Tiago’s hand cupped my breast, and I groaned against his mouth, pushing myself against the erection trapped in his underwear, craving release. The carpet scraped my skin as his weight pressed me back onto the floor.

“Are you sure you want this?” 

“Yes,” I breathed, writhing under his touch. “I want this.” We were already down to our underwear. My heart beat double-time in my chest, anticipation making me light-headed. I took his hand and slid it between my thighs. “I’m ready,” I whispered.

He closed his eyes, already feeling me up. “You sure?” 

I nodded, my heart racing, my skin electric. “Yes.”

He kissed me hard, tongue pushing against mine as he gripped the edge of my underwear and slid it down. His fingers touched my opening, and he moaned.

“Lucy.”

I grabbed his cock and guided it to my opening, a nervous tremor going through me as I felt its length and thickness. 

Oh my gosh. Was I sure?

There was no chance to second guess because he pushed himself into me, hard enough that I felt like I was being ripped in two. 

The pain astonished me, and I cried out, then quickly bit my lip, terrified my parents upstairs would hear us. Goosebumps rushed over my skin and tears pricked my eyes. I wanted to tell him to get out, it hurt too much, but he was already moving, quickly, groaning as he shoved his cock into me, each thrust a stab of agony. I dug my fingernails into his back and held on tight, praying it would be over soon.

The plane jostles me, waking me. I grimace and sit up, blinking the grit of sleep from my eyes. It takes a moment to get my bearings, and then I remember.

I’m on a flight to Brazil. I should be landing soon.

Of course I dreamed of Tiago. I’m on my way to see him, and my mind conjured up the night I lost my virginity to him.

I can’t help but smirk. Not that the first time was great.

It did get better.

I chastise my subconscious for going there. He and I are over. I’m still heartbroken over my college boyfriend.

This whole trip feels like a bad idea. I sigh and lean my head against the back of the plane. I should have stayed home.

***

Eighteen hours after leaving Arkansas, my plane sets down in Recife, Brazil.

I’m bone-weary. I finished my freshman year of college just days ago. Yesterday I permanently deleted my ex-boyfriend from my contact list. My heart is heavy, and I need sleep.

Today I’m expected to smile and be polite while I greet Tiago and his family, who are putting me up for the next month.

I have no idea how this month will go. Years ago, Tiago and I dated when my family hosted him as an exchange student. We were close, but the time and distance between us forced us apart. Other than a few emails and phone calls, we haven’t talked much these past few months. Coming here seemed like such a good idea when I bought the ticket right before high school graduation. I’m studying Portuguese at Summit Valley University, and spending a month in Brazil with one of my dearest friends sounded like an exciting adventure.

Maybe I’m just tired, but I don’t feel that way now.

I trudge through the line of other weary travelers, blinking against the grit in my eyes. I went through customs in São Paulo, so now all I have to do is exit through the doors and collect my baggage. I remember where to go. I came through here two years ago, the last time I saw Tiago. The air is thick with moisture, a salty, mildewy scent clinging to the walls. I inhale, and the scent takes me back in time. 

It smells like Brazil.

People come to life around me when they spot their loved ones waiting from them on the other side of the doors. They brighten, their eyes widening, and they shriek, scream, gasp, or stand in place and cry. My heart pounds a little harder as the reality breaks through my exhaustion: as soon as I get through these doors, I’ll see Tiago.

What I feel is a frightening combination of dread and anticipation.

Will he recognize me? My hair is longer than the last time he saw me, but I have it up in a ponytail. I’m nineteen now and ten pounds heavier but still have a baby-face. 

Will I recognize him?

I push through the doors and keep moving, taking deep breaths to keep calm as I scan the faces.

I see him the same time he sees me. Even though Tiago has also put on weight and grown his hair longer, it’s the same face, the same dark eyes, the same high cheek bones and thick lips. Our gazes meet across the room, and then a smile splits his face. He crosses over to me, parting the crowd to get to my side, and I smile back, but my heart hasn’t stopped racing. In an instant he wraps me up in a hug, but he’s only a few inches taller than me and his hug doesn’t swallow me whole.

Not like Owen’s hugs.

Why am I thinking of Owen? We broke up months ago. I might not be over him, but I’ve moved on. Why is he haunting me now?

Because of Tiago. Because of the drama that occurred between those two boys. Because they are the only two I’ve ever loved.

Tiago pulls out of the hug and kisses both of my cheeks, which is a customary Brazilian greeting and calms my nerves because he’s treating me like a friend.

“I can’t believe you’re here,” he says, and his accent is much thicker than I remember. “I can’t believe it. After all this time.”

“I know.” I lick my lips, surprised I found my voice. “It’s been a long time.”

He steps away from me and heads to the luggage piling up by the exit door. “Which one is yours?”

I point it out. “The blue one.” I take a deep breath and hold it, slowly exhaling. It’s going to be okay. This trip will be good for me.

He gets my bag and comes back to me, and then he can’t seem to help wrapping me up in another hug. I let him, and it feels so nice to be touched, I find myself fighting tears.

“Your hair is long,” I say, laughing as he steps back. It’s long enough he has it in a ponytail at the nape of his neck. I reach back and tug it, teasing. “You look like a girl.”

“You don’t like it?” He takes out the ponytail holder and shakes his head, letting the thick black hair fall around his shoulders. “Isn’t it sexy?”

“No.” I laugh harder, relieved. I’m not attracted to him. We are not the same people we were two years ago. “Not at all.”

“I’m wounded.” He grins at me to show he’s teasing, and my defenses break down. He’s a friend. Just a friend.

He takes my bag and I follow him to the curb. 

“Who’s driving?” I ask. I glance up at the dark sky, the palm trees lit by the overhead street lamps. Just like last time I was here, it’s winter in Recife. It gets dark early. But the streets are crowded with honking cars and squealing brakes.

“My dad. His car is there.” 

Tiago points, and then he takes my hand to pull me across the busy street. He opens the back of the car, and I climb in.

“Hello, Lucia!” Tiago’s father pronounces my name like my abuela does, enunciating each vowel. Lu-Ci-a. Not like my friends in America, who smash the sounds together. Lu-sha. 

His father turns around to grin at me from the front seat. He hasn’t changed at all. His thick dark hair matches Tiago’s, but he wears it short. They have the same darker-toned skin, as opposed to Tiago’s mother, who is fairer, lighter than I am. Tiago’s father also wears glasses, and he adjusts them now as he looks me over.

“How was flight?” 

“It was fine. I’m tired. Estou cansada.” I throw in some Portuguese because I know he doesn’t speak English, and one of my goals here is to improve my Portuguese.

“Ah.” He nods. “You want eat? Or sleep?”

“Pai,” Tiago says, and then he proceeds to rattle off several sentences so quickly that I don’t catch another word.

I sigh in disappointment. Getting all As in a Portuguese class didn’t make me fluent.

His dad nods and pulls the car into the flow of traffic. He’s a much calmer driver than Tiago’s grandpa.

Tiago turns to me. “We’ll stop and get food, then we’ll go back to my grandpa’s house. We have a room ready for you.”

“Thanks.” My stomach growls in appreciation. “It’s kind of your family.”

“Your family took care of me for nine months. My family is happy to take care of you for one.”