Enemies Abroad(23)

“What’d you really do?”

“He took me to get donuts.”

Noah groans like a wounded animal.

I inch closer, twisting the knife. “They were fresh out of the fryer. A heaping plate of them sprinkled with powdered sugar. Some were filled with cannoli cream that dripped out of the side. Are your pants tight yet?”

He lifts his fist to his mouth like he might need to bite down on it.

“Sounds filthy.”

Laughter wells up inside me to the point it hurts to stifle it. I look down at the floor, compose myself, then peer up at him from beneath my lashes.

“He asked me out again.”

“And?”

“I said yes. He’s such a gentleman. So handsome too, don’t you think?”

He shrugs. “Not my type.”

“True. It wouldn’t be your type without the devil horns and pointy tail. You’d be bored to death.”

“That’s not even close to what I’m looking for in a woman.”

I take another stab at guessing. “She kidnaps Dalmatian puppies. Has a fetish for fur.”

“My my…what an active imagination you have.”

I snap my fingers. “I’ve got it. Serpent hair and a bad personality. Her gaze turns men to stone. You like her to handcuff you in bed.”

His gaze catches mine when he replies, “Black hair. Fair skin. Big eyes. A mouth that never stops talking. She buys me chocolate when she misses me.”

My heart lurches in my chest as he steals the chocolate bar right out of my hand and tosses it deftly into the air, catching it again a moment later.

I recover quickly. It’s something I take pride in.

Noah doesn’t mean a word he says, I know that. He’s trying to goad me, and going by the flushed feeling on my cheeks and the little skip-hop rhythm of my heart, he’s succeeded.

“Hilarious,” I intone, sounding deeply unamused.

The power balance is off, and I want it back as it should be.

I step right to him, press my chest against his, and tilt my head back so I can look right into his eyes. I can smell his sweat, and I try my hardest to hate it. “Is that why you went for a run while I was gone? Had to burn off all that jealous rage?” I skate my finger down the center of his chest, pretending not to notice the hard muscle. “How sad.”

He catches my arm in a viselike grip to still my movement. I gulp. I’d forgotten about our size difference. His hand engulfs my wrist. I’m a twig he could snap right in two.

“Careful,” he warns.

Or what?

There’s commotion behind the closed door. Chairs screeching, backpacks zipping, students laughing and talking over one another. Latin is officially over and in a second, that door will fling open and students will flood out into the hall.

Still, Noah doesn’t release his grasp.

He’s doing this on purpose. Making me sweat.

I try to wrench my arm free, but he doesn’t let me.

He wants me to surrender, but I can’t bring myself to say it. Instead, I let my hand go limp.

There. Happy?

Noah squeezes my wrist gently and then drops it just as the door’s yanked open. We didn’t have a second to spare.

“Ms. Cohen, I know Latin!” Brandon proclaims. “Veni, vidi, vici!”

“I already forgot what that means,” Lee says, following after him. “Is that ‘seize the day’?”

“I came, I saw, I conquered,” Noah corrects, looking straight at me.

In the afternoon, we head out on another excursion. This time we go to the Pantheon.

The crowds at the Trevi Fountain were child’s play compared to this. Out in the piazza, it’s nearly shoulder-to-shoulder room only. We might as well be trying to get front row to see Beyoncé at Coachella. Vendors shout in English and Italian, trying to sell little miniatures of the Pantheon, art prints, and t-shirts. Tourists hold up their iPhones, trying in vain to get an unobstructed photo of the church. A slow-moving line curves around the building.

The chaperones are spread out around the group to ensure we all stay together. Lorenzo leads at the front, waving us into the church and past the line since we have a reservation for our tour. Thank god.

The students follow tightly behind him. Noah and Gabriella take up the rear, watching for any stragglers, and I keep my distance from them, opting to hang near the front with some of the Lindale students.

Kylie and Millie edge closer to me with clear intent.

“So, Ms. Cohen, we were wondering…do you think Lorenzo is cute?” Kylie asks.

“You mean Mr. Ricci. And that’s an inappropriate question.”

Millie waves away my correction. “Yeah, yeah. Him—Mr. Ricci. He’s good-looking, no?”

They exchange a conspiratorial glance.

“You’re supposed to be paying attention.”

Lorenzo has already begun his lecture about the church. We stand in the center of the huge domed building. It looks like it’s been rendered by CGI. I look up at the oculus, marveling at the architectural feat ancient Romans were able to pull off. How did they— “Well it’s too noisy in here, and besides, I already know all about the Pantheon,” Millie says before continuing on to prove her point. “I read about it in my Rome guidebook before we left the States. It was a former Roman temple that was converted to a Catholic Church sometime around the year 600. It’s one of the best-preserved buildings from Ancient Rome in large part because it’s been in continuous use throughout its history.”