Seven Years Since The Motel Ch. 02

Her gaze landed on the path behind him, the one he must have been running along only moments earlier. As children, they had often run along that path to the top of the cliffs, playing cops and robbers, cowboys and Indians, or whatever else their imagination supplied. The old stone bridge that lay just a mile beyond the fence had featured in many of their plots, usually as a drawbridge to a castle that one of them had sworn to protect against the other's invading barbarians. They had played for hours on the bridge, using sticks as their swords and the surrounding trees as their turrets.

The memories sparked something much more profound than lust in her, and a wave of sadness washed over her as she remembered those long-ago afternoons. As much of a bastard as he had been to her in high school she still longed for the friendship they had shared in their youth. No matter how hard she tried to tell herself that dwelling on him only led to heartache, she had never been able to push their former friendship from her mind, not even in those dark, early days of high school or the fall of her freshman year in college.

They had been inseparable as children. She had been an outgoing and happy girl, the instigator of minor mischief and practical jokes. True, she had been a tad melodramatic and bratty at times, but only in an effort to irritate or annoy him into retaliation. It had always been a thrill to push him past his serious childhood personality; besides Carolina, she was the only one who could manage the feat. But her teasing had always been playful. She had been fiercely loyal to him whenever their classmates had picked on him because of his famous family.

He, on the other hand, had been quiet, shy, and wary, providing the voice of reason whenever she had a harebrained scheme for an afternoon adventure. Of course, he had always gone along with her plans in the end; wherever she went, he followed, though often with reluctance.

In short, she had been the ringleader of their little gang of two, always.

Well, almost always. There had been one time in middle school when he had switched their roles by kissing her. She had been shocked, both by the kiss—an awkward first for both of them—and by their role reversal. He had been the instigator of that kiss, and he had set the pace and tone of the entire encounter.

That day was a watershed in their relationship, and the Alessandro-controlled dynamic had continued through high school until that night. Given the misery that meeting had caused, she'd be damned if she let their interactions continue that way now.

The sound of him clearing his throat snapped her out of her daydreams, and her eyes shot up to meet his once more. How long had she been staring at the woods behind him?

"Maisie. I, um... hi." His amber-flecked brown eyes were wide with shock. Shock and perhaps something else. It had been a long time since she had been able to read his emotions, and he was now standing with the sun behind him.

"Um, Maisie? Are you ok?" he asked again. "I'm sorry if I startled you. I, uh... I didn't expect to see you here."

His last statement cleared away the remaining remnants of her daydreams, and she answered without pausing to think.

"Surprised?" she said, her voice dripping with sarcasm. "I'm sorry, I thought this was the Barnes farm. And you're surprised to see a Barnes on it?" She looked around in mock wonder before tilting her head up at him and raising an eyebrow.

She groaned to herself. Had she really said that? Why the hell was she still goading him after all these years? It was cruel and immature, but she seemed unable to stop herself.

Alessandro didn't answer. He just stood where he was, looking down at her with a blank look on his face. His hands were on his hips—those gorgeous hips of his—and for a moment she thought she saw a flicker of that unnamed emotion flash through his eyes again.

"Sorry Maisie. Like I said, I didn't mean to startle you or anything. I was on a run but the old wooden bridge must've washed out at some point." He flicked a thumb over his shoulder and pointed back towards the woods. "I had to use the stone one and, well, it dumped me out here."

His tone was calm, as if they were casual acquaintances running into each other in the grocery store and catching up on their day's activities. It pissed her off. Why was it that she was struggling so much with seeing and talking to him, while he wasn't bothered by her presence at all? It was like high school all over again; he had moved on without giving her a second thought, while she was left behind, confused.

Why did he have to look so damn good, standing there in his shorts while she wore ratty old farm clothing that barely fit her anymore, with a headache that bordered on a hangover? He looked like some sort of god and she looked and felt like hell. It wasn't fair. Even worse, she knew she was being a total bitch, but couldn't seem to help it.

"Yes, I know that. There were heavy snows this past winter, and it all melted over a couple of days in March when we had a massive rain storm with high temperatures. It did a ton of damage up and down the coast." She kept her head tilted, and spoke in a tone that one would use when speaking to a dim-witted person.

"Oh, right. I, uh, I forgot." His face twisted into something between a grimace and a sheepish smile.

"Must be nice, not having to worry about the weather for your family's livelihood."

Alessandro let out a snort and looked away, rolling his eyes before shaking his head and turning back to her, his jaw set. She knew she was pushing him, but she was desperate to make him feel some level of discomfort. She didn't want to be the only one struggling with their reunion.

"Well, it's certainly been good to see you, Maisie. I'm really glad we've had this little chat. I'd forgotten how pleasant you can be in the morning."

"It's good to see you, too, Alessandro. I was so thrilled to see you yesterday. I mean, I just can't believe that I get to spend time in the presence of the famous Alessandro Conti this week. Who knows, I might even get an autograph at some point." She crossed her arms in front of her.

The crack about her morning personality had been like a kick to the gut; had he forgotten what he had done to her that last morning they had been together? Why was he here, in Maine, on the farm, talking to her? Pretending that nothing had happened between them?

"What the hell is wrong with you?" Alessandro snapped her out of her thoughts.

"I don't know. I guess seeing you doesn't exactly put me in a cheerful morning mood."

"What the hell did I do to deserve this? Tell me, what the hell did I do to set you off?"

She stared at him. That was not the response she had been expecting. Was he really asking? How could he have forgotten?

"Hmmm, I don't know. What could you have done? Let's think back, shall we?" She screwed up her face as if in thought and tapped her finger at the side of her jaw.

She was furious with him. From the look in his eyes, he was just as furious with her. Both of them had their hands clenched into fists at their sides as they squared off in the field. One thing was certain: she had certainly succeeded in pushing him beyond his usual easygoing persona.

He was the first to break. He spoke slowly. She could tell he was angry, but his tone was quiet and calm.

"I don't know what the hell I did to set you off this morning. Maybe you've been holding a grudge for a long time? Do you want apologies? I'll give you apologies. I'm sorry I didn't talk to you for all those years. I'm sorry I ignored you in high school and was mean to you when I did talk to you. I was an immature asshole. I thought I'd already apologized for it, but I will again. I'm really, really sorry."

After staring at him for what felt like several long minutes, she ground out a reply. "Is that really why you think I'm angry, Alessandro?"

He narrowed his eyes as he looked at her. Just moments ago, a small part of her had reveled with the thrilling knowledge that she could still set him off, that she still held some degree of power over him. No more.

"Still not enough for you, Maisie? You want me to apologize for more? Well, here you go. I'm sorry I ran into you in that motel hallway and invited you to my room. I'm sorry I kissed you. I'm sorry I went down on you and made you come, again and again, begging for more and screaming my name until you were hoarse. Want more still? Well here you go, then: I'm sorry I fucked you and took your fucking virginity. Happy now?"

She couldn't keep looking at him, not when he was saying those awful words. His tone was still calm and even, but there was venom in his voice now, as if he couldn't stand to even look at her, let alone talk to her. She dropped her gaze to the basket of strawberries on the ground in front of her, her mind grinding to a halt.

He didn't stop. Instead he leaned closer to her and grabbed her chin in his hand, jerking her head up so that she had to look at him. He dropped his voice to a whisper, but she could still hear the anger in it.

"Look at me, damn it. Have you been waiting for me to apologize for that for all these years? That's fucking pathetic, Maisie. Do you want to hear that I wish that night never happened? Fine. I wish that night never happened. It was a miserable experience."

His last words made her feel ill. She pushed his hand away and she wrenched her chin out of his grasp. As she stood there, head lowered to the ground and arms wrapped around herself, it occurred to her what she wanted him to say, why she had pushed him so much with her words. She wanted him to tell her what he told her that night, all those years ago: that he had wanted her for years, that sex had never felt as good as it had with her, that he never wanted to be apart from her again, that even though they barely spoke to each other through high school, after just one night together it felt like he had his best friend back.

She wanted him to apologize for the morning after, not for that night. Not for one moment of that glorious night. Instead, he had said the opposite of everything she wanted to her.

Still, she didn't feel as wretched as she had all those years ago; she was no longer the naïve girl who had just given her virginity to the boy she had adored, perhaps even loved. She'd dated other people; she had even moved in with a boyfriend, and imagined marrying him. She'd moved on.

None of that changed the fact that it still hurt. She had always thought that he had just freaked out the next morning, that he had enjoyed the night but then had second thoughts. Now she knew better. For all these years, she had been remembering a night that never happened, not as she knew it at least.

"Shit, Maisie, I'm sorry. I shouldn't have said all of that. I didn't mean it. I don't know why I said it, or where it came from. When I think about that night, I just—" He stopped as she held up a hand.

They stood there for what seemed like ages. She saw his hands make a movement towards her, and then stop as she bristled and shifted away. She knew he was looking at her and that he wanted to say something else, but she couldn't look back up into his face, and she certainly couldn't handle hearing his voice anymore.

She stared at the ground as tears welled in her eyes. Why couldn't she stop herself from tearing up? She hadn't cried for the past three years, not since her father died. Before that, she hadn't cried since those terrible weeks in college. She never cried, so why now?

With that last thought, Maisie realized that she was exhausted. It wasn't just the fatigue she had felt earlier that morning when she got out of bed. She was emotionally drained, all due to this damned man standing before her, and the stupid, childish grudge she'd be holding for seven years.

He had taken her virginity and then been cruel to her the morning after, and yet he still burst into her mind whenever she came. He was right; she was pathetic.

All she wanted to do was run home, sit in the old claw foot tub, and cry. After that, she'd chastise herself for being such a ninny, and return to her normal self. Right?

She couldn't—she wasn't done with the stupid strawberries yet. She turned away from him, trudged over the plants, and started picking that last row, silently willing him to leave her in peace.

Minutes later—one? five? ten? she had no idea how much time had passed—she was startled out of her thoughts by a small snort. Looking up, she saw him come over and crouch next to her on the ground. He didn't say a word as he reached out, grabbed a strawberry, and placed it in the basket by her feet.

"What the hell are you doing?"

"What does it look like I'm doing?" He reached for another ripe berry and placed it in the basket. "I'm doing what I did every morning growing up: helping you pick these damn berries. Move over so I can have more room."

She stared at him. She opened her mouth to say something, but nothing came out.

"Maisie, I swear to God, if you don't move over right now I'm going to move you." His voice sounded annoyed, but as she looked at him she saw the edges of his lips quirk into a small smile.

She turned back to the berries, and together, they moved down the row in silence. She was too tired to protest. The fact that he was the reason for her unhappiness didn't mean she wouldn't accept his help; the more he helped, the sooner she could get away from him and into the tub.

They picked in silence, moving together as if they had done this every day for the past decade. In reality, Alessandro hadn't picked with her since middle school, when he would come over and help so that they could have more time to play together in the afternoons.

She didn't know why he was helping now, but her head hurt too much to think.

"Truce?"

She wasn't sure if she had heard him—maybe her mind was playing tricks on her? When she didn't answer he continued to talk.

"Look, I'm sorry for what I said earlier about that night. I don't know why I said it, I just... it was stupid, and I didn't mean what I said, honestly. I meant to say something completely different, but then I—"

He stopped as she turned and glared at him, but then continued.

"I know you don't want to talk about it. But you know, we were good friends growing up, best friends. And then I went and messed things up in high school, and then I guess I went and messed things up even more at the motel, and not surprisingly, I messed things up again this morning. But we're both going to be here for the next week, and we'll probably be seeing each other a lot."

He pressed on in the silence. "You know, it'll be really awkward if we just avoid each other when we're in the same room, or scream at each other every time we meet," he said, finishing with a small, forced laugh.

He stopped talking for a while, but started again when she didn't reply. The humor was gone, and his tone seemed almost desperate. "Look, can we just try and go back to the way things were? You know, before I screwed everything up, repeatedly?"

There was a long silence before she finally spoke, interrupted only the by the intermittent snapping of strawberry stalks.

"We can't go back to the way things were, Alessandro. You know that." Her voice was soft, and silence greeted her words for so long that she wondered if he'd even heard her.

He sighed. "Yeah, maybe. But for now, maybe we can just try and be civil to one another, and see how that goes. Seems a lot less painful that way, for both of us." He turned to smile at her. "I've been a bastard, but I've missed you. So, what do you say. Truce?"

"Ok, truce," she replied after a while. She didn't know what to make of this entire "truce" thing. He sounded sincere, but given his earlier words.... well, at the very least, she hoped a truce meant he wouldn't mention that night again. She couldn't handle any more of his... apologies. Maybe their farce of a truce would be better for both of them.

They continued to pick in silence, but a low rumbling roused her from her thoughts when they were about three-quarters of the way down the row. She dismissed the sound as the engine of a distant tractor, and went back to picking. She heard it a few more times as they moved down the row, but she couldn't see Ben's tractor anywhere.

She snorted. It wasn't a tractor—it was Alessandro's stomach. She had forgotten that when they were in middle school, his "help" often involved him eating just as many strawberries as he put in the basket. It looked as though he had decided to behave himself today and put all the berries in the basket, but it was clear his stomach did not appreciate this new attitude towards the berries.

"Here," she said with a small, teasing laugh, holding out a strawberry to him with her right hand while continuing to pick with her left. "I don't want to listen to your stomach for these last few plants, so why don't you go ahead and have a little sample."

She had been holding out the warm berry, expecting to feel it slip out of her grasp as he took it. Instead, she felt something hot and wet on her fingertips.

She looked down at her fingers, knowing what she'd see but still shocked at the sight. Alessandro's head was lowered, and she had a breathtaking view of his short, coffee-brown hair gleaming in the sunlight. His long, dark lashes were fanned out against his tanned cheeks as he looked down at her hand, examining his own actions.

She followed his gaze and saw that his lips were wrapped around the fruit, and she watched as he pulled her first two juice-stained fingers and thumb into his mouth as he suckled the ripe berry. She felt the pressure on her fingers as he bit down, and then felt the rasp of his tongue as it flicked out to catch the bright red juice that had begun to drip down her thumb. She heard herself draw in a sharp breath as he flicked his tongue out again and again onto her thumb, long after the juice stopped running.

She was catapulted back to that night, remembering what kind of joy that tongue could bring her. Did he mean to make her remember that now? What the hell kind of a truce was this, anyways?

He looked up into her face and smiled. It was a slow, sultry smile. She recognized at once; it was the smile of promised pleasure. He had given her that smile before, and he had more than held up his end of the bargain in the hours that followed.

She stared at him, watching as that seductive smile curved across his face to meet his eyes, which seemed to be silently laughing up at her in the morning sunlight. He was close to her as they kneeled on the hard ground in front of the plants, but no other part of their bodies touched except for her fingers and his lips and tongue. He chewed on the berry, still looking at her from a few inches away, still allowing his tongue to play with her fingers.

She was going to faint. Either that, or she was going to reach out and grab him and hope to God he used that tongue on other parts of her body. To hell with Ben's precious strawberry plants, and to hell with her exhaustion and bruised ego.

A distant shout reached her ears.

"Maisie! Are you almost done? The stand opens in fifteen minutes! What the hell have you been doing?" It was Ben, shouting as he strode across the fields towards them.

She turned back to the plants—her right hand was hanging in the air; Alessandro had moved away from her at the sound of Ben's voice—and grabbed for some berries with shaking hands.

"All done." She looked up into his annoyed face and held out the last of the morning's baskets. "Sorry Ben."

Ben took the basket and opened his mouth as if to yell again, but then clamped it shut. He closed his eyes for a moment before speaking to her.