Page 7 of Duke for the Summer

Nate shrugged. “You’re not alone. I haven’t seen New York. Or Chicago, or New Orleans, or, really, anywhere.” He’d been to San Diego to visit Thea, and Missouri to visit his stepbrothers, and Seattle because it was close. He’d never been out of the country. In fact, the only reason he had a passport was because Barb had insisted, just in case they reinstated the draft and he had to run away to Canada, or something.

“You should travel,” Jacopo said, turning to him with sudden intensity. “Once you’ve gotten your inheritance. There is so much beautiful art in Europe. You could see the Sistine Chapel, the Louvre. I know you like art. I saw your books.”

“Oh.” Nate glanced up at him in surprise, and Jacopo looked away. “Well, yeah. In a past life I guess I was interested in a career in it. Or music, couldn’t make up my mind. I took some classes at community college, but I’ve never been very good at school. Couldn’t focus.”

“Do you still–”

“Draw? Not very much. My wrists are always sore from the warehouse. But maybe I could get back into it. I drew this, actually,” he said, pushing up the sleeve of his t-shirt to show the owl on his shoulder.

“Ah.” Jacopo cleared his throat. “I wondered what kind of bird it was. It’s very good.”

“Th-thanks.”

The night air was warm and syrupy around them, and Nate could feel sweat beading on the back of his neck. From far away, he heard a commercial come on the TV, something about a new mop that was going to revolutionize his cleaning routine, but he honestly couldn’t have given a shit, because Jacopo was asking, “May I?” and when Nate nodded, his fingers were tracing over the tattoo, electric against his skin.

And then Jacopo’s whole palm was just cupping Nate’sshoulder, and the space between them seemed to thicken with possibility, and it was agonizing, looking up at him, looking at his eyes, his lips, as Jacopo’s grip grew tighter on his arm, and–

Nate’s rickety air-conditioning unit lurched on, startling them both.

“Jesus Christ,” Nate hissed, his heart pounding so hard his ribs hurt. “Let’s go inside. It’s too hot out here, anyway.”

Jacopo nodded mutely. His hand, which had been–God, so warm–on Nate’s shoulder, was tucked resolutely into his pocket.

They sat down on opposite ends of the couch. Nate opened another beer. “I, um,” he tried. “Well. What do you want to watch?”

“Watch?”

“Yeah. It seems like the football wasn’t a hit, and I know you haven’t been sleeping well. I’ve got Netflix. We could put something boring on. Maybe it would help you fall asleep?”

“I never sleep very well. But thank you.”

Nate showed Jacopo how to use the remote and went to bed, his body still buzzing, his thoughts disordered, either from the beer or from the memory of the balcony. European guys were just more physically affectionate with each other, that was it. Had to be. And Nate had been single for too long.

Around three a.m., the TV was still going, so Nate pulled on sweatpants and padded out into the living room to find Jacopo huddled on the couch, still wide awake, watching Ghost Hunters.

“This isn’t going to help you sleep.”

Jacopo shrugged.

“Well, budge over. I can’t sleep either.”

“You can’t?”

“No. Nervous.” Nate sat down. “We’re going to Italy–well, today, I guess, since it’s past midnight. And then everything’sgoing to change.”

3.

Chester Holland was screaming in Nate’s ears as he looked out at the tarmac, telling him he was gonna go far, kid. It was the last glimpse he’d have of Oregon in–he didn’t know how long. And sure, as Thea would say, he was a basic bitch whose musical taste was stuck in the early aughts, but when things changed or got scary or difficult, it was comforting that the soundtrack stayed the same. He needed something familiar right now. His nerves were buzzing and he had been shivery and soaked in sweat going through security. But they had made it without any hangups, they were being allowed out of the country, and Nate was still in a daze about how easy it had been.

He’d packed very little, just his laptop and some clothes, and, on a whim, a sketchbook and watercolor palette, both dusty from sitting at the back of his closet for so long. He had gleefully no-call, no-showed to his job at the warehouse. He’d never been able to make many friends there anyway. It was a giant company and they wouldn’t miss him, just another worker ant that stopped showing up one day. It was strange how invisible he still felt, and part of him wanted to scream to the whole plane that this wasn’t just some normal vacation, that he was on his way tobesomebody. But that would probably get him yanked off the flight and put into some TSA holding cell before the trip even started.

Nate felt Jacopo rustling next to him as the plane began taxiing for takeoff. His eyes were squeezed shut and Nate realized he was making the sign of the cross.

“You okay?” he asked.

Jacopo’s throat bobbed as he swallowed. “I don’t like flying.”

“I told you we should have gotten a beer at the airport.”

---