“See, told ya.”
“I’ve never done that before. I can’t make up faces. I mean, I didn’t even really talk to him or anything. How can that be?”
“Maybe he’s your guy?”
“He was dark and mysterious for sure,” and I’m not sure what to do with my sketch now. To be honest, I’m a bit freaked out.
“Relax.” She takes the towel off her head and bends forward, flipping her hair forward and uses the towel to scrunch it to making it curl without frizzing. “You’ll probably never see him again. I wonder who he is. I mean, if he knows the dean, he’s got to be somebody, right?”
“Probably.” She’s new here and she doesn’t know that money has a way of fluttering around Florence since the beginning of time without many questions asked.
My mind drifts back to the courtyard, remembering I was rather quiet, even for me.
“I wonder who you are, Mr. Sexy Eyes,” I say as I hold the paper at arm’s length to take it in with a fresh look. “He really was incredibly good looking.”
“Oh, hell yes,” Ava agrees as she flips herself upright and lets her damp hair fall naturally around her face. “I’d do him.”
“Ava!” I shouldn’t be shocked. It seems like nowadays people are lonely and it’s getting harder to meet nice guys to date. The internet has made it easier to meet people, but not necessarily the right people.
“What? We have this game in the States, called Marry, Shag, Kill.”
My jaw drops. It sounds so barbaric.
“We don’t really kill them, it’s just a silly game,” she adds after she hears me gasp in surprise.
This college experience is sure broadening my world experience, but I don’t think it’s in ways my parents would appreciate.
“Wow, okay, so the guy yesterday?”
“Definitely Shag,” she decides as she fluffs up her curls with her fingertips and looks at herself in the full-length mirror. “Yes, fuckable, many times over.” She turns to me. “You?”
“Oh, I wouldn’t know, I’ve only been with a few guys,” I blush.
“Wow, that’s unusual. I mean, there was a time in the States when girls wore promise rings, vowing to remain virgins until they got married. But let me tell you, I’m so fucking glad that shit was done before I became a teenager.”
I’ve never heard of any of this, and it reinforces my notion that Americans are a little . . . different.
“Wow, who promises such things? Teenagers? Really?”
“Well, each generation is different. I’m just glad it wasn’t my generation because I love sex. And speaking of sex, I have a lunch date with that hottie in our afternoon class.”
Of course, she does. I thought Mr. Sexy Eyes was hot too, I’d do him. I had a few hookups last year, but the well has been dry for some time. I’m not sure why the hookups didn’t lead to more.
Maybe it’s just the fact that Italian men have a short attention span and they’re always on to the next conquest. Plus, with all the foreign women coming here now, they see us as plain and ordinary, like vanilla flavored gelato.
Why settle for vanilla when you can have a different flavor every night? Ava pulls out some clothes and lays two outfits on her bed, trying to choose.
“Where are you going for lunch?”
“He’s showing me around the Uffizi, then we’re eating in the café at the top.”
“Nice,” I agree with envy, “the view from there is amazing.”
“I hope so, but to be honest, I think the view of my tour guide will be all I’m looking at.”
I make my way to her bed. “The outfit on the right, red is for passion.”
She surprises me with a hug. “You’re the best.”