Mia

Late night.

I called my brother before we went on the 'adventure'. I told him I'd be out late and not to worry. He wouldn't.

"Where's the music coming from?" I asked, Beau turned and smiled.

"The after party," he winked and slid back the warehouse door, behind it were bodies dancing in every kind of clothing. Some people were only in bathing suits while others seemed to be in business suits.

"From what?" I ask following him into the madness.

"From today," he shrugged, we walked through the sand and trickled through the crowd of people. The music was Italian but the beat was still danceable. Beau turned me into his body once we were near the huge fire at the center of the party.

"This happens every night?" I asked, pretending not to feel his hands against my waist.

"No," he laughs, then leans in so his breath dances against my neck,"Just during the first week of break," he finished. I let myself put a hand around his shoulder, our bodies moving about two inches apart.

Everyone was speaking in Italian, it made me regret not taking the lessons my mother offered. The summer was going to be excruciating without the vitale knowledge of the native language. I'd already been warned that people might find it offensive that I didn't know it.

We danced until after the moon hit the center of the sky, my body always responding to the way he held me or the way his moved. We got closer, our bodies almost touching, the fabric of my shirt catching against his.

"Is there any food?" I asked, leaning up into his neck. He didn't seem to hear me, but his grip tightened on my waist, his thumbs holding the skin under my shirt. I move my arms from his shoulders, poking his chest. He looks down,

"Food?" I asked louder, he nodded and laughed. We walked back towards the warehouse. It seemed to be one of many connected warehouses. The backs of each store along the street.

He slid open the door with weak arms that were stronger than mine on a good day. Once it was shut and the music all but went mute he leaned against it and wiped the sweat from his brow.

"Most Americans either come for food and don't even realize we have the best," he smiled. His accent was still barely audible, yet when I'd heard him speak Italian to his friends it was perfect.

"Have you traveled a lot?" I ask, following him up the stairs at the side of the warehouse.

"Some, when I was younger my mother liked to travel." Which would explain why he had less of an accent.

"Where?" I asked, he shrugged before opening another smaller door,

"She was American so we traveled everywhere except America. My father wanted to go but she had always turned it down," he said. The door had opened into a lovely apartment. It was open and had windows lining an entire wall that faced the beach. If only I had turned around, I would've seen it. The kitchen was easily the largest room, it was white with pale green accent and pure marble counters. I ran my hand along the island and envied the person who got to cook in here.

"What would you like?" He asked, I shrugged. I hadn't eaten all day except breakfast.

"Surprise me?" I suggested. He pondered it,