Tossed Into Love
Page 20

“Um . . .”
“You have. Fuck me for being so stupid and not seeing it.”
“Um . . . ,” I repeat.
He smiles at me, then takes my napkin and hands it to me. I place it in my lap. We both order drinks when the waiter comes over. I have a glass of wine; he asks for a beer.
“I’m starving. I hope they actually have human-size portions of food at this place,” he says, picking up the menu and looking at it when the waiter walks off.
“You haven’t been here before?”
“No. Mom recommended it when I told her I was taking you out.”
“What?” I feel my eyes grow to the size of saucers.
“I told her I was taking you out, and she said I should bring you here. She said that the food’s good, that you’d like it.”
“Your mom knows that we’re out on a date?” I whisper.
“Yeah . . .”
“Oh my god,” I keep whispering.
His smile turns into a grin.
“She’s happy.”
“I bet she is,” I mutter.
He throws back his head and laughs—loud. Seeing him do it makes the warmth in my chest spread. I don’t think I have ever seen him laugh that freely, so knowing I made him do it makes me want to do it again and again.
“I love your mom, but she can be just as bad as mine,” I inform him as I pick up my glass of water and take a sip.
“Not sure about that, Princess,” he says once his laughter has died down.
“I am.”
“Babe, your mom doesn’t know me from Jack who works at the corner store, but she invited me to come out to Long Island for dinner or brunch.”
“This is true,” I agree. “Then again, my mom knows that I had a crush on you.”
“Had?”
“What?”
“Twice now you’ve said you had a crush on me. Past tense. Meaning you don’t have one anymore,” he explains.
“I . . . you . . . I . . . ,” I stammer. “You’ve kind of been a jerk.”
My softly spoken words taper off while the muscle in his jaw ticks.
Crap. Now why the hell did I say that?
“Right,” he says.
I look down at the menu in front of me, wishing we could go back in time a few minutes.
“I was an asshole,” he says.
My head flies up, and our eyes lock. “I made assumptions I shouldn’t have. I’m sorry about that,” he says.
Seeing the honesty in his eyes, my body relaxes once more.
“It’s okay.”
“It’s not okay. I won’t do it again,” he says firmly.
“What changed?” I ask, noticing that his eyes become intense when I do.
“I’ve wanted you from the moment I saw you, Libby. Fuck. I’ve imagined you in every position possible, but I wouldn’t let myself go there because . . .” He runs a hand through his hair, looking away before looking back at me. “Those reasons are for another time. Not tonight. But like I said, I made assumptions, and I was wrong.”
“Okay, but what changed?” I ask again.
What he just said makes it sound like all he wants is to sleep with me.
“Everything,” he says.
Like that answers my question. It doesn’t, so I blink at him.
“Everything?”
“There’s a lot of things about you that I didn’t notice until you started helping out at the shop.”
“Oh,” I say, feeling disappointed.
I drop my eyes to my menu.
“You’re the hardest-working person I know.” He grabs my hand. “You give all of yourself to everyone around you. You make each pizza like you’re creating a piece of art. You’re good to my parents and obviously good to yours and your sisters. You’re sweet to the bone. Hell, even your neighbor looks like she wants to protect you from the world when she’d probably break a hip if she tried.”
“Miss Ina is a wild card,” I whisper, having nothing else to say. His words have rocked through me, throwing me off-balance.
“No, she cares about you. She wants to protect you from anything that might cause you harm. People like you are rare these days. Those who know how rare the qualities you have inside you are will always go to great lengths to protect them.”
“I think you can stop talking now,” I tell him, feeling so full of warmth from his sweet words that I’m afraid I might burst at the seams.
“I’ll stop talking as soon as you tell me that you know I want more than to just fuck you.”
“What?” I whisper as my mouth drops open in surprise at his crass words.
“I saw that look on your face, baby. I know exactly what you were thinking. Now I need you to tell me that you hear me when I say I want more than that from you.”
“I hear you,” I agree as my heart thunders away in my chest and my mind screams.
Please don’t let this be too good to be true.
Chapter 8
FLUKE
LIBBY
“I heard you went on a date with Antonio last night?” Peggy says, coming into the back kitchen, where I’m stirring a pot of marinara sauce that has been cooking most of the day.
“I did.”
I know there’s no use trying to hide the smile that has been on my face since last night, when Antonio dropped me off at my door with a soft kiss and a promise to spend some time with me after we both get off work tonight.
“And . . . ?” she asks, leaning her hip against the counter at my side, crossing her arms over her chest, and raising one eyebrow.
“And we had dinner. It was nice,” I answer vaguely, not wanting anything to get back to Martina.
“Just nice?” She frowns.
Dinner was beyond nice. I found out that Antonio can be more sweetheart than jerk when he wants to be. That he’s easy to talk to and quick to laugh. That he’s gentle and affectionate. Throughout dinner, he found reasons to touch me, to hold my hand or caress my face. After we left the restaurant, we walked with nowhere in mind. Then we stopped at a small café and shared a slice of chocolate cake. It was the perfect night, the perfect first date. Even the way he left me at my door with a soft kiss and nothing more was perfect.
“I had a great time.”
“Okay, so are you going to go out with him again?” she asks.
“We have plans tonight,” I admit. Her eyes light up. “You can’t tell Martina,” I add quickly when she starts to open her mouth. “I know you talk all the time, but I don’t want her to know that we are seeing each other again. Not yet.”
“Why not?”
“Because if things don’t go well tonight, I don’t want her to be disappointed.”
“Why wouldn’t things go well?” she asks, looking suddenly worried.
“Because last night could have been a fluke,” I say, taking my eyes off her and going back to stirring the pot on the stove.
Like I said, last night was perfect. But nothing can stay perfect forever, which is why there is such a high demand for romantic movies and ice cream.
“Last night wasn’t a fluke.”
A deep voice I know all too well rumbles behind me, making me jump. I spin around to face Antonio, who had at some point stepped silently into the kitchen.
“You can tell my mom that Libby and I are spending time together tonight, and then again tomorrow, and the next day after that,” he says, looking at Peggy.
“Antonio . . . !” I hiss.
His gaze snaps to mine.
“Are we not spending time together?” He crosses his arms over his chest.
“Well . . . yeah?”
It was news to me that we would be spending the next few days together—good news, but still news.
“Then she can know about it.”
“I don’t th—”
“I do.” He cuts me off before I can tell him that I still don’t think it’s a good idea.
“Well, I think a customer just came in. I’m going to go check,” Peggy lies before hurrying out of the back kitchen toward the front of the shop.
Antonio and I have a stare-down.
“I think we should talk about what we tell people about us,” I say after a long moment.