Page 19 of Let the Light Shine Through

“You don’t like them?”

“Shit, you don’t like cannoli?” Fletcher asks. “Isn’t your dad famous for his cannoli?”

“That sounded dirty,” Johnny, another guy that lives here, says without looking away from the TV screen.

Apparently, my roommates don’t have anything better to do, because while I walked to the neighborhood store to buy something sweet for Gia, they decided to take up the usually deserted living room to play video games. They brought their own gaming systems out and everything.

“He’s won some competitions,” Gia tells Fletcher, but to me, she says, “Sorry.”

I shrug, telling her, “That’s all they had.”

Our other roommate, Nathan, takes them off her, immediately stuffing one in his mouth before mumbling, “Al’s, right?”

Gia nods, falling into an easy conversation about her dad’s restaurant—a pizzeria with award-winning cannoli.

I didn’t realize my roommates knew Gia. Or knew of her. Aside from a brief introduction when I first moved in, I’ve never spoken to Nathan about anything. Same with Johnny. This is actually the first time I’ve even been in the living room for longer than a few seconds.

If I would’ve…I don’t know…tried with my roommates—at all—I could’ve run into Gia sooner. Maybe. She’s been going to the school just across the street the entire time I’ve lived here and I didn’t notice. I haven’t noticed much lately. I haven’t done much lately.

I haven’t done anything.

After an hour of stats, kill shots, and trash talk, I take a break to grab one of the cannoli for myself. Nathan side-eyes me like he can’t bear the thought of losing one, but I bought the fucking things, so I take it anyway, sticking the powdery shell in my mouth. With half the cream-filled tube between my lips still, a sneeze to my right pulls my attention from my roommate in time to catch Gia hitching a leg over both of mine to straddle my lap.

My hands fly to her thighs in an instant, gripping them tightly. Hell yes.

Our eyes watching the other’s, Gia leans forward, slowly taking the exposed half into her mouth, brushing my lips in the process. With a crunch that could raise the dead, she bites down, and I follow suit. Some of the sweet filling gets stuck between us, but using only my tongue and lips, I do my best to clean the mess before she even gets the chance.

A throat clears beside us, giving Gia a grin I can’t wait to watch spread into a smile. Or a moan.

“Time for bed, cowboy,” she whispers, and not needing to be told twice, I lift her as I stand, helping to wrap her legs around my body, then climb my stairs with Gia secure in my arms.

With her help, the door’s open and quickly shut behind us. My feet are already aimed for my bed, but Gia breathing the word, “Whoa,” trips me up, causing me to stop and follow her gaze.

Posters—my posters, specifically—line my wall.

She wiggles out of my hold, shuffling over to get a closer look. I trail behind her as she goes but keep my eyes on the back of her head, wondering what she’s thinking. Wondering what she sees.

Some have other pro-snowboarders in them; others feature Salvy. Most have me somewhere in the photo, whether I’m mid-air or posing, but they’re all the same—my career, my whole life.

“These are you?” she asks, her face a foot away from a magazine feature I did last year, and even though she’s not looking at me, I shrug. It’s me, or what used to be me, but it doesn’t feel like that anymore. I feel disconnected from my old life now. These posters, my face may be on them, but I no longer identify as the person they’re portraying.

Or maybe I do, but wish I didn’t.

“You’re pretty good, huh?”

Were? Or are?

She turns her gaze on me and I shrug again.

“You love it?”

There’s no mistaking what tense she’s using this time. Do I love it…still?

Another shrug.

“But you quit.”

This one isn’t a question at all, but I answer anyway, giving her a single nod.