Seduced in the City

by Jo Leigh

  “Can you hook me up with a pass? I might be willing to take the bus for a pool.”

  “Sure. I’ll give you a call.”

  Sara came to the counter, carrying a big take-out bag for Mike along with his pizza. “That’ll be twenty-six fifty.”

  “You new here?” Mike asked, his voice dropping half an octave as he forgot that her eyes were above her chest.

  “That’s Sara Moretti,” Dom said. “She’s been away at college. Studying...journalism?”

  Sara glanced at him as if she hadn’t realized he could speak full sentences. “That’s right.” Then she looked at Mike again. “I remember you from Loyola. You wrote for the paper a couple of times.”

  “You’re that Sara? Wow. You’ve changed.”

  “I hope so.” Sara smiled. “It’s good to see you again.”

  “Yeah, same here. How long have you been back?”

  “Just a week.”

  “So, you here to stay?” Mike asked.

  “I’m not sure,” she said with a small shrug that drew Dom’s attention to her breasts straining the fabric of her T-shirt. “I’m working on my master’s thesis so I’ll be here long enough to finish it.”

  Dom realized he was behaving as badly as Mike had, and he snapped his attention up to her face. Her lips were moving but Dom hadn’t heard a thing she’d said.

  She and Mike laughed about something, and then Sara asked, “Will that be cash?”

  Cho whipped out his wallet, fumbled with his credit card, then smiled at her with such eagerness, Dom debated getting him that gym pass.

  While Sara swiped Mike’s card, he looked at Dom, lifting his brows in what was supposed to be a guy-bonding moment. Dom ignored it. He wasn’t sure why he was irritable. Mike was a good guy. They’d competed in track.

  As Sara handed him back his card, Mike grinned. “You made that paper a decent read,” he said. “Much better than Billy Calabrini.”

  “Thanks. That’s nice of you, but if you’ll excuse me. I have to—” She nodded her chin in the direction of the kitchen and drifted toward the prep counter.

  Mike’s grin faded with every step she took. But that didn’t stop him from eyeing how those worn jeans cupped her ass. “Well, can’t win ’em all,” he said. He turned for the door. “Later.”

  “Yeah, later.” Of course Dom had been checking her out also. But that was different. He took a sip of his soda, then got out his wallet when he saw Sara packing up his order. He put cash on the counter, then a tip in the jar. Like always. When she came with his stuff, he smiled—not as enthusiastically as Mike had. “You never asked me to write for the paper.”

  “Mike volunteered,” she said, not meeting his gaze.

  “I didn’t know that was an option.”

  “It was,” she said, as she stared at his soda. A moment later, he watched her add the cost to his bill before she rang it up. “Besides, as I recall, you were always too busy.”

  “Uh-oh. I think I must have done something to you back in school.”

  She didn’t answer at first, just stared down. “What do you mean?”

  “Charging for the soda?” he said, joking. Trying to get her to lighten up. Maybe she’d caught him checking her out and was pissed. “I mean, I’m happy to pay for it, but...”

  Ellie rushed over to her sister’s side and bumped Sara’s shoulder. “I’m sure you never did anything bad to her. She’s just been gone too long and doesn’t know the routine anymore.”

  Dom smiled, trying to figure out the expression on Sara’s face. Was she really annoyed about the buck seventy-five, or was this about something else? He hadn’t seen Sara in years and—

  Jesus. The long-ago memory flashed like lightning through his brain. How could he have forgotten? This wasn’t about anything Dom had done to her. It had been the other way around. As the editor of the school paper, Sara had practically eviscerated him in an op-ed piece, and he’d never been more insulted in his entire life.

  “I know the routine,” Sara told her sister. “I’ve worked here more years than you.”

  “Sara,” Ellie said, her voice a little condescending. “Not now, okay?”

  Sara glared at her. “I don’t remember Dad saying anything ever about giving out freebies. And surely Mr. Hotshot can afford to pay for it.”

  Ellie, looking shocked and embarrassed, cleared her throat. “I’ll just charge the order to your family account, okay?” Then she spun around on Sara and in a hushed voice muttered, “What is your problem?”

  Dom could still hear, though, and clearly this was the perfect opening. He could’ve taken the high road—after all, they’d been kids. But with her acting like this? “Ellie, why don’t you ask Sara about the article she wrote my last year at Loyola?” he said, gathering his order and holding Sara’s gaze captive.

  She should’ve looked embarrassed. Maybe even blushed. Not look as if she wanted to give him a third nostril.

  “Yeah?” she said with an accusing smile. “And ask Dom what he said about—” She stopped short and blinked. “Never mind.”

  “Go ahead,” he said, honestly drawing a blank. “About what? I’d like to hear this.”

  Her inhale was sharp, and her cheeks flushed dark pink. Without a word she turned around and disappeared into the kitchen.

  2

  “UM, SORRY, DOM,” Ellie said, “Sara’s...she’s, uh, been kind of crazy working on her thesis. Lots of late nights and all. So, uh, she probably didn’t mean anything.”

  Sara listened from behind the wall separating the kitchen from the front counter area. God, what a coward, letting her kid sister take the heat. Although she hadn’t asked Ellie to make excuses for her.

  “Yeah, I’m sure she didn’t,” Dom said. “See you later, Ellie.”

  Sara took a quick peek and watched him balance the container of ziti on the two pizza boxes. As soon as he paused and turned his head toward the kitchen, she ducked back out of sight.

  “I’ll get the door for you,” Ellie said, and hurried out from behind the counter.

  Waiting until she heard the bell over the door, Sara closed her eyes, grateful Dom was gone. Of course he’d remembered what she had written about him. But why she’d risen to the bait in such a humiliating way made her sick. She should have just ignored him, pretended she didn’t know what he was talking about. It had happened ten years ago. He wouldn’t have pursued the topic. He would’ve just left, and she’d still have a little dignity.

  “What the heck was that about?” Ellie asked, her voice so indignant it made Sara jerk back to look at her.

  “Why did you give him the free soda?” Sara brushed past her, remembering at the last second to grab a clean rag, as if anyone would believe she’d disappeared for any reason but the obvious.

  “We never charge him.”

  “You’re joking, right? Is this just for Dom, or for every guy you have a crush on?”

  “It has nothing to do with me having a crush on him. And who says I do, anyway?”

  Sara rolled her eyes and put some elbow grease into wiping off the tables.

  “I only give free soda to Dom,” Ellie said, glaring, her face blotchy. “Jeannette does it, too. So do the others.”

  “For God’s sake, why?” Sara stopped and glared back. “Because he’s hot?”

  “I—we—give him free sodas because he’s a very good customer.”

  “We have a lot of good customers. I can’t believe you just give him free stuff. What’s next? Pizzas on the house because his smile is pearly white?”

  Ellie’s hands went to her hips, and she gave Sara a look that reminded her of how they used to argue over their single bathroom sink. “Because he always leaves good tips.”

  “Enough to make up for the loss in soda?”

 
; “Why don’t you take a look, smart-ass?”

  That was new.

  Ellie got the tip jar and pulled out a twenty. “This is what he leaves for a big order. For a slice, he leaves five dollars. Minimum. Every time.”

  Sara knew what the markup was on soda. And leaving that kind of tip each time he came in actually did make up for those freebies, and then some. She hadn’t expected that. “Okay, so he likes playing big shot and throwing his money around. Fine. Let him.”

  Ellie kept staring. “I can’t believe how horrible you were to him. What did you write in the paper?”

  “Nothing. We were kids. Look, I lost my temper. I’m tired and I saw you treating him like he was king of the neighborhood, and it pissed me off, okay?” Sara had regretted the big shot remark—and just about everything else—even before she saw the disappointment in her sister’s eyes. “I’m sorry, El. It won’t happen again. I promise.”

  Ellie gave her a halfhearted nod. Probably more than Sara deserved, so she smiled back.

  The bell over the door rang twice, and they both got to work greeting customers and handing out menus. Hopefully, the place would be so busy with that big party it would let her forget what had happened. With any luck, which seemed to be in short supply for her lately, she’d scared Dom off from ever coming to Moretti’s again.

  But this was Little Italy. If she really thought she wouldn’t see him again, and soon, she was dreaming.

  * * *

  ON THURSDAY, AFTER Dominic had finished putting in the data for Paladino & Sons’ newest customers, he hurried to the printers, where he went through each page of the new restoration brochure he’d had printed. He’d spent a lot of time designing it using photographs he’d taken of different houses and buildings they’d restored. The centerpiece was Catherine’s remodeled single-family home, its 1930s art deco glory brought to life with amazing results.

  He’d worked even harder on the copy, so when he got to the last fold and saw that his description of the revitalized fireplace tiles had been shortened, he wasn’t pleased.

  “Kenny. What happened here?”

  “What’s that?” The owner of the printing press that Dom had been using for the last five years read the paragraph in question. “Ah, the Verdana font you asked for wouldn’t fit completely on the page, so I nipped that one sentence a little.”

  “Why didn’t you call me?”

  Ken Patterson, who was about twenty years older than Dom, seemed startled by his tone. “It was just a few words, and I know you wanted that particular font.”

  Dom liked the guy. He’d always done a great job at a good price on time. “I’m sorry, buddy, but in this case, it’s not going to work out. I want it printed again, only this time use Helvetica. The sentence you abbreviated targets a particular market, which I wouldn’t expect you to know. But in the future, call me, all right?”

  Kenny nodded, his relief obvious. “Sure thing, Dom. I’ll turn these around real quick. How’s Monday afternoon?”

  “Great.” He held out his hand, and they shook. Dom felt certain a mistake like that wouldn’t happen again.

  Then he was off to an interview for a position at New York Adventures, a web and subscription magazine. He probably didn’t have much chance of getting it, but what the hell. Now that he was finished with his graduate studies, the job hunt was on.

  For now, though, he was busier than ever with the family construction business, what with Tony tasting wedding cake samples and checking out reception venues, and Luca being so in demand as a finish carpenter that he’d accrued quite a list of private clients.

  Dom was glad for his brothers. They’d busted their asses when their dad had gotten sick. It was time the little brother stepped up, gave them some breathing room. And with the business growing in different directions, he was actually learning new things along the way. Sure, he wanted to do much more careerwise, but for now, this was fine.

  Several hours later he had to remind himself that life was good.

  Yeah, for some other guy, maybe.

  It had turned into one of those days. Everything had taken longer than it should have. And he didn’t know where the hell all the cabs in the city had disappeared to, only that he’d waited three times for more than ten minutes. Which gave him far too much headspace to think about Sara Moretti.

  In those snug jeans and stretchy blue top.

  Holy shit, she might’ve been a late bloomer, if memory served, but nature had made it up to her in a big way.

  Since seeing her the other evening, his brain had been stuck in a damn loop. First, the jeans and clingy top. Next came the memory of those almond-shaped hazel eyes that could make a man forget his own name. And finally the thing that nagged him the most—the great mystery. Sara believed he’d wronged her in some way, and for the life of him he couldn’t figure out what he’d done.

  He’d been thinking about it far too often. And he’d come up with the same conclusion each time. She must’ve mixed him up with someone else. It was the only thing that made sense because he’d barely said a dozen words to her the three years they’d attended the same school.

  Only one thing to do about it. He had to ask her what it was she thought she remembered. She’d try to ignore him, or tell him she was joking, and normally he’d let it go. In fact, he would’ve preferred to forget she’d said anything. But the damn thought had popped up right in the middle of his interview.

  For a few seconds it had thrown him off track. Thankfully, he’d recovered quickly and he’d gotten a good vibe from the woman, but he wasn’t going to let himself get excited. The job was technically for someone with more experience. If that was the case, fine. At least it had been good practice. But being distracted by thoughts of Sara’s imaginary slight? He couldn’t have that.

  He’d ask her what she meant, and he wouldn’t leave without an answer. The question was should he go to Moretti’s now? He was tired and he still needed to hit the gym.

  Dom stuck his hand out for a taxi that zipped right past him. Perfect. He glanced at his watch. They’d be closing real soon. Probably a good time to catch her. If she wanted to lock up, she’d have to answer him first.

  * * *

  A FAMILY OF four were the only customers left in the restaurant at eight minutes to closing. As if any of them cared about that. A minute ago the older teen tried to order a custom pizza to go. Sara didn’t bother asking Carlo if he had time—he would’ve bitten her head off. If they’d been regulars she would’ve considered it. But she was fairly certain they were tourists.

  She kept on wiping down tables while Carlo was wrapping up in the kitchen. The day had been particularly busy. The dining room floor needed a washing, but Carlo would do that, which was why he was anxious to close. As soon as table three paid, she’d start cashing out.

  A long night at her laptop awaited her, and she doubted she’d get home before ten. She didn’t really mind because she was excited about finally getting started on her thesis. This morning she’d begun the lengthy interview process by meeting with her first subjects, Mr. and Mrs. Scarpetti. The couple currently lived in Brooklyn, but their families had come over in 1880 from Napoli, and Mr. Scarpetti remembered a lot of stories from the very early days. Some from when the Five Points area had been the nexus of what had been called the worst slum in the United States.

  Despite the realities of living in squalor, sweet memories always bled through the tragedies. That was one of the reasons she’d made “The History of Little Italy, 1810-1940,” her thesis. Her focus was on collecting stories from families who’d been there since the early days, like hers, and comparing them to historical records. Giving their local history a face and name.

  She’d wanted to transcribe the complete Scarpetti tapes tonight, but they’d talked for a long time. It would take her hours, and she wasn’t sure she had it in he
r.

  When the bell rang over the door, Sara turned, ready to send away whoever was coming in this late. But once again, she was stopped in her tracks by Dominic.

  So much for scaring him off.

  It had been only three days since she’d seen him, but he looked like a different guy. Disheveled, hair sticking up oddly, his necktie askew, as if he’d come though a wind tunnel. When he caught sight of her, he ran a hand through his hair, although it didn’t do much good.

  She acknowledged him with a brief smile. Only because he’d seen her look up. Then wondered about her own hair after hustling all day. She almost smoothed it back but caught herself. He was still staring directly at her when she lowered her gaze to the table she must’ve wiped down a hundred times already. A dozen more swipes couldn’t hurt.

  It took him all of three seconds before he was standing across the table from her, though she refused to look up. “Are you alone?” he asked.

  “Carlo’s in the back.” She had just enough sense to switch to another table, and then wiped it down for all she was worth, unsure what to say, and not wanting to look him in the eyes.

  “Can I talk to you for a minute, Sara?”

  “I’m the only one on the floor. Can’t you see we’re busy?”

  He glanced around the nearly empty pizza parlor, amusement flickering on his face, but he wisely kept his mouth shut. “No problem. I’ll wait.”

  Great. Maybe she should get it over with while she had witnesses.

  “Look, I know it’s a long shot,” Dom said, “but I haven’t eaten all day. Any chance you have a slice on hand?”

  Out of the corner of her eye she saw the couple and their two kids getting to their feet. Now they cared about closing time? “A slice? This late? You know better than that.”

  “Yeah, I suppose I do.”

  “Anyway, Carlo closed the kitchen ten minutes ago.”

  “So, anything? A pizza someone didn’t pick up?” Dom said. “I don’t mind buying the whole pie.”

  His tie landed on the chair back. She blinked, but it was still there. “What are you doing?” she asked, shooting a gaze up at him.