Just Roll With It (A Perfect Dish Book 4)

by Tawdra Kandle

  I’d just settled down on my sofa, with my phone in my hand, preparing to call Vincent and explain all of this to him, when there was a knock at my door. Frowning, I jumped up to answer it, wondering who the nighttime doorman had allowed upstairs without asking me. My list of approved guests was short and selective, and it only included my parents and a few close friends.

  “Surprise!” Giff stood in the hallway, beaming at me when I swung open the door. “You might not recognize me, but I’m your best friend. The one you’ve been blowing off lately, apparently so you can do wild and kinky stuff with your other best friend’s brother-in-law.”

  A myriad of emotion ran through me. Surprise at Giff’s appearance, guilt about making him feel ignored and embarrassment that he seemed to know quite a bit about Vincent and me. I wasn’t sure which one to acknowledge first, so I went with my gut and dragged him inside.

  “I haven’t blown you off, buddy.” I wrapped him in a tight hug, sniffing appreciatively. Giff always smelled so damn good. “You’re the one who’s been off blissing on cloud nine since you got engaged. I’ve been right here, where I always am.”

  “You might be onto something there, but it’s much more fun to see your face go three colors of red when I call you out.” Giff winked.

  “You’re a jerk, you know that?” I led him into my living room. “What’re you doing here, anyway?”

  “Can’t a guy come visit his friend without a reason?” He tilted his head.

  “Probably, but you’ve got something behind your back there that tells me there’s a method to your madness. ‘Fess up, Giff. What’s going on?”

  “All right.” He swung around the white plastic bag and held it out to me. “Jeff and I both took today off and played hooky down the shore. Part of the fun was an early dinner at Cucina Felice, at the invitation of the DiMartino family, who wanted to thank me again for the wedding. While I was there enjoying the ravioli, a certain hunk of hotness came out of the kitchen, handed me this bag and asked me to deliver it to a special lady friend in the city. So I have no idea what it is. I’m just the messenger boy.”

  As I took the bag, a delicious aroma filled the air, and closing my eyes, I gave an involuntary moan.

  “Uh, cookie, do you need a moment alone with your pastries?” Giff smirked. “I can step outside, if you’d like.”

  I stuck out my tongue at him. “No. But I’m trying to decide if I like you enough to share whatever might be in this box.” I slid the small package onto my lap and opened the lid to take a peek. “Oh, okay. The answer to that question is no. I’m not sharing.”

  Giff rolled his eyes. “Don’t bother, toots. I already sampled the wares of your squeeze earlier today.”

  “Please don’t call him that, and ewww. You make it sound dirty, whatever it was you did.”

  “Ha!” My friend laughed. “No worries, sweetheart. Vincent isn’t interested in anything I have, but he sure does have the soft puppy dog eyes when it comes to you.”

  “Hmmm.” I fiddled with the handles on the bag, tying them together. “Maybe you just see what you want to see, Giff.”

  “I don’t think so. But I’m more worried about what I see in your face, cookie. What’s going on? Tell me everything.”

  I sighed. “Right before you knocked, I was about to call Vincent and tell him we needed to cool things down. To take a break for a while.”

  One of Giff’s eyebrows ticked upward. “I see. And why, exactly, would you do that?”

  “Because he’s a huge distraction!” I burst out. “I found out today that I’d messed up something at work, probably because I was too busy—well, getting busy with Vincent. He makes me want to think about stuff that isn’t work or school. I just want to sit around and daydream. I want to blow off classes and drive down to see him. I’m a mess, Giff.”

  “Oh, sweetie.” Giff shook his head. “You’re not a mess. This is just the first time you’ve gotten involved with someone who means something to you. It’s okay that you’re a little preoccupied. That’s part of the deal with being in love.”

  “I’m not in love with Vincent DiMartino.” My automatic reaction was swift and sure. “We’re not—he’s not—just no. It’s not like that.”

  “Beg to differ, darlin’. I saw his eyes when he talked about you today, and I see yours when I mention his name. He’s gone over you, and you’re gaga, too. It’s a beautiful thing to see.”

  I flipped Giff the finger. “Thanks. Here I am, consumed with misery—”

  “The word you’re looking for is ridiculous, honey. As in, you’re being ridiculous. You’re adjusting. There are bound to be some growing pains as you do. Yes, you might lose a little focus with other things, but you’ll come around and figure out how to make it all work. You’re a smart girl. I have faith in you.”

  “I’m glad you do. I feel like I’m drowning and dropping all the balls I have in the air.” I flopped back against the sofa cushions.

  “Oh, sweetie.” Giff swooped me into a hug. “You’re not dropping anything. Like I said, it’s a matter of finding your balance. You’ll figure it out. Don’t make any rush decisions, okay? Promise me that.”

  I groaned. “Giff. What if I ruin everything I’ve worked so hard for, just for good sex?”

  His eyes went wide. “Is the sex only good? Seriously? With Vincent?”

  “No!” I wailed. “It’s incredible. It’s mind-blowing. It’s the best I’ve ever had in my entire life, and I think he’s spoiled me for anyone else ever again. Just the thought of giving it up makes me want to cry.”

  “Oh, baby girl. You don’t have to give up Vincent. Just tell him how you’re feeling and that you don’t want to change anything, but that you need to stay focused. Don’t run away, and don’t try to handle it on your own. Pull up your big girl pants and talk to that man. If the sex is as fantastic as you claim—”

  “It is.”

  “—and his cannoli is fan-fucking-tabulous, as I know, don’t you dare let him get away.”

  I frowned. “How did you know it was a cannoli in the box?”

  “I opened it and looked, of course.” He shrugged. “I happen to know the man makes amazing pastry. So do you pinkie swear you’ll do your best to make this thing between you work?”

  A tiny smile curled up one side of my lips. “I do. I pinkie swear. And thank you, Giff. If you hadn’t stopped by when you did, I might’ve made a huge mistake.”

  “Honey, I live to bring happiness and tranquility—and cannoli—to my friends in their hours of need.” Giff stood up and blew me a kiss. “Now, my own love machine is waiting at home, so I’m going to scram. I recommend that you scarf up this pastry and then call up a certain Italian honey and make him happy. Maybe make yourself happy while you’re at it.”

  And once Giff was gone, that was exactly what I did.

  Twice.

  After all, as he’d pointed out, it was all about balance.

  “Vince—hold up!” My brother huffed out the words and bent over at the waist, his entire upper body trembling as he tried to catch his breath. “Show some mercy, dude. I’m older than you, remember.”

  “By two years. Pull yourself together, man. You’re embarrassing yourself.” I stretched my back and gazed out over the ocean. The sun was rising, and although it was still pretty cold, I could tell it was going to be a beautiful day.

  “Bite me.” Carl snarled the words. “You come back and tell me how embarrassing it is when you have a kid at home keeping you up at night.”

  “Hey, I’ve got other things keeping me up at night, and I manage just fine, thanks.” I smirked. “It’s all about the conditioning, Carl. My body is a well-oiled machine. That’s why I can ask it to do things like run on the beach in the mornings, and it responds.”

  “My body responds, too. Just not the same way. And the other things that are keeping you up at night . . . I thought you were off the random chicks. You know, now that you’re all committed and shit to the lawyer lady.”

/>   “Amanda. Her name is Amanda,” I corrected. “And I’m not committed. I’m just . . .” Hell, I hated this kind of conversation. It was none of Carl’s damn business, anyway. “We’re seeing each other. When we can. It’s no big deal.” Even as I said the words, I knew I was lying to both my brother and myself.

  “Surrrrrre, it isn’t. That’s why you came in on Monday a couple weeks back, after your weekend off, whistling. And smiling. And being nice to everyone. That’s not like you, bro. It was fucking unnatural, is what it was.”

  “You’re just jealous, because I’m getting all the hot sex I want, and you’re getting up all night to take care of a screaming kid. In my bed, the only screaming that happens is the good kind. The kind you want to hear.”

  “That screaming kid is my son and your nephew, asshole. So watch it. And I’m not jealous of the hot sex. I get plenty of that, too. With my beautiful wife, who I’ve loved for over ten years, thanks. You don’t know shit about that, because none of your women ever stick around long enough. Or you don’t.”

  That stung, even though it was true. It had never bothered me before, the way my family saw my man-whoring ways, but now that Amanda was in the picture, I didn’t want anyone equating her with the women I’d hooked up with randomly. She was different. Together, we were different.

  My feelings must have shown on my face, because when Carl spoke again, he’d taken it down a notch. “What’s going on with you and Amanda, anyway? I know you hooked up back last summer, at Ava’s party. But it seems like now, things are more serious. How do you feel about that?”

  “What’re you, my therapist? You want me to talk about my feelings? I’m . . .” I kicked at the sand. “I don’t know. I like her. We have a good time together. She makes me want to be more . . . more than what I used to be. But she doesn’t force the issue, you know? We just enjoy each other. We laugh a lot. We talk, and God knows, I never did that with other women, not once I’d gotten them in bed. But Amanda is fun. Even if we’re not in bed, she’s still fun. That’s new. But we’re not like you and Ange. We’re not dying to jump into something serious. It’s just—what it is.”

  “Okay.” Carl caught one foot in his hand and bent his knee, stretching his hamstring.

  I scowled. “Okay? That’s it?”

  My brother shrugged. “Yeah, that’s it. What more do you want? You want me to bust your balls and give you shit about liking a girl? I’m not going to do that. Amanda’s a great woman, as far as I can tell. I only met her a few times. But if she makes you happy, the rest of us are happy, too. Just don’t fuck it up, all right?”

  “I probably will.” It was the fear I’d been grappling with for weeks. “I don’t know what the hell I’m doing here. Half the time, I convince myself I’m making a huge mistake. I’m not cut out to be a one-woman guy. I’m going to make a mistake, or a thousand. During the weeks when I don’t see her, I talk myself into calling it off. I pick up the phone to tell her this isn’t working. Then I see her. And in that minute, I think anything’s possible. I feel . . . possible. Like I can do it. It wouldn’t work with anyone else, but with her, with Amanda, it could.”

  “Don’t let the fear cripple you. Don’t let it make you do something stupid, okay?” Carl clapped one hand on my shoulder. “You’re more than you think you are, Vince. You seem to think that we all look at you like you’re less. But we don’t. You can handle this. And you want the truth? Amanda’s damn lucky to have someone like you. I hope she knows that.”

  I coughed. “When I bring her around the family—and I’m not saying when that’s going to be—but when I do, can you make sure you slip that into the conversation? She might buy it, coming from you.”

  “Consider it done.” Carl grinned. “Now, have you tortured me enough? Can we go over to Ma’s? She let it slip yesterday that she’s frying doughnuts this morning, and I want in on that.”

  “Hey, don’t you have a wife at home to make you breakfast?” I lifted my shirt to wipe my face on the hem.

  “I do, but she doesn’t make doughnuts like Ma. But if you tell Angela that, I’ll make sure Amanda knows about the time you peed yourself in front of the girl you had a crush on.”

  “Hey!” I propped my hands on my hip and glared. “I was six years old. And that’s a low blow.”

  “We’re talking doughnuts, man, and we’re talking about my wife. I don’t mess around with either. You could take lessons from me.”

  I cleared my throat as we began to trudge across the sand away from the ocean. “I do, Carl. Believe it or not, I do.”

  My head was pounding, and every time I turned it on the pillow, I wanted to puke and cry at the same time. My skin was on fire, and my eyelids scraped against my eyeballs when I tried to blink.

  “It’s not fair,” I mumbled to myself. “If I was going to feel this fucking horrible, I should’ve at least gotten to have some fun first.”

  The room was spinning, so I screwed my eyes shut again and tried not to moan. The sound made my head hurt even more, if that was possible. I’d forgotten to close the blinds in my bedroom, and now the sun was streaming in over me, exacerbating the dull thudding inside my brain.

  Somehow, I either drifted off to a fitful sleep or passed out. An hour or a day or two weeks passed, and then there was a horrid sound filling my bedroom. I groaned and pulled another pillow over my head. After a minute, the sound stopped . . . only to start up again a few seconds later.

  “Oh, for Christ’s sake. Fuck it.” With my eyes still shut, I groped through the covers until my fingers closed around my ringing, vibrating cell phone. I managed to hit a button to make the sound stop. Dropping the phone next to my pillow, I rolled to my side and prayed for the sweet relief of death.

  But apparently, I wasn’t going to get that lucky. The ringing had stopped, but now there was a voice.

  “Babe? Amanda? Amanda! Are you there? Can you hear me?”

  I opened my eyes a slit, and a sob ripped from my throat. “What? What, what, what?” My voice was a croak.

  “Babe, are you okay? You sound . . . funny. Bad funny, not ha ha funny.”

  A hot tear leaked from my eye. “No, I’m not okay. I think I’m dying. Let me die, Vincent.”

  “Amanda, honey, what’s wrong?” Now there was obvious alarm in his voice.

  “I’m sick.” More tears joined the first. “I hurt, and I’m hot and I think I might have to throw up. Also, my throat’s sore and my chest feels tight. I want to die. I want to sleep.”

  “Baby.” Vincent sounded slightly distraught. “You’re at home, right? You’re alone?”

  I sniffled. “Where else would I be? And of course, I’m alone. I don’t even know what time it is. Or the day of the week.”

  “It’s Saturday, babe. That’s why I was calling. You were supposed to come down here today, remember? We were going to spend the day together. I was just calling to see if you left yet.”

  “No, I didn’t.” Another wave of tears shook my body. “I’m still here.”

  “Yeah, I figured.” He sighed. “Listen, Amanda—don’t do anything, okay? Just stay there in bed. You are in bed, aren’t you?”

  “Mmmmmhmmmm.” My eyes were incredibly heavy again, but my stomach was roiling. “I gotta go, Vincent. I think I’m going to hurl, and I have to try to get to the bathroom.”

  “Oh, baby. I’m sorry. All right. I’ll try—”

  He might have said more, but I couldn’t wait around to hear it. The phone bounced on the bed as I kicked away the covers and half-ran, half-crawled toward the bathroom, where my gut turned itself inside out. When I couldn’t do anything else but gag, I fell onto the cold tile floor and shook until exhaustion took me over yet again.

  “Uncle Vince, what’s wrong?” Frankie, my eight-year old niece, stood next to me, one hand on her small hip. “Is your friend coming down here? Are we going to the boardwalk?”

  “Ah, sorry, sweetheart. My, um, friend is sick, so she can’t drive all the way down here.” I stared dow
n at the screen of my phone, frowning. Amanda had sounded worse than just a little sick—she’d sounded like shit. The thought of her alone in her big apartment, possibly seriously ill, made my own stomach clench with worry.

  When had this happened? When had my life spiraled so that I cared so deeply about whether some woman I’d slept with was down with the flu? But I’d known for a while that Amanda was more to me than just some woman. We’d been—whatever we were—for several months now. In spite of the obvious obstacles like distance and differences, I’d been surprised to realize how much I liked being with her and how easy our relationship was. She wasn’t demanding or petty. She was funny and sexy, and as time went on, I craved our time together a little more every day.

  And now, thinking about how weak and helpless she had sounded on the phone, I had to admit that I had more than just the passing concern of a friend. I was anxious to get to her side, to do whatever I could to fix whatever was wrong. I needed to be there to make it better.

  I briefly considered trying to call Amanda’s mother, to let her know so that she could get to the city and check on her daughter. But aside from our brief meeting at Ava’s wedding, I didn’t know Mrs. Simmons, and I wasn’t even sure I could get her number unless I somehow got in touch with Giff, who I would assume would be able to help.

  On the other hand, the Simmons lived in Trenton, which was nearly as far from the city as I was right now. Rubbing my hand over my jaw, I glanced at Frankie.

  “So, sport . . . what do you think about a little road trip?”

  I’d been to Amanda’s apartment enough now that the valet and the doorman recognized my car and knew me by name. When I pulled up in front of the large building, Phil the valet was there to open my door.

  “Hey there, Mr. DiMartino. How’re you doing? We don’t usually see you this time of day.”

  “Hey, Phil. Please, call me Vince.” It was a request I made every time I visited Amanda. “And yeah, this wasn’t exactly a planned visit. Have you seen Amanda today? I think she’s sick. I talked to her earlier, and I was pretty worried. That’s why we drove over.” I pointed into the backseat of my car. “My niece, Frankie, is with me.”