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  He's more experienced than me. He'd never make a play for a girl who wasn't single. That would be too complicated. I, on the other hand, push my way through life like a bulldozer, caring little about the consequences.

  Anyway, after Maddy, I don't care about anyone else. She used me, wrapped me around her little finger, dictating the terms of our relationship and everything we did, till I found out she had - has - a guy in Chicago, just waiting to marry her. We were together, on and off, for a year and the bitch fooled us all, me most of all. She knew I was falling for her, how I felt about her, but her ego won out in the end.

  Now Caterina sleeps in her room, in her bed, on the mattress I remember all too well. I don't think she'd be too pleased to hear what a nymphomaniac Maddy was and what she let me do to her in that very bed. Not that I ever complained, sex with her was intense, wild. Too bad I wasn't the only one having fun between her legs.

  I shake my head hard. How did I go from thinking about the concert to Caterina and Maddy?

  I finish my beer and go to my room, without even turning the light on. I undress, my eyes glued to the dark windows of the house next door. I could get used to the new view, there's no doubt about it.

  I can't believe she got changed with the curtains open, wandering around the room in her tiny thong. Her perfect ass is to die for. I force myself to think of something else before I get an erection.

  Caterina.

  I caught her watching me about ten times tonight and I’m loving it.

  5

  I'm wide awake at five a.m. and there's no hope of going back to sleep, thanks to the jet-lag that's finally caught up with me. I lie back with my iPhone, pop in my earbuds, and press play.

  At seven a.m., now with backache, I grab my gear and head for the shower. I'm the only one with an en-suite bathroom, Jessica and Erika share the other one.

  My room belonged to the owner of the house, so it's bigger with a walk-in-closet as large as a second bedroom, and a private bathroom, complete with shower and bathtub. The rent is slightly higher, but it's worth it.

  I leave my room, perfumed and relaxed. All I need now is a cappuccino and I'm ready to start my first full day in the USA.

  Mark's already in the kitchen when I get there, bare-chested, of course, eating a bowl of milk and cereal. He's reading the sports section of the newspaper and I smile immediately. He has a positive effect on me. It's like he doesn't have a care in the world, and he puts me in a good mood.

  "Good morning, Cat." He looks up from his paper and smiles sweetly. He slides off the stool and makes his way to the refrigerator. "I just made coffee and for breakfast we've got cereal, yogurt...mmm...cookies...and, if you want, I can make you eggs and bacon. If you want pancakes, you'll have to wait for Ben."

  Sure. Eggs and bacon at 8:30 in the morning and no, I don't want to wait for Ben. The unjustified twinge between my legs is more than enough to set my alarm bells ringing and I certainly don't want to see him cooking. I don't want to see him. Period.

  "Coffee and cookies will be fine, thanks." I sit down on the stool next to his and watch him move confidently around the kitchen.

  He places a cup of steaming black liquid in front of me and reaches up to the cupboard, taking down three different boxes of cookies. "Your cookies, madame."

  He sits down and I distractedly grab a cookie from each of the boxes. I need to speak with Jessica and Erika and find out how it works for food shopping. Does everyone buy their own or is there a kitty?

  "You were good last night, really good."

  He stretches noisily, the muscles on his chest tightening. "Did you have any doubts?" he asks cheekily.

  I roll my eyes and dunk a cookie in my coffee. "No, but I don't have any friends who are musicians, so I was really surprised. How long have you been together?"

  "Since high school." Mark reaches out and steals one of my cookies and dunks it in my coffee. "But we've only played seriously for the past three years. We already recorded a couple of pieces, which was fun. But when Ben gets his degree and goes to the moon, it will be adios Matching Scars."

  Ben on the moon.

  "Where are you going this morning?" Mark asks, finishing his cereal.

  "First we have to go to the university and then look for a car."

  "I can give you the number of a couple of guys who work for two used-car dealerships near here, if you want." I don't even have time to tell him how grateful I'd be, before he interrupts me and adds, "That's if daddy's little princess doesn't prefer a new one?"

  Princess? It's official. They think I’m a snob.

  "No new cars. I’ll be lucky if my father buys me one with four wheels and a steering wheel." I flash him a smile, hoping to convince him that I'm really not a princess.

  The patio door slides open and Ben, without his t-shirt, strides in, his head down. T-shirts must be optional around here. Since I got here I've seen more bare chests than covered ones.

  His hair is messy and his face is sleepy. He probably rolled out of bed ten seconds ago. He rubs his right eye with the palm of his hand and hesitates for a fraction of a second when he sees me. "Shit! Sorry, I keep forgetting you're here, too."

  And good morning to you, too, asshole.

  "Pretend I'm not here, then," I say, irritated, which makes Mark smirk.

  "I meant, if I'd known you were here, I would have put a shirt on and even knocked," he replies defensively.

  I look down at my coffee and dunk another cookie without replying.

  "You making pancakes, Ben?" Mark asks, changing the subject, luckily for me.

  "Yup." He pulls the refrigerator doors open wide and picks up milk, eggs, and butter. He rummages around in the cupboard and pulls out flour and something else, but I'm not looking at him anymore.

  He's wearing knee-length basketball shorts, probably with no underwear underneath because I can see his ass-cleavage when he reaches up for the flour. God...no shirt and now I know he's wearing nothing under his shorts.

  The worst thing is, my father will be here in minutes and he's going to find me in the kitchen with two half-naked guys. I put my ears on alert, ready to rush out of the kitchen as soon as I hear a car pull up in the driveway.

  "You want pancakes, Blondie?" Ben asks as he breaks four eggs into a plastic bowl and weighs out sugar. Whenever he says Blondie, I feel butterflies in my stomach.

  "No thanks, I'm leaving."

  "Yeah, Ben, can you give her the numbers for Juan and Lucas? She's off car hunting."

  Ben nods, but doesn't turn around. He's too busy concentrating on the ingredients for what I presume will be the world's most spectacular pancakes.

  "Cat, give me your number and I'll send them on to you," Mark adds hurriedly, stealing another of my cookies and dunking it in my coffee.

  I've already figured out there are no boundaries in this house. Everything belongs to everyone and getting used to it won’t be easy for me.

  "Christ, Mark, couldn't you think of a more original excuse for getting her phone number?" Ben sounds annoyed and I find it irritating.

  I hold my hand out to Mark, asking him for his cell phone. I punch in my Italian number. "I'll get a new number this afternoon, in the meantime, use this. Text me on WhatsApp." I smile. I can feel Ben's eyes watching me.

  "Feisty!" he teases, when he realizes I'm not going to turn around.

  "You've seen nothing yet," I reply confidently, which makes him smile. Where did I get that from? I find his bad-boy attitude annoying. If he'd deigned to be friendly like the others I wouldn't be making stupid comments and wasting time watching him in secret. Hell! It's his fault if I get a crush on him. He shouldn't behave like this. Damn!

  "Stop by Juan's first, he's always got plenty of offers. What kind of car are you looking for?" Ben asks, leaning against the sink, crossing his legs at the ankles and beating the batter in the bowl with a whisk, his arm muscles and his six-pack tightening with the effort.

  Please, God. Give me the strength to look awa
y. And he's making pancakes!

  I shrug. "A cheap one!"

  "Juan's got everything. You'll find what you need there."

  I nod and finish my coffee before Mark can stick his fingers in my cup again.

  I hear the front door open and freeze.

  Oh, God. My dad’s here!

  I hear his voice as he greets Jessica. I'm sure he didn't ring the bell and as I rush to get to my feet I knock my stool over. One second after I pick it up, my dad walks into the kitchen, taking in the scene before him. I stand here, looking guilty, caught red-handed, Ben leaning against the sink like a pancake-making Greek God and Mark, (no less God-like) sitting comfortably, chewing on cookies, both of them half-naked.

  "Buongiorno, Caterina." There's a hint of reproach in his voice, then he smiles as Mark lets out a shriek and covers his nipples with both hands.

  "I swear, we weren't doing anything!" he cries, sounding like a child.

  "Should I be worried?" he asks in Italian, trying and failing, as always, to assume a stern, paternal tone.

  "No!" I shake my head and smile. "Dad," I continue in English. "These are our neighbors, Mark..." I point to him, as he slips his left arm over his chest to cover both nipples before holding out his right hand, which makes my dad laugh, "...and that's Ben."

  Ben is clearly embarrassed as he leans forward, almost dropping the bowl of pancake batter. God only knows how he manages to grab it before it hits the floor, without spilling a drop. He politely introduces himself. "Pleased to meet you, sir, Benjamin."

  My father shakes their hands and attempts to intimidate them both by introducing himself as Doctor Zanetti. It works with Ben, much less with Mark. He’s such a clown.

  "Ready, sweetheart?" he asks in Italian.

  I nod my head. I don't know why, but I feel silly speaking Italian in front of them.

  Jessica sits down next to Mark, her eyes dreamily following my father.

  "The guys are going to send me the numbers of two used-car dealers we can check out later." I try to keep my voice low but I know my three friends – well, two friends plus Ben – are watching me, trying to hear me speaking my mother tongue.

  "What kind of cars do they have?" my dad asks Ben in English.

  "All kinds. From small cars to SUVs, to vintage cars," Ben explains clearly. He understood we were talking about the car dealerships.

  My dad smiles. "Perfect, thanks."

  Ben’s face slightly flushed, he nods and turns back to the stove.

  "Dr. Zanetti, do you cook?" Jessica asks suddenly.

  "I'm an excellent cook," my father replies, his eyes twinkling.

  I feel sick. He's always like this with my friends. He loves to play the part of the cool dad and they fall for it every time. It's not that he isn't cool, it's the adjective 'cool' paired with the word 'dad' that gives me goose bumps.

  "Would you cook something for us tonight? Instead of taking us to a restaurant? A real, authentic Italian dinner would be awesome." She holds her hands in front of her face as if she’s praying.

  "I'd love to. Caterina and I will go shopping before we come home."

  Jessica jumps up and down in her chair.

  "But we dress for dinner, eh!" my dad adds, glaring first at Mark, who's still covering his chest, and then at Ben, who's at the stove. His back stiffens.

  This is so embarrassing.

  "Yes, Sir!" Mark laughs.

  "I'll get my purse," I say, walking out of the kitchen, praying Mark doesn't say anything stupid while I'm gone.

  "Get your passport, too!" my father shouts after me.

  Three minutes later, we're in the cab.

  "They seem like nice kids, a little too under-dressed for my taste, but nice..."

  I glance over at him. He looks so cute when he does his jealous-dad act. God, I'm going to miss him so much.

  "They are. Last night was fun, but the girls and I came home early." I don't mention the bar, the beer or the rock band...

  We don't take long at the university then, the address firmly clutched in my hand, we head for the first car dealership, which is what interests me the most.

  My father reminds me for the gazillion time I have a five-thousand dollar budget, not a cent more, and I don't complain too much. I really thought he wanted to buy me an electric bicycle.

  The dealership is enormous. There are something like three thousand cars parked out on the lot, divided by brand, which complicates things further.

  I ask for Juan and soon after, we're joined by a Latino guy a few years older than me.

  "Good morning. You must be Cat. Benjamin called to let me know you'd be coming."

  He leads us over to a golf cart and I climb in the back, focusing on the rows of parked cars with prices written in white on their windshields.

  My dad informs him of our budget then specifies I'm looking for a car with a stick-shift. The only time I tried to drive an automatic it was Leonardo's and I destroyed his bumper. My left foot wouldn't stay still and while I was searching for the clutch, I braked suddenly and the guy behind drove right into us. Fortunately, Leonardo's insurance covered him one hundred percent, but he wasn't happy about the damage.

  So, no more automatic transmissions for me.

  "We've got an old stick-shift Wrangler that's inside your budget. It's almost twenty years old but in good condition and the engine is still going strong."

  What's a Wrangler? Then I see it and fall in love immediately. It's white, tall, and sturdy, with large wheels. A kind of small, military off-road vehicle. It may be a little old, but it’s love at first sight, particularly when I notice the canvas roof and realize it's a convertible.

  I WANT IT!

  "I want this one!" I tell my father immediately.

  "Let's try it first, Cate. It's the first one we've seen. Let's see the others first."

  I shake my head animatedly. "No, no. I want this one. It's beautiful. It's big, sturdy, white, convertible, and in our budget! I want this one!"

  "Let me try it first, at least. No, you try it, you're the one who's going to be driving it. It won't have power steering and the gears won't be as smooth as your Golf."

  I agree to try it to keep him happy but I already know: that car is mine!

  "It's a 2500 gas, it will cost you a fortune." He rolls his eyes at my puppy face. "Why do I even bother arguing with you anyway?"

  Dad asks Juan if we can take it for a test run and he leaves us to look it over while he goes back to the office for the keys. "Cate, try it out, but if for any reason it's hard to drive, that’s it. We'll look at something else."

  I nod, but I'm not even listening anymore, I can already see myself racing around Orlando with the top down, the sun on my face, the music blaring, and my new friends beside me.

  My dad’s right though. The clutch is a little hard, but nothing is impossible. Changing gears is changing gears. I'll just have to make my left calf muscles work harder when I press it, but a part from that, it's perfect.

  With one thing and another, however, the grand total is six thousand, seven hundred dollars.

  My dad looks at me sternly. "I said not one cent more."

  In an attempt to convince him, I turn my mouth down at the corners and bite my lower lip, looking like a dog abandoned on the highway on the 4th of July, and surprise, it works! Daddy agrees and I mentally give myself a pat on the shoulder. Well, done girl, well done.

  "Okay…come on, before I change my mind," he says and marches toward the office. He says I'm spoilt. And whose fault is that?

  Juan watches in amusement as I jump up and down behind my father. Then I turn toward him and give him a high-five. He high-fives me back and laughs.

  "Juan, is it really in good condition? You're not scamming me, are you?"

  "Ben never asks for favors, so if he asked one for you, it means you're a real friend. At Motor Ride, we treat Ben's friends right."

  We set off behind my father, my heart beating a little faster. That's the stupid effect
that guy's name has on me whenever I hear it.

  We pull out of the dealership and I'm ecstatic, madly in love with my beautiful Jeep. We stop for gas and then head to a nearby mall for a SIM card and a GPS navigator: indispensable here, where the streets all look the same.

  On the way home we stop at a supermarket and are both stunned at how huge it is. The biggest hypermarket in Rome is less than half the size of this place. In the pasta aisle we find all the usual Italian brands plus some kinds of Barilla pasta I've never even seen in Italy.

  "What are we cooking?" My dad asks as he loads packets of pasta into the cart.

  "Carbonara?" I suggest. I doubt they've ever had an authentic one.

  "I could do two pasta courses. A Carbonara and an Amatriciana, but with spaghetti instead of bucatini. I don't know if they're ready for bucatini."

  I smile at the thought of Mark, covered from head to toe in splashes, trying to roll bucatini around his fork.

  "Spaghetti all'amatriciana and mezze maniche with carbonara it is."

  It takes forever to work our way around the supermarket, and by that time my father has bought everything and more. The girls will be glad to see we've done all their food shopping for the next month, free.

  "Excuse me." I hear my father talking to one of the clerks. "Where do I find the wine and beer?"

  "I'm sorry, Sir, we don't sell alcohol here. You'll have to go to the liquor store next door."

  My father thanks him politely and, two hundred dollars’ worth of groceries later, we stow everything into the trunk of my car and drive over to the liquor store. We wanted to walk, but didn't take American distances into consideration. The 'store next door' is a quarter of a mile away.

  Once we're inside, my father heads to the wine section. "While I'm here, Cate, you look for beer."

  I head to the other side of the store and pick up a six-pack of Corona and one of Bud. I go back to the wine section and find my father examining the labels of various Italian wines. As far as he's concerned, wine is only Italian, and only from the Veneto region.

  "Cate, what are we going to do with twelve beers? Get four six-packs of each."