All I Believe (Firsts and Forever, #10)(34)

“Why did you stop working as an EMT?”

“When my relationship ended and I moved out of Los Angeles, I tried to give my entire life an overhaul. The job sort of became collateral damage.”

“I see.”

“So now, the goal isn’t to become a corporate lawyer, it’s not about the money. I haven’t really narrowed down exactly what I want to do with it, but I can see myself ending up in the nonprofit sector when I graduate. A law degree can provide a lot of opportunities to make a difference and to help people.”

“How much time do you have left in your program?”

“I just completed my first year.”

“And you hate it, right?”

“I really do. The material is so dry! I have to force myself through it.”

“I guess I don’t get why you’re sticking with it,” Luca said. “It doesn’t seem to be a good fit for you.”

I thought about that for a while as we walked, the level terrain transitioning to a bit of an incline. “It’s not, but it keeps me busy and it keeps me moving forward, you know? I think I just needed to throw myself into something after my breakup, and in that respect, law school was perfect. I’ve been way too busy to sit around feeling sorry for myself. Or, well, to feel much of anything.”

Luca told me, “I can think of a lot of ways you could be distracting yourself besides law school, and none of them are nearly as masochistic.”

“Like what?”

“Traveling, for example.”

“I don’t have any money, so running off to Fiji or someplace isn’t an option. I’m paying for school with student loans and living off my credit cards.”

“You’re going to end up massively in debt.”

“Oh, I know. I’ll be paying all of this off until I’m sixty.”

“Just another reason why law school might not be ideal.”

“It’s not. But at least it’s something.”

“I get it,” he said. “It’s filling a void. At the same time, you’re being productive and thinking about your future. You could have made far worse choices. I have this client who started sleeping with absolutely everyone after his girlfriend left him. His whole life just turned into a string of one-night stands. He’s lonelier than ever now and started seeking counseling for depression.”

“You know a lot about your clients.”

“A couple of them have become friends.”

“Well, I never would have gone down that path. Despite all evidence to the contrary, I’m not a random hookups kind of guy. Like, at all. You were supposed to be my very first summer fling, but as you can see, I’m pretty much totally failing at making this all about sex.”

“Good.”

I glanced at his profile as we reached the top of the hill we’d been climbing. “What are you looking for, Luca? What do you want from this?”

“I’m not really sure I can answer that question right now,” he said quietly. Then he changed the subject by saying, “The gallery’s just up ahead, at the end of this block.”

I nodded, and after a moment I blurted, “You’re the second guy I’ve ever slept with.” He stopped walking abruptly, and I turned to look at him. “I’m only telling you that because I don’t want you to think I’m some total manslut and do this all the time. I messed around a bit before my ex and I got together, but it never went all that far. Then, after my relationship ended…well, it took me a while to get to this point.”

“Wow. I had no idea.”

“I can only imagine what you must think of me, between the provocative clothes and the see-through swimsuit and by sleeping with you the day I met you. I mean, I get that a lot of men do that, and I’m in no way judging them. It’s just…it’s not who I am.”

He grinned a little and said, “You don’t even sort of come across as promiscuous. Not even a sheer Speedo could make you seem like that.”

“Well, good.”

“Do I?”

“Do you what?”

“Come across as a manwhore,” Luca said.

“Oh totally. But a really upscale one. Like at least a thousand bucks a night, or whatever the going rate is these days for a really high-class manwhore. I’m not sure, because I haven’t priced manwhores lately.”

He smiled at me as I tried to keep a straight face. “Well, good. As long as I don’t come across as a cheap floozy. An expensive floozy is fine.”


“Oh yeah. Expensive for sure.”

“Perfect.”

The street was lined with nice shops and restaurants, and I window-shopped as we started walking again. “Oh wow, look at that,” I exclaimed at one point. “I have to get it for Nana!” I dragged Luca into a gift shop and bought my grandmother a hand-made tile that depicted Viladembursa with a big rainbow over it.

Finally, we reached the gallery. A little old man came bustling up to us and exclaimed, “Luciano!” Under his arm was a tiny Chihuahua wearing a chunky, hand-knit red sweater. The man pulled my companion down to his height and kissed both cheeks. He was probably in his late seventies and five-foot-six with thick, white hair, and he wore a slightly old-fashioned wool three-piece-suit, which he’d paired with red Converse high-tops.