I feel my cheeks turning bright red. Way to embarrass yourself, Carissa.
“Oh, fu—” I catch myself before letting out the obscenity. “I’m sorry…” I begin placing the containers of cream cheese back.
He chuckles and holds out his hands to show he’s not offended. “May I?” he finally asks, pointing at the containers still in my hands, asking if he can have one.
“Oh, yes, of course!” I pass one to him. “You want more?”
He chuckles again. “No, no. One is quite enough, thanks.” He places it into his cart.
Of course it is, Carissa, you moron.
Who goes out to clear the supermarket of their entire stock of cream cheese? Only me. I place all but two of the containers back onto the shelf.
“I’ve seen you around before… I’m Lorenzo,” he says in a cool, sultry voice, extending his hand.
I reach and grab it. Holy fuck, what a grip. His hand is like twice the size of mine… maybe more. I don’t know, but my tiny one gets swallowed by his much larger one.
I nod. “Yes, I saw you at the match the other night. I’m Carissa. Nice to meet you.”
Now he nods and then our hands let go.
But our eyes don’t. We don’t let go of one another’s gaze, and I’m beginning to feel uncomfortable… self-conscious.
Shit, is my hair in place? Is this shirt too tight? Ugh… I hate questioning myself right now and feeling this way.
His eyes are completely eating me whole, and it seems like he’s staring at… my lips? Fuck, is my lipstick smeared? I want to pull out my pocket mirror from my purse, but it would be too obvious.
Okay, I need to take a deep breath and relax. I need to cool off. I need to remind myself he’s just another guy.
Another guy who is most likely another asshole.
Shit, a guy like him probably has women hanging all over him on a daily basis. He’s sure to be a complete heartbreaking asshole. They’re all the same, and I’m sure he’s as cocky, arrogant, and dick-headed as they all are.
I’ve had more than my share of it all, and I’m not looking for another way to get my heart broken.
I need to keep my cool and remind myself that all guys are no good. All guys are pricks only looking for one thing.
He breaks my train of thought with his next words. “Well, I don’t mean to hold you up. I’m sure you have places to be.” He pauses for a second, staring at my mouth again for a bit too long. “It was nice officially meeting you, Carissa.”
Damn, the way he said my name…
Nodding, I respond, “Likewise.”
Our eyes continue to take one another in, but something deep inside me is causing heat to form deep in my core.
Fuck, he’s hot. His smoldering look, burning into me… his sexy grin… He’s igniting a fire within me I’m not sure I can control.
Dammit, Carissa. Get your shit together. Focus…
Remember, he’s no good for you. He’s an asshole, only looking for one thing.
Okay, sure, all guys are pricks, assholes, and shitheads only looking for one thing, but something about the way he bores his gaze into me is making it really hard for me to follow the rules I set aside for myself.
Chapter Ten
Lorenzo
“Where’s Jordan?” I ask my sister as we’re sitting around the dining room table enjoying Mom’s Sunday dinner. He had finally reached out to her a few days ago and was supposed to be here with us today. It’s tradition for the family to be here on Sundays, but it’s not the first one he’s missed.
Marianna shrugs, failing to meet my gaze. “Away on business again.”
Shit. My sister’s husband is constantly away on business, or so he says. I don’t know if it’s true, and I know my sister is skeptical about it as well. It’s a touchy subject, but for his sake, it better be true. I’ll kill him if he hurts her.
“Ma, this rigatoni-and-sausage combo is amazing,” Max says, chiming in, and I’m thankful for the change in topic.
“Uncle Maxy… that’s a lot of food in your mouth.”
I look over at my five-year-old who has dropped her fork and is looking to her right. She’s staring wide-eyed at her Uncle Maxy scarfing down his plate of pasta.
I chuckle to myself and lean down to whisper in her ear. “And just think… When your uncle was your age, all he ate was mac and cheese. He never wanted to eat Grandma’s food.”
“But it’s so good,” she answers back quietly.
“What are you whispering to her?” Max looks at me, with a raised eyebrow.
“I know, right?” I say to her. Straightening back up, I take a glance at Max again. “Oh, so I guess now your mouth is empty enough to speak.” I chuckle again. “I wasn’t saying anything false. I was just telling her you used to always pass up Mom’s food when we were kids. Thankfully, she can’t believe it because she knows it’s delicious, even at her age. I have to say my five-year-old’s a whole lot smarter than you were back then… well, now too.” I snicker.
“You kids never quit,” my father says after swallowing a mouthful of red wine. Then, looking at his little granddaughter sitting to his left, he says, “It’s okay, sweetheart. Don’t pay them no mind. There are three bites left on your plate. Eat up.” He winks at her.
Gianna’s dumbfounded expression quickly changes. She smiles, picks her fork back up, and resumes stuffing another bite of pasta into her mouth. For a kid, she eats rather well and rarely complains when she’s served something she doesn’t recognize. Whenever my mother cooks for her, Gianna always cleans the plate.
“Enz was telling Gia what a moron you are,” Marianna states from the opposite side of the table, looking at Max.
“That’s enough, you guys!” Mom walks into the dining room carrying yet another plate full of food. This time it’s chicken cutlets, potatoes, and stuffed and roasted red peppers.
All I can say is that Sunday dinners at my parents’ house are the best. Mom always makes sure we don’t ever run out of food. I leave here ten pounds heavier than I was when I arrived.
“Ooh, Ma. Let me help,” Marianna says, rising from her seat. She picks up empty dishes from the table to make room for the second part of dinner. The first dish is always some type of pasta. The second part is usually a type of meat, followed by whatever side dishes Mom decides to make. Her stuffed and roasted red peppers are to die for.
Marianna walks to Gianna, whose plate is now completely polished. Like I said, she never leaves food behind when my mother cooks.
“Good girl!” Marianna leans down and kisses the top of Gianna’s head. She takes her plate away and continues clearing the first round of dishes.
As soon as Marianna has swiped our finished plates from the table, Mom places new ones onto the middle of it. “Here we are.”
Max is first to fork a cutlet and place it onto his plate.
I shake my head but don’t make a comment. Unfortunately, my brother never did know how to let things go when it came to messing with me. You would think he would be wiser than to pick on me, since I am larger than him, but as kids, we wrestled all the time because of his mouth. I only let him win once, when I felt bad for him. His bike got stolen by some of the neighborhood kids. It was a sweet bike, one he had been wanting for months before my parents gave in and bought it for him for his birthday. While he was sad about it all day long, it didn’t stop him from starting a name-calling competition with me. I can’t remember what it was over, but most likely, it was what to watch on TV or whose turn it was to take out the trash.