When in Rome: Part 5

A few hours later, Kimberly made a final adjustment to her ex’s top and stood back to admire her handiwork. Bobby had been stressed enough about his impending date to put himself entirely in her hands, and whenever that happened, Kimberly made the most of it. She’d taken great delight in putting together his outfit for the evening, starting with the shoes: a pair of black Jimmy Choo platform pumps with a wicked stiletto heel that would look sexy as hell, but definitely not do him any favors on the cobblestones.

When Bobby had pointed out that particular drawback, she’d just told him Andreas, as an Italian, would know expensive shoes when he saw them and appreciate the effort “Barbie” had put in for their date, and that they were nothing compared to what he’d been traipsing down the catwalk on all afternoon.

Then she’d paired the pumps with skin-tight faux-leather leggings that clung to every curve of Bobby’s hormone-sculpted butt.

Her ex had been initially relieved to avoid a skirt or dress, but that had only lasted as long as it took for him to realize the leggings would require an extra-thorough tuck job -- Kimberly had heard a very unmanly squeal of pain from the bathroom. But the results were clearly worth it, especially since Andreas was, judging by his behavior at the fashion show, already very interested in her Bobby’s buttocks. The shiny black leggings definitely presented that “asset” to its fullest, but since her ex’s legs were covered it was also a good excuse to show some skin elsewhere.

With that in mind, she’d dug an incredibly skimpy, glittery silver halter top out of the bottom of his suitcase. The garment was totally backless, meaning he would have to rely on the built-in cups instead of a bra, and the drape front managed to give a teasing peek at his cleavage while simultaneously leaving a strip of toned, tanned midriff free for viewing.

She’d used the hotel’s hot iron and plenty of hairspray to give his blonde waves some extra volume, then had him do his best “smoky eye” while she rummaged around for the perfect nude lip. Bracelets, big silver hoop earrings, and a sexy black lace choker completed the outfit. Any woman in the world would have been ecstatic to look even half a hot as “Barbie” currently did, but her ex was staring at the mirror with an expression of mingled misery and nervousness.

“I can’t believe this is my life now,” he said glumly, leaning forward to smooth a tiny errant hair on one of his salon-sculpted brows. The illusion of a blonde beauty inspecting her appearance for a night out cracked a little when Bobby gave his crotch a tentative poke. “If I start going numb, I’m getting out of these pants,” he said. “I don’t care who’s watching. This is not worth losing my balls.”

“You tuck all the time,” Kimberly said blithely. “You’ll be fine.”

“He better not, like, try anything,” Bobby said, glaring at his reflection as if it were Andreas. “It’s bad enough that I’m getting all done up for him like this.”

Kimberly snapped her fingers, shaking her head. “Hey,” she said sharply. “No. Lose the attitude. If you go out with him tonight and act like that, he’s going to see through you in a second. Nino Romano’s nephew, remember? Tonight could make or break you, and you made one shitty first impression, so whatever makes Andreas happy makes you happy.”

Her ex’s shiny lips parted indignantly, but she cut in before he could protest.

“You said you’d do anything to get Serena back, right?” she demanded. “And tonight, that means going on a date with a dude you don’t like. Girls do it all the time. So lose the ego, smile, look pretty, and if he goes for a kiss at the end of the date, so what? It’s just a kiss. It’s not like you’ve never, you know…”

She trailed off as her ex’s face blushed a brilliant crimson. In general, Kimberly tried to avoid reminding Bobby about his brief romance with Josh Delacroix -- for a lot of reasons -- but she needed her ex to be a little off-balance tonight. Reminding him that he’d spent more than a few evenings making out with the tall, handsome basketball star from St. Ceylan’s was a surefire way to do that.

Bobby was saved from having to form a reply by the buzzing of his phone. “He’s here,” he said, not meeting her eye. “I guess this is it.”

Kimberly nodded grimly. She’d made it clear just how important this date was for their hopes of getting the Blush campaign, but she hadn’t told Bobby that her own personal stakes had risen, too -- if she couldn’t get him the campaign, her cushy front-row seat as social media coordinator was gone.

Both their hopes were now tied to her ex’s ability to show Andreas a good time. His past behavior didn’t exactly inspire confidence, but if “Barbie” could pull it off, there was nothing like a little nepotism to make Bianca Buccino’s name slip down the list. Basically, they could win big, or they could lose big.

“Try to be quiet on the way past your mom’s room,” Kimberly suggested, as Bobby made a last-minute adjustment to his hair.

Her ex snorted. “She takes Ambien,” he said. “Don’t worry, she’s like a log that snores.” He took one final, wistful glance at the mirror. “I’m really doing this, huh?”

“You’ll be great,” Kimberly said bracingly. “Now get going. You’ve been hogging the bathroom and I need to get ready.”

Her ex shot her a suspicious look. “Wait, what? Why do you need to get ready?”

“You’re not the only one with a hot date,” Kimberly said dryly. “Remember the goofball from this morning? With the six-pack? His name’s Vincenzo, and he actually seems pretty cool.”

Bobby made a face. “You really like them stupid, huh,” he said.

“I really do,” Kimberly said, figuring the irony would set in by the time her ex got to the ground floor. “Have fun, Barbie.”

Bobby picked up his purse, took a deep breath, and marched to the door, stilettos clicking and butt wiggling in a way Andreas would soon be appreciating. Kimberly watched Bobby leave with a slight feeling of regret: it would have been amazing to see Andreas’s reaction to “Barbie,” and to see her sexed-up ex playing the part of an eager date.

But the less involved she looked, the less suspicious of their motives Andreas would be. And she actually did need to get ready -- Vincenzo was picking her up in less than half an hour. Kimberly had gone back and forth all day on accepting the Italian’s invitation, wondering if she would be better served using the evening to do more digging on Bianca Buccino -- Bobby’s impression of her had been way too squeaky clean to be true.

But the truth was, she needed a break. Badly. And she needed to get laid, too. It was a little embarrassing to realize the last guy she’d slept with had been Bobby, who now looked better in lingerie than she did and was definitely not “up to the challenge,” even if she’d been into girls. By contrast, Vincenzo didn’t seem likely to disappoint.

Kimberly started rifling through Bobby’s suitcase to find something sexy to wear. She would have to hurry, but she could pull it off. She wasn’t as high maintenance as a certain blonde Barbie doll.

#

On the brief elevator trip down to the lobby, Bobby shut his eyes and pictured a better world. His hair was back to its original dark brown, sides and back shaved for that clean barbershop look, and the male hormones had kicked in big time: he was six feet, stubble on his chin, and muscular. Not bulky, or anything, but shredded. Wearing his Lakers jersey, showing off those muscles -- hell, maybe even some tattoos, why not?

And he was still going on a date, but it was with Bianca Buccino, and she was wearing a sexy, tight-as-hell dress with one of those plunging V necklines he always tried to avoid. She was giggling and flirting and shooting looks at his package -- which was fully functional, and even bigger than before. He slid his arm around her waist and she licked her lips, and said something about how manly he was, how ridiculous it was that he’d ever fooled anyone with that “Barbie” bullshit when he was so clearly a man’s man, an all-star athlete, lady-killer, and…

DING!

Bobby opened his eyes, fake lashes fluttering. The elevator doors slid apart, and he was confronted with reality in the large lobby mirror across from him: a sexy blonde with perfect hair and evening makeup, holding a clutch purse in her long, claw-like nails, all dolled up in a glittery silver top, sinfully-tight, shiny black leggings, and stiletto pumps. Bobby grimaced, teasing a tendril of blonde hair out of one gleaming hoop earring, then took another deep breath.

He was going on a date with a guy. There was no getting around it. And if he wanted to get the Blush campaign, it had to be a good date, meaning he would have to act like “Barbie,” not Bobby. Or better yet, like the Bianca Buccino of his dreams. Heart pounding with nerves, he clicked his way into the lobby, drawing the attention of the half-dozing concierge. When the man looked him up and down, he gained a wide smile.

“Have a good evening, Miss,” he said. “You look, as we say here, bellissima!”

Bobby flushed, but, thinking of what Bianca would do, he smiled back. “Thank you,” he chirped. “That’s, like, so sweet!” Hearing the girly words come out of his mouth, it was disturbing how genuine they sounded. He started towards the door, then hesitated, realizing something. “Um, do hotels in Italy, like, stay open all night? I mean, I have a room key, but the gate had a buzzer thing on it?”

“I will be here all night, Miss,” the concierge said. “All you have to do is press the button on the gate, and I will let you inside.” He gave a knowing wink. “You can have as much fun as you like tonight, and if you bring home a friend, I will look the other way. No worries!”

“Friend?” Bobby squeaked. “Nope, no friend! Just me. Alone. By myself. Um, ciao!”

Blushing furiously, he made his clip-clopping way to the exit. It was a warm night outside, with just a hint of breeze, and the lamps of the hotel courtyard provided a soft, fuzzy kind of glow that he would probably call “magical” or “romantic” if he was Bianca. Andreas was waiting at the gate, smoking a cigarette. He had slicked back his hair for the occasion, and was wearing a leather jacket that Bobby had to admit, very grudgingly, was kind of cool.

“You women take so long,” Andreas said, rolling his eyes. “Come on, let’s go.”

It wasn’t the greeting Bobby had been expecting. He wanted nothing more than to tell Andreas to try getting ready as a chick and see how long it took him, but that probably wasn’t what Bianca or “Barbie” would say. He let himself through the gate and spotted the camera he had missed earlier. No wonder the concierge had been talking about a “friend” -- he’d seen Andreas waiting outside. At least he hadn’t tried to offer him complementary condoms, or anything.

Putting the shudder-inducing thought out of his mind, Bobby pasted a smile to his face and tried to channel his inner bimbo. “I wanted to look nice for our date,” he said. “What do you think?”

Andreas looked him up and down, lingering on the parts he liked best, and Bobby gritted his teeth. “You look fine,” the Italian boy said with a shrug.

Bobby narrowed his eyes. He knew he looked way more than “fine,” and he knew this Italian asshole was just trying to play it cool, but the remark still irked him. He was a freaking lingerie model -- not of his own volition, but still. Andreas extended an arm, and Bobby, seething internally, took it. Back in sophomore year, the Italian boy had been the same height as him, but now, despite his towering stilettos, Bobby found himself shorter by at least a few inches.

Andreas started walking abruptly, and Bobby reflexively wrapped his manicured hands around the Italian boy’s bicep. It wasn’t as big as Josh’s.

“What the fuck,” Bobby whispered.

“Excuse me?” Andreas asked sharply.

“Nothing!” Bobby squeaked. Had he seriously just been compared two guys’ bicep muscles? Lost in the horror of his realization, he missed everything Andreas said next except for “parked a little way down the hill.”

Cars. Cars were a guy thing. There was nothing gay about comparing cars to other cars.

“Cool,” he blurted. “What do you drive? Maseratis are Italian, right? Those are some gorgeous cars.”

Andreas raised his eyebrows without speaking, and Bobby suddenly felt a surge of panic in the opposite direction -- he was talking about cars to make up for the fact he was holding onto another guy’s arm and also thinking about Josh’s muscles. But that was not something “Barbie” would do.

“I mean, I don’t know anything about cars, but some cars just look so, you know, nice?” he babbled.

“Yes, Barbie,” Andreas said slowly, as if talking to a small child. “Some cars look nice. But as I said, I have a scooter, like most young people.”

He wriggled his arm free and pointed to the little red Vespa scooter parked under the next streetlamp. Bobby felt stupid, but also, finally, a little less emasculated. It was a far cry from a Lamborghini, that was for sure. Unable to pass up the chance to get a tiny slice of payback, he gave the scooter an innocent, wide-eyed stare.

“Oh, it’s so cute!” he exclaimed.

It was Andreas’s turn to blush. “It’s not cute,” he protested. “It’s a regular scooter.” He got out his key and opened a compartment under the seat, emerging with a wide smile. “I brought my sister’s old one for you,” he announced, holding up a bright pink helmet. “You are Barbie, after all.”

Bobby accepted the helmet with only a slight grimace -- he’d heard so many Barbie jokes in the past two months they were starting to become white noise. Unfortunately, his long nails kept getting in the way when he tried to figure out the chin strap, meaning he ended up standing there clutching his purse while Andreas helped. Bobby was sure the Italian had done the straps up too tight on purpose, but Andreas insisted it was for safety’s sake.

A whole new set of problems arose once he was actually seated on the scooter. As relieved as he was to not be wearing a skirt, the angle of the hard plastic seat was still exceedingly uncomfortable on his tuck job, and the little side handles he’d noticed on other scooters weren’t present, so he had no idea what to hold onto -- his manicure made clutching the seat itself pretty much impossible, and he didn’t want his purse to slide out of his lap, either.

What would Bianca do? He was still studying the issue from all possible angles when Andreas started the engine, stomped away the kickstand, and set them zooming down the hill. Bobby felt himself sliding backwards. With a yelp of alarm, he threw himself forward and grabbed onto the only available anchor, which happened to be Andreas. The Italian made no comment, but his shoulders shook slightly. The asshole was laughing at him.

But worse was yet to come: as they bounced and rattled over the cobblestones, cutting through traffic in a way Bobby had to admit, deep down, was pretty badass, something about the engine vibrating through the seat, together with the fact that he was braless, and his breasts were squashed up against the back of Andreas’s leather jacket with only the slinky material of his top providing a barrier, was making him feel...weird.

The warm, squirmy kind of weird. The kind where his face got all flushed and his nipples tingled like crazy and he kept flashing back to being on his back on Josh’s couch. He had it under control by the time the scooter ride ended, choosing to visualize himself sinking game-winning free-throws instead, but still felt a little weak in the knees when Andreas helped him off the seat and unbuckled his helmet for him.

“So, here we are,” the Italian boy announced -- this time Bobby caught his eyes dipping down his neckline, casually inspecting the tops of his breasts. But Bianca wouldn’t mind that, right? What would Bianca care about?

“Is my hair, like, a total mess?” he asked plainly, reaching up to assess the damage.

Andreas looked him over critically. “Your earring is, how do you say, catched? Caught? Here, I’ll fix it.”

Blushing, Bobby once again stood still like an obedient child while Andreas reached forward and disentangled one of his hoop earrings from his blonde tresses, tugging gently at his earlobe in the process. The Italian boy’s hand seemed to linger a little longer than necessary in his hair, which Bobby knew, despite the slight feeling of revulsion it gave him, was a good sign.

“Perfect,” Andreas said, in a less brusque voice than before. “Let’s go inside, yes?”

Bobby looked up at the establishment, noting the beer advertisements in the windows. “Uh, isn’t this a bar?” he asked. “I don’t have a fake ID.”

Andreas smirked. “Don’t worry, Barbie. You are with me.”

Inwardly, Bobby rolled his eyes. Outwardly, doing his very best “Barbie,” he fluttered his eyelashes, forced a giggle, and submissively let Andreas wrap his arm around his waist. God, this had better be worth it.