When in Rome: Part 9

Even after gulping down three glasses of wine, Bobby was not enjoying the party. He’d thought sashaying down a catwalk in skimpy lingerie was humiliating enough, but this was so much worse: he could see his audience, for one thing, and they were clearly enjoying the view. Everywhere he looked, he saw guys staring at his body, ogling him like a piece of meat while they smirked and nudged each other.

Not only that, thanks to Andreas’s “pool-side” bullshit, they also thought he was either a complete airhead, a slut, or both. The few other girls at the party were dressed stylishly in high-waisted cut-offs or skirts, and for the first time in his life Bobby wished, desperately, that he was wearing even a miniskirt and crop top.

The girls were staring, too, though in a much cattier way. Bobby suspected that they were annoyed because their boyfriends were checking him out, which was embarrassing enough on its own, but a small part of him also worried that they were checking out his boobs and giggling to each other in Italian over how small they were.

At least Andreas was occupied. The Italian boy had gotten into what appeared to be a shouting match with two of his friends, which had given Bobby the chance to slip back towards his safety zone -- AKA, Kimberly and the wine bottles.

“Think of it as a cultural experience,” Kimberly suggested, watching as the heated argument suddenly dissolved into hugging and laughter.

“I hate this,” Bobby said, blushing brightly as he caught another guy staring at his chest. “Fill me up again, will you?”

Kimberly acquiesced, so Bobby was on his fourth glass of wine, still trying and failing to find a way to look inconspicuous wearing a neon pink bikini, when Andreas tracked them down again. The Italian, having downed a few drinks himself, was getting increasingly frisky. Case in point, sidling up behind Bobby and putting both hands firmly on his hips. Bobby concentrated very hard on his drink as Andreas nuzzled his neck in greeting.

“Ciao, bella,” the Italian boy said. “Are you having a good time?”

“Hi, um, handsome,” Bobby squeaked, outright refusing to look Kimberly in the eye as Andreas’s lips softly touched his neck, tracing the sensitive hickey he’d left behind last night. “The party is really...fun.”

“Good,” Andreas said, in a low, husky voice. “Come with me. I want to show you something.”

Bobby’s eyes widened involuntarily, and this time he couldn’t avoid his ex-girlfriend’s gaze. For some reason Kimberly’s face was flushed, too, but her jaw was set and she gave him a meaningful nod. The message was clear: don’t mess this up.

It was showtime. Feeling like he was trapped in a bad dream, Bobby nodded back, then let Andreas take him by the hand. “Sure,” he chirped, dropping his gaze to the floor, eyelashes aflutter. “Be right back, Kimberly.”

If it wasn’t for the alcohol in his system, Bobby probably would have panicked and made a run for it right then and there. As it was, he felt anxious, but not terrified, and he was a little wobblier in his wedges than usual as Andreas tugged him along. The Italian boy was smirking to his friends, and Bobby knew exactly why. But if he wanted the Blush campaign, if he wanted to screw over his big sister, all he could do was keep smiling and be “Barbie.”

Andreas opened a sliding door, leading him first through a fancy-looking kitchen, then down a short hall to what appeared to be a bedroom. Bobby hesitated on the threshold for a moment, swaying on his chunky sandals. Then, taking a deep breath, he stepped through. He felt a twinge of misery when he saw how much Andreas’s room reminded him of his own, before it had gotten a thorough “Barbie” renovation.

There were clothes strewn on the floor and Lamborghini posters on the wall, one of which included some sexy, half-dressed grid girls -- Bobby reflected ruefully that he wasn’t wearing much more than they were. Andreas also had a PlayStation set-up, and a bunch of medals hanging on the walls.

“You, um, play sports?” Bobby asked.

“Of course,” Andreas said, snorting. “I am one of the best strikers on my team.”

Bobby pretended to be fascinated, since it gave him an excuse to wriggle his hand free from Andreas’s grasp and wander over, creating some much needed distance. He saw a little golden trophy in the shape of a man preparing to kick a ball, and realized what a “striker” was. Bobby couldn’t help rolling his eyes.

“Oh, right,” he said, turning around. “You play socc…”

The word didn’t make it all the way out. Andreas had shut the door behind him, and he had also, in the five seconds Bobby’s back had been turned, stripped down to nothing but a pair of tight white briefs. It would have been funny, if not for the noticeable bulge in the crotch. Bobby immediately relegated his gaze to above-the-neck, but Andreas had already noticed his noticing, and was now grinning broadly.

“You were making me feel, how do you say, overdressed,” the Italian boy said, walking over to the bed and patting his mattress. “Come.”

Bobby flushed crimson, not least because he could remember pulling a similar move on a date once -- girls loved cocky. And “Barbie” was a girl. But he still couldn’t quite bring himself to mince over like an obedient puppy and join Andreas on the bed, especially knowing what was likely to come next.

“Do you have Call of Duty?” he asked, in a quavering voice. “I could really go for some Call of Duty right now.”

“If you want, I can teach you later, bella,” Andreas said with a shrug. “Right now, I want to be with my girl. You still want to be that, yes? My girl?”

Bobby tried to hide his grimace. “Um, yeah,” he said. “Totally.”

Even after four glasses of wine, it took every shred of Bobby’s acting ability to look relaxed as he swished over to the bed. Burning under Andreas’s lustful stare, he hesitated for a moment, then undid his cover-up and sat down on the bed. He crossed one leg over the other by instinct, and Andreas’s eyes followed the motion, roving lustfully up and down Bobby’s coltish calves and toned thighs. The Italian boy began stroking his back and playing with the knot of his bikini top. Bobby gulped.

“It’s too bad my parents are away,” Andreas said casually. “I would like for my family to meet you.” He ran his hand through Bobby’s blonde hair. “My uncle is in town, of course. Maybe we could go to dinner with him before you leave Italy.”

Andreas’s words punctured through Bobby’s alcohol-induced fuzziness, setting off a very loud alarm inside his brain. This was it. This was the opportunity Kimberly had told him, a million times, to keep a lookout for. Now all he had to do was play his cards right, or whatever.

“Oh, that would be, um, cool,” Bobby said, in a small breathy voice. “You know, I was thinking…”

“Yes?” Andreas prodded, still playing with his hair.

“Um, since Blush is based here in Rome, I would probably have to make a bunch of trips here,” Bobby said. “If I, you know, got the Blush campaign.”

“And you would like that?” Andreas asked. “To make trips to Rome?” He flashed a devilish grin. “Why?”

Bobby flushed. “To see you,” he squeaked. “So we can do, you know...stuff?”

“Stuff, huh,” Andreas echoed.

The Italian boy’s fingers were now totally entwined in Bobby’s hair, and as he tightened his grip, the little tugging sensation made Bobby gasp slightly. Andreas must have taken his parted lips for an invitation, because all of a sudden Bobby found himself on his back with the Italian boy’s tongue halfway down his throat. He gave a muffled squeak of protest, but Andreas ignored it.

Bobby shut his eyes and tried, desperately, to think about Bianca again, pretending it was Bianca who had shoved him down onto the bed and was now kissing him ferociously, scratching him with her… Moustache. He winced. He was definitely not being kissed by a girl. Everything about Andreas’s body was wrong -- hard, rough, and muscular.

He couldn’t fool himself into picturing Bianca, but suddenly, without warning, he was picturing Josh instead. He squirmed and wriggled as Andreas’s hands roamed all over his body. The Italian boy was fully on top of him now, squeezing his breasts, nibbling at his neck. It was humiliating, and emasculating, and the most terrifying part was, when he finally gave up on imagining Bianca and imagined Josh instead, it felt really, really nice.

Bobby gave a soft moan as his breasts started tingling like crazy. Andreas, emboldened, reached under his back and started fumbling with the knot of his bikini top. The action snapped Bobby back to reality and he struggled away, flushing furiously. Andreas was staring at him with an expression of pure lust.

“What’s wrong?” the Italian boy demanded.

What wasn’t wrong would be a shorter list. He was Bobby Vickerson. He was supposed to be the one undressing hot chicks in his bedroom. He was supposed to be the one showing off a wall full of sports trophies. Instead he was in another guy’s bed wearing a skimpy pink bikini, and now that guy was trying to take his top off. The whole thing was messed up beyond belief.

But “Barbie” would have a very different take on the situation. Bobby bit his lip. “Nothing,” he said, face burning. “Let me do it. I...I don’t want you to wreck it.”

With Andreas watching hungrily, Bobby reached behind his back, and, after a few near-misses, managed to work his claw-like nails into the knot and tug it apart. His bikini top slipped down his shoulders, and he wasn’t sure if he’d ever felt so exposed in his life as Andreas’s eyes lit up.

Bobby didn’t have much time to dwell on the shame, since the Italian boy immediately pushed him back down onto the bed, cupping his bare breasts with both hands. Bobby shut his eyes again, guiltily imagining Josh’s hands, Josh’s face. Josh’s fingers tweaked his nipples, sending a bolt of lightning all the way through his body, right to the tips of his curling toes, and he couldn’t restrain himself: he let out a girlish squeal.

“You like this, yes?” imaginary Josh asked, in a weird accent.

“Yeah,” Bobby panted. “Like, obviously?”

“Good,” imaginary Josh said. “So you do something for me now, bella.”

Josh’s tongue traced a wet circle around his already-tingling nipple, and Bobby almost shrieked. After all his failed attempts to jerk it in the shower, this was all it took? He couldn’t feel anything going on in his crotch, but he had to be hard right now. There was no way he could be this turned on and not have a big, huge, throbbing…

Bobby opened his eyes and found himself face-to-face with Andreas’s erection, now freed from the briefs. He gave an actual shriek, an incredibly unmanly sound he was sure he’d never made before, and leapt off the bed. His cheeks were scorching hot and his heart was pounding wildly. Andreas, meanwhile, was looking up at him with a slightly bemused expression.

“What now?” he asked, exasperated.

“I’m not doing that,” Bobby said flatly. “I’m not doing that.”

Andreas looked down at his dick, then gave a rueful shrug. “Okay,” he said. “I made you angry somehow, and now you don’t want to see me or have dinner tonight with my uncle. I understand.”

Bobby faltered. “I’m not…” He swallowed, hugging himself against the cool air -- Andreas’s body heat had been keeping things warm, but now, standing there in nothing but his bikini bottom and sandals, he was shivering. “I’m not angry,” he said in a small voice, keeping his eyes determinedly on Andreas’s face. “We can still, you know, have dinner or whatever.”

Andreas didn’t reply, still casually playing with himself.

“Put that thing away, will you?” Bobby grimaced. “I feel like it’s freaking staring at me.”

Andreas just grinned, deliberately leaving himself in full view. “If you’re not angry, maybe you’re nervous?” he suggested. “Are you a virgin?”

Bobby flushed. “Of course not!” he snapped. “I can get laid whenever I want!”

Andreas’s face lit up, and Bobby immediately regretted his words -- from the Italian boy’s perspective, “Barbie” had just admitted to knowing her way around the bedroom. “Then it is no big deal,” Andreas said. “It’s just a nice, fun way for you to show that you are my girl, yes? Because you had this big crush on me, and now we are finally together, and that makes you very happy.”

He reached into his bedside drawer, rummaged around, and pulled out a small bottle of liquor. Taking the first swig himself, he held it out in Bobby’s direction. Bobby stared at it, then took a hesitant step forward and snatched it out of Andreas’s hand. Before he could talk himself out of it, he tipped his head back and chugged about half the bottle.

It was sambuca, which was definitely not his favorite, but he felt an immediate warmth seep through his whole body. Wiping a dribble off his chin, he passed the bottle back to Andreas, who now looked vaguely impressed. He took a deep breath, making his unrestrained breasts bob up and down on his chest.

“Can you, like, make a reservation?” he asked timidly. “For tonight? For us and your uncle, to talk about the Blush campaign?”

“Of course,” Andreas said. “Bianca is one of his favorites, but, you know, he always had a soft spot for me. And once he meets you in person, I think he will love you.”

Bobby nodded distractedly, fixing his hair. He shot a glance back towards the door, which was firmly shut, and saw that Andreas had locked it behind them, a fact that made him feel simultaneously relieved and disgusted. The liquor was starting to hit him now. He was light-headed and a bit dizzy, which was probably necessary for what he was about to do next.

Andreas was seated on the edge of the bed, leaned back on one arm, smiling invitingly as he used his free hand to prepare himself. Bobby stared glumly at the Italian boy’s sausage, unable to avoid noticing it was a lot bigger than what he had so thoroughly tucked away in his bikini bottom. Then he fluffed out his hair, put a tremulous smile on his face, and minced back towards the bed.

“Dio mio, you’re sexy,” Andreas said huskily. “Come say hello, Barbie.”

For a second Bobby pictured his big sister walking in on the scene, her mock astonishment, her icy disdain, her cruel laughter as she snapped a few photos for posterity. But that couldn’t happen. He was in Italy, and Serena was a million miles away, so she was never, ever going to find out about this. And Bobby was a lot of things, but definitely not a quitter. Not when he was this close to getting the Blush campaign.

Anything to screw Serena.

Bobby slowly sank to his knees in front of the boy he’d once spent an entire semester bullying, and prepared to give his first blowjob. He stared at Andreas’s dick, exhaling, bracing himself for the inevitable. The Italian boy reached down and cupped his cheek, giving him an encouraging smile.

“It’s no big deal, bella,” he said. “You’re so gorgeous. Uncle Fredo would be crazy not to pick you.”

Bobby nodded. He was reaching tentatively for Andreas’s cock, trying to drunkenly figure out the best place to grip it from, when something stopped him cold. “Uncle Fredo?” he echoed.

Andreas, who had shut his eyes in anticipation, opened them abruptly. “Did I say Fredo?” he demanded. “I was so distracted by your beauty. Of course I meant…” His face worked. “Uncle... Tito?”

Bobby jerked to his feet, almost toppling over as he did so, instinctively using one arm to cover his breasts. Even with excessive amounts of wine and sambuca in his system, there was no way he was buying that Andreas had forgotten the name of his own uncle, twice, just because he was about to get a blowjob.

And that could mean only one thing.

“You fucking asshole,” Bobby gasped. “You probably don’t even have an uncle!”

“I have three,” Andreas said, and for a second it looked like he was going to make excuses, but then he simply shrugged. “None of them work for cosmetics companies, though.”

“But you were backstage!” Bobby said. “You had, like, a lanyard thing.”

“It was very easy,” Andreas said. “You print anything and, how do you say, laminate? And you can go anywhere.”

“Your name is Andreas Romano,” Bobby snapped. “I know that’s your real name.”

Andreas looked up at him with a nasty grin. “Romano is the most common surname in Italy,” he said. “It means ‘Roman.’ The way ‘Andreas’ means ‘manly,’ because it is not, and never will be, a girl’s name. But ‘Barbie’ is a good name for a stupid, slutty blonde American girl who gives blowjobs in exchange for dinners with imaginary uncles.”

Bobby couldn’t make a proper fist without endangering his claw-like manicure, so he just slapped Andreas full across the face. The Italian boy cursed, recoiling from the blow, then rubbed his cheek and gave a sharp laugh.

“You hit like a girl, of course,” he said. “I have to say, this suits you much better. You know, being a woman.” He reached down and picked up Bobby’s bikini top, twirling it playfully around one finger. “On the outside you are a sexy blonde, now, but on the inside, I know you’re still a bully. I wish I had gotten you to suck my pene before I told you the truth, but this was still a good revenge, don’t you think?”

“Give me that!” Bobby snapped, hiccuping slightly as he reached for the garment.

Instead, Andreas hurled it towards the door. “Go get it,” he said. “And then get out of my house, you dumb little slut.”

Bobby was shaking as he retrieved his skimpy bikini top. His fingers trembled when he tried to refasten it, and the alcohol didn’t make things any easier. Andreas watched with obvious amusement as he fumbled with the straps, breasts jiggling. Bobby stomped his foot and gave a muted squeal of frustration. To his added humiliation, he could feel tears welling up in his eyes.

By the time he finally had his breasts safely nestled in their cups and the knot securely fastened between his shoulder blades, Bobby was outright sobbing. He turned back around to face Andreas, tears streaming down his cheeks. He had to cut this Italian douchebag to the core. He had to humiliate him the way he’d just been humiliated, but even worse. He had to say something.

“It’s called soccer, not football, and it’s boring,” Bobby choked. “It’s so fucking boring. Okay?”

Andreas looked startled for a second, then just shook his head and started to laugh. Utterly defeated, Bobby took three tries to undo the lock on the bedroom door, then fled as fast as he could. He blew past Kimberly, who had been pretending to wait for a bathroom but was clearly just waiting to see the results of her stupid bullshit plan.

“What happened?” she demanded, trying to grab his arm. “Hey!”

“Don’t freaking touch me!” Bobby screeched. “This is your fault! Not mine! Your fault! I didn’t even want to have dinner with an imaginary uncle!” Andreas’s friends, drawn to the commotion, all stopped their conversations to stare. “Yep, keep right on looking, douchebags!” Bobby snapped, giving another drunken hiccup. “Enjoy the view! Follow me on Instagram! And also, blow me!”

His poor choice of insult triggered a fresh cascade of shame, and he was blushing beet red as he gathered up his purse -- shit, he’d left the cover-up in Andreas’s room -- and stumbled towards the gate. His head was spinning and he tripped on the uneven stones, barely catching himself before he toppled over. That only made him even more furious with himself. He’d spent all day in stilettos, and now he couldn’t even do wedges?

Bobby yanked his phone out of his purse as he wiggled down the path to the gate. Kimberly had sent him a message a few minutes earlier to see how he was doing with Andreas; he swiped it away angrily. This whole thing was her fault. She was supposed to be the smart one, but she hadn’t seen through Andreas’s bullshit, and he had been the one to suffer for it. Bobby jabbed his thumb against the button on the gate until it buzzed open, then marched through, picking a direction at random with his only goal being to get as far away from Andreas’s house, and bedroom, as possible.

Through his tears, he saw another new message on the screen of his iPhone. It was from Bianca, and it was a clip of her butt as she tried to twerk. Bobby opened the video, and instead of drooling, for some reason he started sobbing even harder. He knew he was drunk, but Bianca’s butt was so perfect, and she’d sent him the video just like she’d promised, just like a real, faithful, dependable friend would do.

Before he could overthink it, he tapped the call icon. The phone rang three times, then Bianca picked up. “Pronto!” she sang. “Barbie?”

“Yeah,” Bobby whimpered, carefully wiping away his tears with the heel of his hand. “Are you, like, busy right now?”

“Oh my God, what’s wrong?” Bianca’s bubblegum voice demanded. “Are you okay? Is this about that boy you kissed?”

“I guess, yeah,” Bobby said miserably. “I just left his house, but I’m, um, wearing a bikini. And I have no idea where I am. And I’m almost out of data.”

“Share me your location and stay right there, babe,” Bianca ordered. “I’ll get you a car right away and bring you to my place, okay? Luigi is already in town.”

“Okay,” Bobby sniffed, not sure what the Nintendo character had to do with anything. “Um, thanks.”

#

Kimberly obviously knew things had not gone according to plan the instant Bobby came flying out of Andreas’s bedroom with his hair a complete mess and tears streaming down his cheeks, but it was only when her ex started babbling about imaginary uncles that she realized just how badly she’d screwed up. The feeling of dread went straight to the pit of her stomach.

Instead of following Bobby towards the gate -- he wouldn’t get far in a bikini and wedge sandals -- she went inside, heading straight for the room he’d just vacated, heart pounding. Andreas was sitting on his bed, shirtless and muttering to himself darkly in Italian. Kimberly could see the red imprint of a slap on his face, plus a little cut that must have come from one of Bobby’s long fingernails.

She pulled the bedroom door shut behind her, before any of his friends could come interrogate him. He looked up, rubbing his cheek.

“Nino Romano,” she said, still unwilling to believe how easily she’d been duped. “Is he your uncle or not?”

Andreas shut his eyes briefly. “Ugh,” he muttered. “Nino. Of course.” Opening his eyes, he shook his head. “Of course not. You really think Rome is so smalI? Like, we are all relatives and we all know each other?”

Kimberly wanted to scream. First she’d been careless and fucked up on Bobby’s social media stuff, and now she’d been careless again. It would have been easy to search Andreas up on Facebook and look for photos of him with his uncle, or to ask around at the fashion show to see if anybody there had met Nino’s nephew already. Instead, she’d just blindly assumed Andreas had been telling the truth -- despite knowing he had every reason to try to get back at Bobby.

“Now I think you should leave, Kimberly,” Andreas said. “Go find your dumb blonde friend before she wanders into traffic, yes?”

“You must be pretty proud of yourself,” Kimberly said coldly. “Payback for Jefferson High, right?”

Andreas looked surprised for a moment, then a smug smile spread over his face. “I planned it all very carefully,” he said. “Revenge is a dish best served cold.”

The nerve of this asshole, talking to her about careful planning. Kimberly’s blood was boiling, and suddenly all her frustration came pouring out.

“You’re a fucking amateur,” she snapped. “I did all the work for you. If it weren’t for me, he’d still be calling you ‘Andrietta’ and giving you wedgies, or whatever the hell he did. You just skimmed off my hard work, and now you fucked it all up for me!”

Andreas blinked, clearly taken aback. “What do you mean, you did the work?” he asked slowly.

Kimberly gritted her teeth. “I mean your petty little revenge fantasy ruined my… My…” She took a deep breath. “Forget it,” she said blankly. “Glad you had your fun, Andreas. If you ever go anywhere near Barbie’s socials, or say anything about today to anybody, I’ll make your life hell.  I’ll do it from half the world away, and you will not see it coming.”

Andreas’s mouth dropped open and he started to sputter. Kimberly ignored it. She let herself out the bedroom, cut through a crowd of curious Italian teens who’d been listening at the door, and made for the gate, pausing just long enough to grab a mostly-full bottle of wine off the folding table. There was no use getting pissed off at Andreas. This mess was her fault. She’d been sloppy. Careless.

Now she had to figure out a way to win anyways. Andreas was supposed to have been her ace-in-the-hole, but now she had pretty much nothing in the way of assets. Her former partner-in-crime, Josh Delacroix, had been incommunicado since his big blow-up with “Barbie” -- a long story, and one that didn’t make Kimberly look particularly good -- and he was several time zones away, besides.

She didn’t have Ally and the other cheerleaders to manipulate, or DeShawn to boss around. She was in a foreign country, and the only connection she’d made thus far was with a cocky young ladies’ man who moonlighted as a Roman centurion.

Kimberly let herself out the gate and looked around. Before she could figure out how the hell she could still get Bobby the Blush campaign, she had to actually find him. There was no sign of him on the street outside. She called him twice, going to voicemail both times, then picked a direction and started to walk, eyes peeled for a neon pink bikini.

As she kept walking, and Bobby kept ignoring her calls, she felt a growing sense of urgency. If she lost her ex in the middle of Rome, Mrs. Vickerson was going to fully lose her shit. And Bobby running off on his own as a guy was one thing, but now that he was a little blonde sexpot, it had a new element of risk that her pig-headed ex had probably never even considered. She was starting to genuinely consider calling the police when she finally got a reply via text.

Stopp massaging me KIMMY I don’t don’t need you’re SoCal led “help.”

The barely comprehensible message did not exactly inspire confidence. Bobby was alive, but he was clearly also tottering around drunk in his bikini, and she knew plenty of not-so-scrupulous guys would be eager to “help” if they got the chance.

After one last failed attempt to call her ex, Kimberly gritted her teeth and phoned the only asset she’d collected so far in Italy. Vincenzo wasn’t incredibly scrupulous himself, but she had to work with what she had. He picked up on the second ring.

“Ciao, Kimberly,” he said, sounding faintly amused. “How is Barbie things?”

“I lost her,” Kimberly admitted. “She just freaked out and ran off, and she doesn’t have data on her phone to get a ride or use Maps or whatever.” She paused, drawing a breath. “You have the day off, right? Want to help me find her?”

She knew it was a long shot -- she’d blown him off this morning, and he was probably already getting ready to take the next girl out for pizza on a bridge.

“I’ve got wine,” she added, sloshing the bottle she’d taken from Andreas’s party up beside her phone. “And also, she’s running around in a bikini. Long story.”

Vincenzo didn’t reply for an extra long moment, then…

“Sure,” he said casually. “I will help. She is blonde, it should be easy. But if I find her first, I get to keep her, yes?” She could practically hear the shameless grin in his voice. “I will be onesto with you, Kimberly: I have a weakness for models.”

“Most guys do,” Kimberly said dryly. “Go get the scooter.”

“Yes, boss,” Vincenzo said. “On my way.”

#