He stops at the door and turns.
“Remember you asked me about whether I would have called you?”
You mean when you crushed my heart as flat as a pancake? No, haven’t given it a second thought.
I snatch a jagged breath. “You said probably not.”
“I lied.”
Long pause while my heart trip-hammers against my ribs, almost cracking a couple in the process.
“You lied?”
“Yep. I had every intention of calling you. I’ve been out of the dating game for a while and wasn’t sure how long I was supposed to wait, what the protocol is these days. I obviously waited too long.”
You mean, we could have already done the deed and moved on? Once I’d found out he was a firefighter, I wouldn’t have wanted to date him anyway. I can’t risk that level of closeness, but I would have been very open to something more casual.
Tripping down that rocky road would help no one just as the man telling me this now doesn’t change a thing.
If anything it makes it worse.
I gave him an out—said no to his breakfast offer and made it clear that he and I breathing the same air outside the firehouse is madness. Now he’s here, dangling something I can’t have.
“If you’d called me, it wouldn’t have changed anything.”
“You sure about that?” He moves back into the apartment, so fast he’s in my personal space like it’s his personal space. I look up into that sculpted face and hold my breath. “I said I wouldn’t have called because it seemed like the easiest way to move forward,” he says, every word a carbon copy of the thoughts rolling through my frazzled brain. “Put it behind us and deal with the new world order. But it was a lie.”
My heart’s not doing so good. Still, he continues, stringing together more words than I’ve ever heard from his lips.
I am spellbound.
“I wish I’d done more than kiss you because I can still taste that cherry pie on your lips, I can still feel your gorgeous breasts against my chest, I can still hear those breathy little moans you made when our tongues tangled. I wish I’d spent the night with you so I’d have that memory of how good we could be together.”
I have no words. And if I did, what would be the point? Nothing can resolve this to our mutual satisfaction short of banging each other’s brains out.
The burning look he delivers says he understands completely. Great, I’m totally simpatico with a man I can’t have.
I’m still melting under his scrutiny when he leaves three seconds later.
Twenty
Roman
I walk out of Abby’s building, crushed with disappointment, though fuck knows why. I stopped by to tell her I had her back, to let her vent, and make sure she was okay.
Instead I blurted out that if we were living in a different universe, I’d have called her for that date.
Excellent leadership skills, Rossi.
The minute she turned down breakfast with that look of such misery I knew what she was feeling. What we’ve both been feeling since she walked into my office at Engine 6: how the fuck can we pretend we don’t want each other?
She’s been doing a better job of it and clearly has the right idea. Don’t spend a minute of unchaperoned time together. That’s what she was saying when she basically told me to walk my ass out the door.
But I had to open my big mouth. I couldn’t go another second letting her think I might not have wanted her from the start. Maybe she could tell with the way I’ve been practically drooling all over her, but I needed to say the words. Actualize the hell out of it, and if in actualizing, if in making the words live and breathe outside my head resulted in sending a call up to the universe, then maybe my sister and her dumb New Age shit have the right idea.
So I said it. I told her my wishes and dreams in the most inappropriate manner. And then I got the fuck out of Dodge before I acted on those fantasies.
It was supposed to make me feel better, a cathartic admission.
Instead I’ve only gone and made it so much worse.
These tangled traps occupy my mind as I let myself into the apartment. It’s Tuesday, so I should have the place to myself, except I hear voices in Chiara’s kitchen, and there I find my sister and daughter seated at the table.
“What’s going on? Why aren’t you in school?”
Lena looks up at me with red-rimmed eyes. My heart drops.
“She got into a fight,” Chiara says.
“Are you okay?” I touch a hand to her head and she ducks away.
“I’m fine.” She leaves the kitchen.
Chiara blows out a breath. “The school called you but couldn’t get through.”
I turned off my phone before I went to Abby’s. “I had it off for a while and forgot to turn it back on.”
“Lena talked to Tori and the bitch blabbed. Told her you won’t let her come to the wedding.”
“Shit. Tori wasn’t supposed to say anything. Why the hell would she do that?”
“Because she knows it would look terrible if her own daughter isn’t a bridesmaid. Tori is all about the optics.”
I turn on my phone and sure enough, I have several messages, a couple from the school, the rest from Chiara. Nothing from Tori, though.
I scroll to my contacts. “Excuse me while I shove those optics down her throat.”
“Maybe hold off and deal with Lena first. She was upset and got into a physical altercation at school. Have you forgotten that part?”
I take a breath. While I was fantasizing about getting my rocks off, my daughter was having a meltdown.
“Yeah, okay. I’m sorry you had to leave work. Thanks for picking her up.”
“Sure, I’m here to be the backup. I think she’s taking the move and changes really well, but the fact her mom is so hot and cold is really hard on her. I know you’re trying to protect her but maybe you should let her go to the wedding.”
“No fucking way,” I growl, and especially not now when Tori tried to end run it. “I’m going to talk to Lena. Go back to work.”
Chiara looks like she has more to say, but instead takes the wise approach and leaves.
I knock on Lena’s bedroom door. There’s no answer so I put my head around. “Fragolina?”
She’s curled up on her side, her back to me, looking at her phone screen. She makes no effort to face me. I understand her hurt and I hate that I’m the bad guy here, but sometimes you have to be. That’s pretty much the definition of parenting.
Taking a seat, I run a hand over her shoulder. She doesn’t flinch, so I take that as a positive.
“You okay?”
She shrugs and my heart breaks at seeing her so closed off. Only when her mother is involved does she recede like this and become smaller. I’d vowed she’d never feel like that with me.
“What was the fight about?”
“Nothing.”
“Want to tell me what your mom said?”
She turns over, fueled by indignation. “You know what she said. She wants me in the wedding and you never told me!”
“True. I didn’t want you to take part.”
My candor surprises her. “But, why? She actually wants me there. It’s like you’re trying to keep us apart.”