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</div></div><br/><br/><br/><span style="font-size: 18px"><i>“I'm Marcus,” he spoke, extending his hand towards the younger man, using his middle name. “I don't suppose I could tempt you into coffee? Perhaps lunch? It isn't everyday I find myself so distracted.”</i></span><br/><span style="font-size: 18px"><br/>
Luca was a little naïve. Well, maybe a lot naïve. He was actually surprised that a handsome guy was even remotely interested in taking him out for lunch or coffee, and since coming to New York City to model for Elite, was feeling sort of like a tiny fish in a huge pond. A newcomer to the modeling industry, he was quickly learning what the photographers wanted him to produce from his photo shoots, and his star was quickly rising. The headhunters that found him, were well known for discovering the top models that ruled Fashion Week, and now the man under their spotlight was vogue-ing it up on the runways wearing Versace, Dolce &amp; Gabbana, and Armani. But outside the fashion industry, Luca was just another face in the crowd.<br/>
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He was suffering from homesickness, and the loneliness that accompanied being an outsider to American culture and communicating in English almost all the time, every single day. It was part of the process of acclimating, and most of the time Luca found himself isolated as others talked around him instead of to him. Perhaps that was why he was so willing to talk to a stranger, because it appeared Marcus seemed patient as he spoke broken English. At least Luca could read English better than he spoke it.<br/>
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<b>"It okay, yea?" </b>he nodded, looking to Marcus for a cue, and was rewarded with his gesture that indicated it was okay.<br/>
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A little distracted by Marcus' good looks, Luca sort of blanked out his name. Marcus asked to see the phone in his hand, Luca said,<b> <i>"Desculpe.</i> I sorry. I just learning the English."</b><br/>
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<div class="bbCodeBlock-content"><b>"Sorry. I sorry, I just learning the English."</b></div>
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<b><b>"Marrrcus?"</b></b> Luca repeated the name, with a natural roll of the r, the way his name would be spoken in native Portuguese.<br/>
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<b>"Good to meet..."</b> Luca read the phase slowly from his phone, adding, <b>"you!"</b> He smiled, it sounded better to his ears this time.<br/>
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Luca thought Marcus wanted to see what kind of translator application he was using, so he showed him his iPhone and was even more shocked to see that Marcus could easily navigate the icons on his phone to access his contact list, especially since most of the icon names were in Portuguese.<br/>
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<b>"Ohhhh, <i>dai! número de telefono!" </i></b>he uttered, leaning closer to watch what he was doing. Then he saw the map of where Marcus was plugging the gps for the restaurant.<br/>
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<div class="bbCodeBlock-content">Translation: "Ohhhh duh! Your telephone number!"</div>
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<b>"For the lunch?"</b> Luca asked, the word lunch sounding like loooonch, and once he understood that was where he was to go, a beautiful smile flashed across his handsome face, and his fingers made the OK sign.<br/>
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<b><i>"Uma hora." </i></b>Luca added, noting Marcus tapping his watch.<br/>
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Seeing Marcus' wristwatch reminded him that he forgot his new Tag Heuer Carrera wristwatch on the bathroom sink after taking his shower at the apartment that morning. Luca never wore his watch when he was running because he didn't want the leather strap all sweaty.<br/>
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<b>"I go now. See you in hour!"</b> he uttered cheerfully, and a bit nervously as he jogged away from Marcus after handing him his phone back and setting the time to meet. Luca had enough time to take the subway back to TriBeCa, stepping on the A train that stopped near Chambers Street. He jogged the rest of the way to <a class="link link--external" data-proxy-href="/proxy.php?link=http%3A%2F%2Ffotos.fotoflexer.com%2F0a1c0555f745f896018e5e77e791806f.jpg&amp;hash=2758f73e1740b92f86ecd4c6901ed2c0" href="http://fotos.fotoflexer.com/0a1c0555f745f896018e5e77e791806f.jpg" rel="nofollow ugc noopener" target="_blank">137 Greenwich Street,</a> and took the elevator to the seventh floor. He lived with <i>Artem, </i>from Rio de Janeiro, Brazil; <i>Teodor,</i> from Stockholm, Sweden; <i>Sebastiaan,</i> from Amsterdam, Holland; <i>Pavel, </i>from Kiev, Ukraine; <i>Niklas,</i>from Helsinki, Finland; and Alonzo; from Madrid, Spain.<br/>
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A little late for the lunch date, Luca was a whirlwind of activity as well as apology when he showed up at the restaurant, <i>Gastronomie 491</i>, completely sweet smelling, his dark wavy still damp from the shower. Instead of the sweaty running leggings, moisture-wicking T-shirt and running shoes, Luca was wearing a pair of khaki cargo shorts with a flattering plaid shirt left unbuttoned in front with a heather gray T shirt underneath it. On his size 11 feet were a pair of comfortable taupe leather huarache sandals.<br/>
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The handsome stranger was still waiting for him at the restaurant and had already gotten settled at a table, and Luca hoped that Marcus had not given on him and wound up leaving for the 30 extra minutes that it had taken for him to arrive. He paused up at the front as the service showed him to Marcus' table, and the moment Luca's bright blue eyes met Marcus' he was full of apologies.<br/>
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<div class="bbCodeBlock-content">Translation: "I'm so sorry! I am so late, late."</div>
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<b><i>"Eu sinto muito!</i> I am so late late." </b>he tapped his watch, given to him at one of his photo shoots for payment instead of cash. Luca didn't disappoint, he had actually shown up. Whether he was 30 minutes late or not.<br/>
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