Page 6 of Duke for the Summer

So Nate took him to Saturday Market, where Jacopo disappointedly ate his way through a hot dog, muttering about how the tomato sauce was very sweet, smelled various artisanal soaps and candles, admired local hand-painted pottery, stared in bewilderment at all the stalls selling weed paraphernalia, and begrudgingly accepted Nate’s offer of a tie-dyed T-shirt, because “You have to get one if you’re visiting Eugene.”

He seemed pretty overwhelmed after that, so Nate took him back to the apartment and let him nap on the couch, his long, lanky body folded into a tight little knot. It made Nate’s stomach twist a little, looking at Jacopo with his brow knitted, so tense even in sleep, his jaw dark with stubble–he was one of those guys who apparently needed to shave every eight hours to maintain a smooth face. He was so cute, and perpetually tired-looking, and standoffish, and Nate wasn’t sure he’d seen him smile once since he’d been here.

What would Jacopo’s smile look like, he wondered?

Not wanting to wake him, Nate left a note, saying he was going to the store.

Jacopo woke up with a start when he got back,temporarily getting tangled in the blanket Nate had thrown over him earlier before managing to stand with brittle dignity.

“Why are you laughing?”

Nate shook his head and tried to shoulder the door closed. “Nothing, I just–a little help, please? I can’t carry all of this.”

Jacopo rushed over, grabbing the twelve-pack and one of the bags of takeout out of his hands.

“I didn’t want you to think American food was just hot dogs,” Nate explained. “We’ve got tacos and BBQ. And beer, from a local brewery. You do drink, don’t you?”

“Oh,” Jacopo said, in what sounded like relief. “Yes. Not usually beer, but yes.”

“Well, let’s sit down on the couch, then. It’s game time.”

Jacopo had a lot of opinions after a few beers, it turned out. The tacos were a hit, especially the hot sauce. It reminded him of a sauce that his mother knew how to make. Nate’s mouth watered as Jacopo described how his mother sauteed eggplant, mushrooms, and hot red peppers before mashing them up with a mortar and pestle, though he wasn’t sure if his mouth was watering because of the tastes Jacopo’s story conjured up or the way his strong, fine hands illustrated what he was saying. Jacopo approved of the barbecued ribs, as well, though he scoffed at the macaroni and cheese before eating more than half of it.

American football seemed to offend him on some spiritual level, however. Nate had pulled up a highlight reel from last season, and four IPAs in, and Jacopo couldn’t stop asking questions. “Which team are we supporting, again?”

“The guys with the bright green shirts and the yellow pants.”

“It is a stupid uniform. Why are the pants so tight?”

“I dunno.” Nate sipped his beer, sinking further back into the couch. “I guess people like looking at butts?”

“Ridiculous. And why is this man in a Donald Duck costume doing pushups?”

“That’s Puddles. He’s the mascot. He does push-ups whenever they get a touchdown.”

“None of those wordsmeananything,” Jacopo wailed.

“Okay, okay, calm down. Maybe football’s just not your thing, it’s all right.”

“I just don’t understand it,” Jacopo said, shaking his head. “I want to understand.”

“There’s not a lot to understand. It’s just for fun. It’s not–well, I mean, people do take it super seriously, but it’s not serious. It’s just fun to have a team and support it, that’s all.”

“Hm.” Jacopo picked at the tab on his beer can. There was a strange, restless energy radiating from him, and what Nate had hoped would be a relaxing evening was turning out to be unbearably tense.“I’m going outside.”

Nate trailed after, following him onto the balcony.

And yes, smoking was bad, everybody knew that, but damn, Jacopo was the picture of harried, disconsolate elegance when he smoked, his hair slicked back, his eyes heavy in their deep sockets, his cheeks rough with stubble. Cigarettes should be banned, Nate decided, purely on the basis of what looking at Jacopo’s profile was doing to him right now.

“I’m sorry,” Jacopo said finally. “I spoiled the football.”

“Nah.” Nate swallowed, his mouth dry. “I’m not that invested in it. I just thought you might be interested.”

“I am interested. I’m also confused. By everything, it seems.”

“Well, I’m sure I’ll be just as confused when we get to Italy. Then you’ll have to show me around.”

“I haven’t seen much of Italy,” Jacopo said softly, his shoulders hunched. “Sicilia is close to Carmosino, I’ve been there. And I studied in Napoli before—before I had to comehome and take over the conservatorship of the castle.”

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