort burst out, followed by genuine laughter. I managed a nervous giggle. Here we were, in a French hotel, surrounded by nude beaches, and I was worried about Dale seeing my thong.

At the same time, it wasmythong. I gave up on finding the boxers and climbed into my bed, my face still burning.

"The sight of you...," Dale began as his laughter subsided, "... it was great. I'm sorry. I know you're embarrassed. But I really don't care if you sleep like that. I've seen you in a bikini already, anyway... and hell, if it'll make you feel any better, I'll sleep in the nude."

"NONONO!" I shrieked, truly giggling this time. "I think I'll be fine."

I had seen other guys' penises, but never Dale's. The thought was titillating, and so was the thought of Dale seeing me in my thong every day for the next week. I could feel the crotch of my panties moistening, so I curled up.

"Oh, good," Dale said, tucking in as well. "Really wasn't quite up for that."

"That's good," I said, mentally not convinced of what I was saying. "Anyway, let's set the alarm for 9?"

"Nine it is," Dale agreed.

After setting the clock, Dale flipped off the lights, and we bid each other good night. Half an hour later, I was still wide awake. I couldn't sleep. The fact that Dale had seen me in my panties had left me so aroused, I was having a hard time settling my brain. Fantasy after fantasy filled my head.

Finally, I reached down into my panties and rubbed a finger over my pussy. It was dripping. I began to rub my clit. I had to bite my lip to keep from moaning as I worked my way up to an orgasm, but I managed to stifle everything except a bit of heavy breathing. Once I came, I wiped my hand on the sheet and waited for the hormones to set in. Sure enough, within minutes I was feeling tired. I snuggled down as my mind fogged over, vaguely dreaming dreams of Dale.

*****

CHAPTER NINE: TO ITALY

Next thing I knew, the alarm was sounding like a klaxon, and my eyes popped open. Dale leaned over and silenced the clock.

"Mornin'," he said, lying back down on his pillow.

"Mornin'," I answered, smiling back at him.

Both of us lay still for several minutes before Dale rolled over and hopped out of bed.

"I guess we'd better get up if we're gonna make it to Florence today."

"Mmmm," I agreed, but counterproductively closing my eyes. "You go on. I'll just lay here."

"You better not," Dale warned. "You've got all those clothes to pick up."

I glanced over at the strewn garments.

"Oh, crap," I grumbled. "I'd forgotten about those. But it does remind me. We need to hit a laundromat sometime today. I'm on my last set of clean clothes."

"Me, too," Dale concurred. "I'm sure there'll be one somewhere, even if it's not until we get to a hotel."

Dale headed into the shower as I got up and began stuffing clothes into my backpack. It wasn't too difficult, since I hadn't bought too many souvenirs. I left out my clothes for the day – a blue spaghetti-strap tank top, long-sleeved jacket, and shorts. It was one of my favorite outfits, and it didn't require a bra, which was good, since they were all dirty.

We left the hotel around 9:45, which meant we had an hour to kill before our train left. We spent it looking in shops and trying to be inconspicuous – hard to do when you're speaking English and have a huge backpack slung over your shoulder. A while later, Dale and I found ourselves on the train, whizzing past the French countryside toward Genoa, Italy. We stared out the window for a while until the scene got monotonous.

"Wanna play cards?" Dale asked, pulling a deck from his pocket.

We both enjoyed playing gin, and we had dabbled a bit in poker, but that wasn't much fun with only two people. A lot of our friends were die-hard Baptists and didn't play cards.

"Sure," I replied, and the game began.

Six games later, I hadn't won a single round. I was frustrated.

"Forget this," I said, handing him back the cards. "They don't like me today. Either think of a different game or put 'em away."

Dale shuffled thoughtfully.

"We could always play ERS," he suggested, referring to a game called Egyptian Rat Screw. I was famous for winning that game, and Dale knew it.

"Now you're catering to my ego," I grinned.

"I did get told to take care of you," Dale reminded me, dealing the cards. "I guess that has to include your massive ego."

"Hey!" I objected. "Your ego's just as big as mine is, and you know it."

Dale was forced to admit the truth, and the game began. Ten minutes later, I won, and my ego was pacified.

"Much better," I grinned smugly. "I guess that'll wrap it up for this trip. We're nearly there."

The scene from the window was getting more populated as we approached the city.

"What time does our train to Florence leave?" I asked.

"Ummmmm... six-ish? I'll have to look once we get off this train, but I know we have quite a few hours before we have to be back."

"Sounds good," I nodded. "I guess we can check out some of the sights here, too, then."

"Yup. I read somewhere that they have a great aquarium."

"I can imagine, being right on the water like this. If they've got a place to check our bags, that sounds like a good way to go."

*****

The aquarium did indeed have bag check, and the fish were stunning. The afternoon flew by, and before we knew it, it was time to head back to the train station for our trip into Florence.

Since the sun began to set shortly after leaving Genoa, the view was obscured. This left us to our own devices. I contemplated pulling a book out of my bag like Dale had done, but I would have to climb over him to get to it – not something I really felt like doing. I shivered in the cool train air. I had a jacket, but it was in my bag as well.

"You cold?" Dale asked.

"Yeah, a bit," I confirmed, rubbing my goosepimply arms. "I kind of expected the Mediterranean would be warmer this time of year."

Dale looked at me sympathetically.

"Want a blanket?"

I snuggled into my seat.

"Think you can find one?"

"We can check," Dale said, standing up to look in the overhead compartment.

Moments later, we found one, and I curled up under it. It wasn't a large blanket, but soon I noticed that Dale was eyeing it jealously.

"Are you cold, too?" I asked.

"A little," he admitted sheepishly. "But you keep the blanket. You have on that tank top, so you're probably colder than I am."

"We can share," I offered. "I know it's small, but my top half is the only half of me that's cold. I don't care if my legs are covered or not."

"Are you sure? I don't want you to freeze."

"I won't," I assured Dale, turning the blanket sideways so he could have half. "Here. You take this part."

The blanket was a lot smaller once you fit two people under it, and we had to snuggle very close together just to keep our arms warm. It took some maneuvering (and giggling on my part) before we were comfortable, and eventually I wound up lying on Dale's shoulder.

"You warming up?" I asked, listening to his breathing.

"Yup," Dale answered.

He returned to his book. I read over his shoulder for a moment, but I wasn't particularly interested in a true crime book, so I closed my eyes for a moment.

Two hours later, I opened them to find Dale shaking me gently.

"Hey," he said softly. "We're in Florence."

"Huh?" I asked, realizing I'd been asleep. "Oh. Wow. OK."

I lifted my head off Dale's shoulder and watched as he flexed his muscle.

"I'm sorry," I said. "I didn't mean to sack out like that. I guess I was more tired than I realized. Is your shoulder OK?"

"It's fine," Dale smiled. "Just a bit stiff from having to hold still for two hours."

"Sorry," I repeated. "I'll massage it for you once we get to a hotel if you like."

Dale grimaced as he stood and reached to the overhead for our bags.

"I just might take you up on that," he said.

We disembarked into the brightly lit station and soon found our way to a hotel. We checked in for two nights, and the hotel clerk kept giving us lascivious smirks.

"If only he really knew," I giggled to Dale on our way to the room. "Bet he'd be shocked."

"Probably," said Dale. "You wanna do laundry now or in the morning?"

"I'm up for now," I answered, "but keep in mind I had a nap on the train and you didn't, so it's really up to you."

"I'm game if you are," he grinned. "I want my shoulder massaged before I have to sleep on it again."

I groaned.

"How long are you gonna rub this in?"

"Only until I get my shoulder rubbed. Then I'll quit."

I sighed.

"Let's go get the laundry in the washer, and I'll give you a massage."

Getting the laundry in the washer took a bit of work, since all we had were pounds, francs, and travelers' checks, but soon our laundry – we combined everything into one load – was churning away. Dale stripped off his shirt and sat down on one of the benches.

"All right, massage me," he ordered.

I climbed onto the bench behind him, sitting on my knees, and began to work his shoulder gently. Dale and I had often given each other back rubs and shoulder massages, especially after tough tae kwon do tournaments. Somehow, though, this time was different. Perhaps it was because there was no one else around. Maybe it was because we were in a foreign country. It could have just been destiny. In any case, I could feel myself becoming aroused again as I worked the kinks out of his neck and shoulders. His skin felt particularly smooth against my bare hands, and the smell of laundry detergent only added to the heady atmosphere. I kept working at a steady pace, hoping Dale wouldn't notice a change. I closed my eyes as I worked, leaning into the bench and pressing my hips against it. I sighed audibly as I slipped my hands across Dale's back to work on his other shoulder a bit. Dale shifted in his seat, but there was no other indication that he heard me or felt anything other than my hands.

At last I finished, my hands tired but his shoulder restored. He rose and swung his arm around once, testing my work.

"Better?" I asked, flexing my fingers.

"Much," Dale confirmed.

The washer clicked off, and Dale opened its door. He began to toss everything in a dryer.

"Hang on," I said, browsing through the wet items. "Not all of my clothes can go in the dryer."

Dale looked on curiously as I pulled out the delicates I had brought along. I nodded when I had finished, and Dale started the dryer.

"I'm gonna take these up to the room real quick," I said, squashing my damp undergarments into a small ball so Dale couldn't see them.

"And just what do you think you'll do with them then? Hide them under the bed to dry?" he asked, annoyingly logical. "Just spread them out here so they can start drying while we wait. What are you, a Catholic schoolgirl?"

I giggled and began to do what he suggested, laying my underwear out in a single layer on the folding table.

"Shut up! I'm not used to guys seeing all my underwear. Plus, if I was a Catholic schoolgirl, I'd have probably tossed it into your lap as I took it out of the washer."

"I wouldn't mind that," Dale stated.

I looked up as I lay down the last bra, expecting to see a huge grin on Dale's face. Instead, he was staring at me as earnestly as I'd ever seen him. My heart fluttered, and I busied myself with making sure that last bra was perfectly flat. I shifted my stance as a twinge of desire shot through my abdomen. I knew my face was turning bright red, but I couldn't help it.

The seconds ticked by as I tried to come up with a suitable response, but nothing came to mind. All I could think of was Dale's light brown eyes as he stared at me. I'd never seen him look like that before, and it made me nervous. I'm not sure why. I'd been hoping he'd look at me like that for two years, and now that he did, here I was acting like a brainless idiot.