I’LL KEEP HIM BUSY . . . OH LORD
LIBBY
Hearing a knock on my apartment door, I look at the clock on my bathroom wall and see that it’s 6:20. Antonio’s early—as in really early.
Oh lord.
My heart starts to race, and my palms start to sweat. Knowing it’s now way too late to back out of dinner, I grab my robe and tie it tightly around my waist.
The last week has flown by in a flash with everything that has gone on. I’ve dealt with clients from Designer Closet, worked at the salon, met with the Realtor and the owner of the building the pizza parlor is in, spoken with a lawyer, and had discussions with the bank. I’ve also taken Mac to her prenatal appointment and played the go-between for her and Wesley. Thankfully, they’re back together. I’ve also worked at Tony’s a few times, and I had dinner with Palo last night to tell him that in two months, when I officially close on the pizzeria, I will no longer be working at the salon.
Palo was upset about my leaving, but happy for me all the same. I also had tea with Miss Ina this morning, who was funny and sweet in her grumpy-old-woman way.
“Coming!” I shout, jolting myself out of my thoughts. I don’t even bother looking through the peephole; I just unlatch the lock and open it. I start to tell Antonio that I’m not dressed, that he will have to wait for me. My mouth drops open when I see my mother standing outside my door.
“Mom?” I frown.
What’s she doing here?
She lives on Long Island, so it’s not like she just drops by often.
“Libby.” She moves past me, tosses her purse on the couch, then takes off her coat and tosses it, too, before she crosses her arms over her snowflake-embroidered, sweater-covered chest.
“What’s going on? What are you doing here? Is everything okay? Where’s Dad?” I ask, each question in rapid succession. I don’t even stop to take a breath.
“Apparently there’s a lot going on. I’m here because my youngest daughter is keeping secrets from me. Everything is not okay, but your father is at home, in front of the TV where I left him.”
“Is this about the pizzeria?” I ask, figuring that’s the only thing I’ve kept from her.
Okay . . . so I haven’t told her about Antonio, but technically there is nothing to tell.
“Yes, it’s about the pizzeria!” she shouts, uncrossing her arms and planting her hands on her hips.
“Mom . . .”
“Do not ‘Mom’ me, Libby Alice Reed. You went to your dad and asked him to help you, and you didn’t even mention anything about it to me.”
“I was going to tell you,” I say, shifting uncomfortably.
“When? I’ve known about it for a week now, and you still haven’t even mentioned it, although we’ve talked every day!” She shouts the last word.
“I’m sorry. I’ve been a little busy.” I hold my hands out in front of me in a placating manner, hoping to calm her down. Her eyes move to my hands, then drop down the length of me and narrow.
“Busy doing what? And why are you getting dressed up? Where are you going?”
Oh lord.
I do not want to tell my mom that I have a date tonight. Seeing as how she’s standing in my living room and Antonio is supposed to be here soon, though, I realize I probably won’t have a choice.
“Ugh . . .”
“That is not an answer.”
“I have a date.”
I bite the inside of my cheek.
“A date?”
“Yes, a date. And he’s supposed to be here soon, so if you could please get out whatever it is you need to say about the pizzeria before he comes, that would be awesome. He doesn’t know that I’m going to buy it—and I don’t want him to know about it yet.”
“Why don’t you want him to know?”
Crap.
“I . . . well . . . it’s his parents’ shop. And . . .” I pause, trying to get my thoughts in order. “Everything has been a little weird between us. I don’t want to tell him I’m buying the shop and rock the boat. I know how he feels about the pizzeria, and I don’t want him to try to talk me out of it.”
“Seems to me you’ve gotten good at keeping secrets from people.”
Have I?
I’m not sure. I know that lately I’ve been more closed off with things going on in my life, but I don’t think I’m keeping secrets.
“Mom, I’m sorry I didn’t tell you about the pizzeria. I promise I was going to tell you.”
“You have always been open with me about everything,” she says.
Guilt fills the pit of my stomach. I have always talked to her about anything and everything going on in my life. She never made me feel like I couldn’t share—no matter what was going on or how embarrassed it might make me.
“You’re right,” I whisper.
“And . . .” She stops speaking when tears fill her eyes. “I feel like I’m losing each of you.”
“You’re not losing us, Mom.”
I close the space between us and wrap my arms around her.
“Fawn got married in Vegas. Vegas, of all places! And then Mac finds out she’s pregnant and doesn’t tell me. While you . . . you buy a pizzeria and don’t even mention it to me.”
“I haven’t bought it yet, Mom. It’s a long process. There is a lot of paperwork before it’ll be officially mine.”
“Whatever. You know what I mean,” she grumbles, sniffling.
“I think we are all just trying to figure out who we are on our own. Don’t get me wrong—we love you. But sometimes you can be a bit overbearing when it comes to our lives and your opinions about them.”
“Overbearing?” she whispers, sounding offended. I cringe, knowing that wasn’t the right word to use with her, even if it is the correct word.
“You love us. It’s normal for a mom who cares about her kids to be overbearing,” I say, trying to soothe her.
She sighs.
“I do love you girls. I just want you to be happy.”
“We’re working on that, Mom. Each of us is just trying to figure out our own version of happiness.”
“And making pizzas is going to make you happy? I thought you loved doing makeup and hair.”
“Makeup and hair is something I’m good at, but I don’t feel fulfilled doing it. Not anymore. It’s not a challenge to me. I love working at Tony’s. Each time I walk through the doors there, I get excited.”
“It’s just pizza . . . ,” she says, sounding confused.
“I know, but it’s also the idea of starting something on my own, doing things my way, and building a business that I’m proud of—one that I’ll be proud to have my name attached to.”
“You have always been determined to make a name for yourself in this world.”
“I get it from you. You taught me to be independent, to go after what I want. To be confident about who I am.”
“I did teach you that, didn’t I?” she mutters, sounding pleased with herself.
I laugh. “Yes, you did.”
“So you’re really going to own a pizzeria in New York?”
“Hopefully . . . ,” I say quietly.
Her expression shifts, and warmth fills her eyes. She rests her hand against my cheek. “I’ve always been proud of you. So has your dad.”
“I know you both have.”
“I love you, honey.”
“I love you, too, Mom,” I whisper back over the lump that has formed in my throat.
She wraps her arms around me again, and her hand smooths its way down my back. Eventually, she leans away to look at my face.
“Now tell me about the guy you’re going out with tonight.”
Laughing, I shake my head. “He’s just a guy.”
“Just a guy?” She narrows her eyes, and I sigh.
“He’s a guy that I have had a stupid crush on forever.”
“Antonio?” she says, sounding excited and surprised.
I realize then just how much I used to share with my mom. Maybe she’s right—maybe I have gotten really good at keeping things to myself.
“Yes.”
“Oh my,” she whispers. Her eyes go to the clock on the wall in the kitchen. “What time is he coming?”
“Seven,” I say, realizing that I now only have a few minutes to finish getting ready before he is supposed to arrive.
“I know. I was getting dressed when you showed up.” I wave my hand down my body at my robe.
“Go. Go get dressed. If he shows up, I’ll keep him busy while he waits.”
Oh lord.
“Mom . . .”
“It will be fine. Promise.” She takes a step back, waving off my worried look.
“Mom . . . ,” I repeat.
“Go. Hurry, you don’t have much time. You don’t want to keep him waiting when he gets here.”
“Don’t you need to get back to Dad?” I ask hopefully.
“No, I’m having dinner with Miss Ina tonight at seven. I’m just going downstairs, so I have time to wait for your date to arrive before I head down to meet her.”
I don’t have time to ask her when she and Miss Ina became so close. I know I won’t be able to convince her to leave, so I sigh.
“Fine. I’ll be quick.”
I go into the bedroom and shut the door. I left the outfit for tonight on my bed. Taking off my robe, I put on a pair of sheer black panties and a matching bra, then I grab my high-waisted blue jeans that are so tight I have a hard time getting them on. I pair them with a black long-sleeve, body-hugging top that I tuck into my jeans. I weave a black belt through the belt loops, fastening the fancy designer buckle before I sit on the edge of my bed. I zip on my thigh-high suede boots with the pointy toe and four-inch heels, then grab a long camel-colored sweater. I don’t hear voices in the living room, so I go back into the bathroom to check myself out in the mirror.
I wonder what Antonio will think. I didn’t want to dress up, because he doesn’t seem like the kind of guy who would take me to a fancy restaurant. I still wanted to look put together and sexy, though.
I do look sexy, with my dark hair down around my shoulders in a mass of stylish waves, my makeup more dramatic than I wear it every day. I did a smoky eye and added false lashes to make my eyes pop even more. I added a light lip, lined and glossy. Nervousness starts to kick in, causing my heart to race. Tonight could either be the beginning of something that could be amazing or the end of my crush on Antonio.
God . . . I’m really hoping for the first.
Pulling in one breath after another, I take a step toward the mirror and look myself in the eyes.
“Libby Reed, you’ve gone on dates before. You know better than to get your hopes up,” I whisper to my reflection before I turn off the light in the bathroom and walk through my bedroom.
I swing open my door to find Antonio standing just inside my living room, wearing a black peacoat over a beige sweater. The high collar accentuates his strong jaw. He’s also sporting dark jeans that look great on him. And of course there are his ever-present boots. Seeing the amused smile that he’s giving my mom, I wonder what she’s been telling him.
“Sorry you had to wait,” I say.
His head turns my way, and his eyes scan me from boots to hair before they lock with mine. The moment they do, the intensity I see there makes my stomach do a different kind of twist. The space between my legs tingles.
“Oh, honey, you look beautiful! Doesn’t she look beautiful, Antonio?” Mom asks him with an elbow to his side.
I bite my lip.
“Yeah, Katie, she looks beautiful,” he agrees quietly.
I wonder if my mom can feel the sudden charge in the air around us—a charge I feel every time I’m around him.
“Thank you.”
I feel my cheeks get warm, and it takes everything in me to pull my eyes from him and look at my mom.
“You’re supposed to meet Miss Ina, Mom . . . ,” I remind her.
“Oh, right. I should do that and leave you two to your date.”
She hurries to the couch to grab her things. I pick up my coat, only to have Antonio take it from me and hold it out. Turning my back to him, I slip it on. My eyes meet my mom’s happy ones. I give my head a little shake, not wanting her to get her hopes up about this, but she just grins at me like the crazy woman she is.
“Antonio, it was so nice meeting you. You’ll have to come out to Long Island with Libby sometime for dinner.”
“Mom . . . ,” I warn, but she ignores me and continues on.
“Or brunch. Really, whatever works around your schedule.”
“Mom.”
“I’d like that, Katie,” he tells her.
I wonder if she told him to call her by her first name or if he just did that on his own.
“Well, then. It’s settled. The next time you both have time, we’ll plan for it,” Mom says.
My jaw clenches. This must be what Mac and Fawn felt when Mom was all up in their business.
“Sounds good,” Antonio agrees.
I grab my black slouchy leather bag with loads of tassels hanging from the seams and hook the strap over my shoulder.
“Good.” Mom moves around me to give Antonio a hug, and I roll my eyes at the back of her head. I hold back a sigh when she turns to face me. “Call me when you get home.”
“I’ll call you tomorrow.”
“Maybe I should just stay here tonight. You know . . . we can have a sleepover. That would be fun. We’ve never done that before.”
Oh god.
“Mom, you need to get home to Dad. He would not be okay with you having a sleepover.”
“He would be fine with it.”
“When was the last time you slept in a bed without him?” I counter.
She looks up at the celling, trying to come up with an answer to that question.
“Right. Like I said . . . you need to get home to Dad after your dinner with Miss Ina.”
“Fine. But you still need to call me tonight when you get home.”
“Remember what we talked about earlier?” I ask quietly.
Her eyes narrow on mine, and she grits out, “Yes . . .”
“I’ll call you tomorrow,” I say, repeating my earlier statement.
“Fine. Call me tomorrow.” She lets out a huff before putting a smile on her face that she aims at Antonio. “She can be a little hardheaded at times.”
“Mom!”
“What?” She turns to look at me, and I glare at her. “It’s the truth, honey. You’re sweet as can be, but you really are hardheaded.”
Hearing Antonio chuckle, I transfer my glare to him.
He grins at me.
Whatever.
“We should go,” I mutter.
He wraps his fingers around mine, giving them a squeeze before opening the door.
“Love you,” Mom says, stopping to kiss my cheek.
“I’m wondering if that’s true,” I grumble under my breath.
She smiles, then heads down the steps. Following her out, I wait until Antonio is out of my apartment before I lock the door and start down the steps with him at my back.
When we reach the first floor, he takes my hand. This startles me, and I look up at him.
“You really do look beautiful,” he says.
“Thank you.”
“And I really like your boots.”
The roughly spoken compliment sends a shiver down my spine—and a different kind of shiver though my girlie bits.
“Uh . . . thanks,” I repeat.
He shakes his head, smiling.
Hearing someone clear their throat, I look to the right and see Miss Ina and my mom waiting just inside of Miss Ina’s apartment. They’re both watching Antonio and me with completely opposite looks on their faces. Mom looks like she’s watching a real-life movie star leading his woman down the red carpet at a Hollywood event, and Miss Ina looks like she’s wishing she could rush across the space, snatch me from Antonio, take me into her apartment, and strap a chastity belt around me before throwing away the key.
“Have fun tonight, guys!” Mom calls out.
I fight the urge to roll my eyes at the overly chipper sound of her voice.
“Not too much fun, Libby Reed!” Miss Ina says.
Her eyes go to Antonio and narrow with a scary-old-lady look. Clearly, she would melt him into a puddle if she had that ability.
“Bye! Have a good dinner tonight.”
I wave at them over my shoulder while I tug hard on Antonio’s hand to get him to hurry up. I’ve already had to deal with him and my mom being in the same space—I don’t want to know what Miss Ina might say if she has a chance to talk to him.
“In a hurry?” he asks, chuckling.
When we make it outside, I look up at him once. I notice that, even in my heels, he’s still much, much taller than I am.
“You met my mom.”
“I did.” He smiles.
“That was bad—but not as bad as it could have been. Mom was on her best behavior.”
“All right.” His brows pull together slightly.
“Miss Ina is a wild card. If we had stopped to talk to her, she’d probably have demanded to chaperone dinner tonight—just so she can make sure I keep my virtue intact.”
“I see.”
His eyes change. Not in a bad way, but in a way that I don’t exactly understand—until he turns toward me, rests his hands on my waist, and pulls our hips closer together.
“Your virtue is safe tonight,” he says in a deep voice that makes my toes curl.
“I . . . Okay.” I swallow.
“After tonight, all bets are off,” he growls.
I feel the vibration of those words skim over me like thick honey.
Oh my god.
My knees actually get weak, so I grab on to his jacket to keep standing upright.
“Antonio . . . ,” I breathe.
“Fair warning.” He bends his head and kisses the tip of my nose, then stands back and sticks out his arm into the street. A cab pulls up after half a second, and he opens the door and helps me in, then gets in with me.
I listen to him give the driver the address to the restaurant, and my eyes widen slightly. It’s the same place where I had dinner with Walter.
“You okay?” he asks, pulling my attention to him.
“Fine.” I try to smile at him, but his eyes narrow on my mouth.
“What is it?”
“Nothing.” I keep my weird, awkward smile in place while I lace my fingers together in my lap to keep from twisting my hair.
“Have you been to Keens before?”
“I . . . Yes.”
“Did that guy take you there?”
Staring at him, I wonder if I should lie about it. Then I figure I probably shouldn’t.
“Yes . . . ?” I answer quietly, my admission sounding more like a question.
The muscles in his jaw jump, and he turns his head to look out the window. Leaning toward him, I rest my hand on his thigh. I try to ignore exactly how hard it feels under my palm. It takes a second for his eyes to come back to me, but when they do, I speak quietly.
“I kept thinking about you when I was at dinner with him,” I admit for some stupid reason.
His eyes flare with surprise.
“I . . . I knew even before dinner was over that there would never be another date with him, no matter how nice he was. For some stupid reason, I’ve had a crush on you forever.”
“What?” he whispers.
I wonder why the hell I just told him that, and why I didn’t keep my big mouth shut—at least about the whole crush thing.
“Have a good night. I’m going to jump out of the cab into traffic now,” I whisper back.
I start to look away, but before I can, his hand wraps around the side of my neck. Next, his fingers slide up into my hair, twisting it. Tingles shoot across my scalp as his mouth crashes down on mine. I gasp in surprise as his tongue thrusts between my parted lips and the familiar taste of him explodes on my tongue. Needing to keep myself here on Earth and not floating away, I clench my fingers into his sweater. I kiss him back, enjoy hearing him rumble when my tongue touches his.
God, I forgot how good it feels to kiss him, how good it felt when he nipped my lips and licked into my mouth.
I forgot how turned on he could make me with just his mouth on mine. Moaning, I slide one hand up his chest and latch on to his hair. I hear him groan in approval.
“Fuck, but you can kiss,” he says as soon as he rips his mouth away and rests his forehead against mine.
“Ditto,” I breathe as I pant, begging my lungs to fill with oxygen.
I slowly pull my eyes open to find him looking at me.
“So damn cute,” he groans, closing his eyes and touching his lips to mine softly. “You’re not jumping out of the cab, Libby. I don’t give a fuck if that guy took you to Keens—we’re having dinner there tonight since it should have been me taking you there in the first place.”
He releases my hair, then wraps his arms around my waist and pulls me across the leather seat and deeper into his side. My stomach dances and my heart leaps. I’ve been called beautiful my whole life, so it no longer means anything to me. I know I’m pretty, but I’ve always wanted to be more than that to someone. So him telling me I’m cute is probably the sweetest thing he could have said. He also said that he should have been the one to take me to Keens, which I really hope means he would have wanted to take me even back then when I didn’t think he liked me.
With a new kind of hopefulness in my chest, I sit close to him and try not to smile like an idiot—even though that’s exactly what I want to do.
Once we arrive at the restaurant, he pays the cab driver and then helps me out of the back seat by taking my hand and keeping hold of it. When we get inside, he leads me through the crowd gathered near the door and over to the hostess. It’s the same hostess who was here the night I had dinner with Walter. I wonder if she remembers me, then wonder if she remembers that I was here with a different man. Then I wonder if she thinks I’m a little bit loose for being here with two different men just weeks apart.
“I love your belt.”
She startles me, and I come out of my head and focus on her. “And your boots. Did you get them from Nordstrom?”
“No, I found both online—secondhand,” I admit.
“Really?” she breathes with wide eyes, like I just told her Santa Claus is real and he’s going to drop off a bag of diamonds at her house tonight.
“Yeah. I . . . Do you want the website?”
“God, yes. I know that belt cost like four hundred dollars, and those shoes close to the same, so if I could get them for a discount, that would be awesome.”
Okay, so she knows designers at a glance, which is impressive.
Feeling Antonio tense at my side, I wish she would stop saying how much my outfit cost retail—even if I didn’t pay close to that for the belt or the boots.
“Do you have a pen I can use?”
She pulls one out from behind the stand and gives it to me along with a napkin.
I quickly write down the website and hand it back to her. “They get new stuff every week, so you just have to keep an eye out if you’re looking for something specific.”
“Awesome.” She smiles, and I smile back.
“Reservation for Moretti,” Antonio says in a tense voice.
Her eyes fly from mine to him and widen once more—this time with nervousness.
“Right. Sorry about that.” She shoves the napkin into her pocket and then looks down at the iPad and does some clicking before grabbing menus. “If you’ll follow me?” She smiles at us, then starts into the restaurant.
Antonio’s hand settles into the small of my back as we walk, and I let out a relieved breath at his touch. It’s starting to become crystal clear that he has an issue with money—or with money being spent on clothes and shoes. That probably doesn’t bode well for us, since I like spending money on clothes and shoes. Then again, I work hard for the things I have. When we reach the back of the restaurant, I wonder if someone is playing some kind of twisted joke on me—it’s the same table Walter and I sat at when we were here.
“Let me help you with that,” Antonio says as I start to take off my coat.
I bite my lip as he slips it from my shoulders.
“No problem.”
He hangs it up on the hook near the table, then does the same with his own before pulling out the chair that’s not facing the restaurant for me.
Once we’re both seated, the hostess smiles at both of us as she sets down our menus on the table. “Your waiter will be with you shortly.”
“Thank you.” I give her a small smile, and she smiles back before taking off.
Looking around and nibbling my bottom lip, all I can think about is that I’m not sitting facing the restaurant.
“This isn’t the good seat,” I blurt out stupidly.
Antonio’s eyes meet mine.
“What?” he questions, placing his napkin on his lap.
I sigh.
“I . . . well, everyone knows the good seat is the seat with the view of the restaurant.” I wave my hand around the room.
“You’re in the safe seat,” he says.
I tip my head to the side in confusion and then ask, “The safe seat?”
“I have the view of the room. If something happens, I’ll know first and will have time to get you to safety before anything can happen to you.”
Holy crap.
“Oh,” I mumble.
“Jesus, have you always been this cute?” he asks.
My chest starts to feel warm at his question.
“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.