The Hard Count(42)

“Doesn’t sound like it,” Nico chuckles, his laughter filling the space between us for a few seconds until it subsides, and once again we’re left with our eyes meeting, and my brain searching for words and courage to let him look at me like this for just a little while longer.

“I…uh…I was wondering if I could interview you?” I finally interject, breaking the silence and killing the smile that was on Nico’s face for so long. His brow wrinkles. “For my film? That’s…that’s why I came.”

It’s completely not why I came, but it’s the excuse I gave myself. It’s the lie I concocted while I sat in the school parking lot. It’s the ruse for getting to spend more time with him, for getting to ask him questions and learn more of his story.

Nico pushes free from the counter, and I move to the archway between the kitchen and living room, hoping he’ll follow. His hand cupped behind his neck, he stretches to look out the open screen door before his eyes come back to me.

“Yeah, I guess so,” he says. “Where do you want to do it? Maybe…front porch?”

“That’s great,” I smile, hating that we’re moving back outside, closer to my car—closer to me leaving. I do need to get my things, though. “I’ll get my stuff, and set up. Do you…want to get different clothes on?”

My eyes have been working hard not to ogle, and now that he’s standing again, that task is proving to be more impossible. As if he can read my mind, Nico reaches up so his fingertips touch the top of the archway, stretching enough to flex the line of muscles that fall down his sides, into his shorts and…oh God.

“Yeah, I’ll meet you out there,” he says as I turn away and move toward the screen door.

I mumble out a “sounds good,” and pass between his niece and her view of the television on my way out the door, marching quickly to my car and unlocking it to pull open the passenger door. I grab my shirt and tie it around my waist, then slide the large camera bag over my shoulder so I can carry the tripod in my hands.

It takes me only a few minutes to set up a good shot on Nico’s porch. By the time I have the shot framed on the plastic chair—I’ve positioned just in front of a vine growing up a section of lattice—Nico steps through the door wearing a pair of faded jeans and a black T-shirt with a gray X painted over the center, only slightly to the left.

Nico sinks into the seat, but straightens his posture quickly. I adjust the height of my camera, and look at his face through the lens, giving myself the gift of a few extra seconds to study his features. His teeth are almost perfectly straight, and I wonder if he’s ever had braces? His jaw is strong, and his eyes have the ability to reflect whatever color is around them—right now his brown mixing with the green grass in front of us and the bright blue of the sky. It’s so much easier to see him through the lens.

It’s so much easier to let myself.

I don’t take advantage too much, though, not wanting him to grow impatient, and when I have him framed just right, I press the record button and sit back on my heels.

“I have an extra chair, if you need it,” he says.

I hold up my hand in protest.

“I’m good. I’ll just sit on the ground. I like sitting this way, really,” I say, falling back to sit comfortably and pulling my legs in tight.

I reach up to tilt the viewer on my camera so I can see, but stop on Nico’s face. He smirks. Dimple deep and eyes shadowed by his dark lashes, he’s the devastating kind of handsome.

“I like your shirt,” I gesture, not wanting to linger on the fact that, once again, he was looking at me. “Does it mean something?”

Nico glances down, then holds his hand over the gray X, his palm resting flat, covering it whole.

“X marks the spot,” he says with a slight chuckle. My lip tugs up, smiling on one side of my mouth. “My brother gave it to me. I was too little to wear it at the time, but now that I’ve grown into it…”

His eyes twinkle when he looks back up at me. I’ve often thought the twinkle was something made up, a thing that only happened in cartoons and fairytales, but I was wrong, because Nico’s eyes dance, and they twinkle. I bet they do a lot of things.

“You and your brother…” I start, pausing to think through my words, not wanting to hit on something that’s a sore spot. Or at least not without entering into it delicately. “Are you…close with your brother?”

Nico’s smile stays in place for a few seconds, but slips into less of one as he leans back and folds his hands behind his neck.

“Vincent…is…” He stops, his eyes lost to the sky behind me as his head shakes slightly and his lips pull in tight. When his gaze lands on me again, I sit up higher, lifting myself to a large garden stone so it doesn’t look like Nico’s staring down during the whole video.

“Vincent has made a lot of mistakes,” Nico says, finally, and as much as he’s content to leave things there, my curiosity kicks swiftly.

“What kind of mistakes?” I ask, my brow pulling in. I wrap my arms around my knees and force myself to listen quietly, my ears also testing to make sure the TV is still on behind the now-closed front door of his home.

Nico looks up again, his teeth holding on to the tip of his tongue, his eyes just over my shoulder. His mouth opens with a breath, but his chest falls soon after, and he sucks in his top lip, looking back to me. His eyes close and he shakes his head just enough to signal that this line—it’s off limits.