Page 18 of Duke for the Summer

“I hate this, man. I’m fucking useless, and you leave me in here all day while you go off to do–whatever you do in the library.” Nate heaved himself back onto the bed. He ran a hand over his face, and when he took it away, Jacopo was surprised to see that his eyes were wet. “I’ve got nothing to do, and I’m lonely, and I’m going to get fat if I just lie around all day.”

“Don’t be ridiculous.” Jacopo braced himself with one hand on the wall, trying to gather his thoughts. He had the urge to bang his head against the plaster. “You’re in very good shape.”

Nate grunted, picking at a loose thread in the blankets.

“I got you something that might help.” Jacopo took thepot of ointment out of his messenger bag. “This is from Nonna Stella.”

“What is it?”

“It’s a cream. It’s supposed to help the swelling go down.”

“I guess anything’s worth a try at this point.” Nate threw himself back onto the pillows sulkily, forearm slung across his eyes.

Jacopo watched Nate’s chest rise and fall, throat feeling tight. This little building had once been a chapel, and that fact seemed especially cruel right now, with Nate laid out before him like an offering on an altar. “Okay,” he said. Jaw tightening, he sucked in a breath. “I can–”

Nate startled as Jacopo sat down on the bed. “Oh, are you–”

“I mean.” Jacopo gestured helplessly. “I don’t have to. If you want–”

“No, no, it’s fine. I can’t reach my knee super well without sitting up. Probably better if you–” he swallowed. “Uh, go ahead.”

Wordlessly, Jacopo unscrewed the lid on the jar. The smell of mint and rosemary filled the air, making his eyes prickle.

“Smells nice,” Nate said. “That’s a good sign.”

“Sure.” He could feel the pulse beating in his neck as he looked down at Nate’s leg. The hurt knee was mottled with bruises, the skin shiny and stretched painfully tight. There was a long cut across his shin, and scuff marks on his thigh. Jacopo chewed his lip. “I don’t want to hurt you. Is it still sore?”

“It’s fine.”

Jacopo scooped up a dollop of the ointment and spread it onto Nate’s skin, his movements quick and jerky, trying not to prolong the contact. Nate twitched, letting out a little sigh.

“That feels good. Cooling.”

Jacopo didn’t dare look up to meet Nate’s eyes. His skin was hot to the touch, and the herbs in the ointment were making Jacopo’s palm feel prickly, electric. Nate was wearing the most indecently short pair of shorts, and the fabric had slid up, revealing the smooth, muscular plane of his inner thigh. A vein beat there, and Jacopo wanted to feel it beneath his lips.

“Yes.” He had forgotten what he was supposed to be doing and was cradling Nate’s upper calf, his thumb making small circles as if of its own accord. Jacopo jerked his hand away, heat flooding his face. “Well. That’s good. I hope it will help.” He stood in a rush, feeling slightly off-balance. “And now I will leave you alone.”

Nate grabbed Jacopo’s trouser leg. “Don’t,” he said. His eyes were almost feverish, his cheeks pink. “Please. I mean it. I’m sorry for freaking out, but I don’t know what to do. I can’t stand being bored.”

“I’m sorry. You could read one of my books? I have many in English.” He swallowed, feeling naked suddenly, and wanted to take it back. Jacopo thought of Nate’s hands on the well-loved paperbacks, his fingers leaving imprints on the pages. The books were one of the only things he could really call his own.

“I saw,” Nate said. “You’re a big horror fan. I have to say, I wouldn’t have expected that.”

Jacopo shrugged. He stepped away, out of Nate’s reach, heading for the door.

“But it’s going to be worse, reading something scary in here on my own. When I can’t even, like, run away from zombies or whatever.”

Jacopo sighed. “It is just fiction.”

“You know what I mean. I don’t really like being scared.”

Jacopo ran a hand over his face. His shoulders felt tight, and he desperately wanted a cigarette. “I can stay here with you,” he heard himself say. “I’ll bring my papers down from thelibrary, and you can read while I do my work.”

“You mean it?” Nate was sitting bolt upright, his eyes bright.

“Yes. But no more sit-ups, and no more moving around.”

He should have saidno more talking, too, because Nate didn’t seem to know how to read quietly. “How did you get all of these, anyway?” Nate asked, after what could only have been ten minutes of blessed silence. He had settled back onto the bed, his knee propped up, but he obviously wasn’t trying very hard to read the book he’d chosen.

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