by Lucy Score
“She’s being threatened by Diller, and last night, his mother confronted her publicly,” he pointed out. “When is the ‘procedure’ going to start protecting Gloria from that family?”
This situation was the perfect shit show of everything Aldo hated in life: Glenn Diller and feeling helpless.
“I’m sure we’ll get all this worked out,” the sheriff said mildly. “Gloria, you go ahead and send these pictures over to your insurance company, and they’ll take care of you.” He bustled away with the notebook in which he hadn’t written a damn thing.
Gloria stared glumly at the letters carved into her paint. “I have a thousand-dollar deductible.”
“Don’t worry about that,” Aldo urged her. “I’ll take care of it.”
“Oh, no, you won’t.” She rounded on him. Even though she was shooting the look at him, Aldo was glad to see some fire in her eyes.
“Why the hell not?”
“You’re not paying my deductible. You’re not paying my anything.”
“It’s not a big deal.”
She shook her head. “It’s a huge deal.”
Aldo bit his tongue. Fuck. Glenn had held the purse strings and likely wielded it over Gloria. For the first time in her life, she was responsible for herself financially.
He closed his eyes, changing tack. “Glo, this is like me being out of laundry detergent and you having some. You’d share your detergent with me, wouldn’t you?”
“Aldo!” she said in exasperation. “Money is different. Money means power and control. And I’m not comfortable accepting money from you for my problem.”
“Your problem is my problem,” he reminded her, his voice steely. But she didn’t flinch. Instead, she rolled her eyes at him.
“That’s such an annoying alpha male thing to say.”
Aldo prayed for patience. “What I meant to say is that we’re in this together. My resources are your resources. My problems are your problems and vice versa.” Come on, woman. See the logic. Accept the help.
“Aren’t we a little early in this relationship to be talking about ‘sharing resources?’”
“Gloria, we got matching fucking tattoos tonight. We are not in a typical relationship. There’s no use pretending that we are. We’re dating. You don’t want to be driving around town in a vandalized car. Let me fix this.”
She crossed her arms over her chest. “I’m not taking your money,” she hissed.
“Fine. I’ll hire you.”
“If you say you want me to water your plants I am going to scream bloody murder, Aldo Moretta.”
“Paint my house.”
“What?”
“The walls I mean. Everything is beige and off-white. I want some color in my life.”
She stared at him, considering.
“Paint my house and the entire town won’t be talking about what Glenn’s mother did to your car.”
It was the right button to push.
“Fine,” she said, grudgingly. “But let’s not make this money thing a habit. You don’t have that many walls.”
50
He fixed her car. Took her for tacos. Met her for lunch. Aldo did his best to dazzle Gloria in every way that a man can dazzle a woman. Except one.
In the course of their increasingly NC-17 goodnight kisses, Aldo realized a new, awful fear. One that he wasn’t sure he could share with her the way they’d shared the rest of their baggage.
Things between them were good. Great even. He loved their text messages throughout the day, their evening chats, the hours they set aside for each other.
Gloria’s mouth beneath his was a slice of heaven that he couldn’t get enough of. It was hard keeping these goodnight kisses limited to just kisses. His body revved with long-forgotten need every time she opened for him, every time she made one of those little wild whimpers in the back of her throat.
She was the sexiest woman he’d ever known, he’d ever kissed.
And he couldn’t pull the trigger.
Even now, Gloria was out of her seatbelt and almost in his lap behind the wheel. That lithe tongue of hers was driving him in-fucking-sane. He wanted nothing more than to drag her all the way over the console into his lap and fog up the windows high school senior year style.
But he couldn’t just throw the truck in gear and drag her caveman-style to his house. They both needed time.
He broke the kiss on a groan. It was getting harder and harder to say goodnight to Gloria. They’d been out three more times this week since the tattoos. And he was scared shitless.
“You should go in,” he said, stroking his hands up her arms as if she could be cold with the smoldering furnace of unrequited physical lust that burned between them.
“I don’t have a curfew, Aldo,” she reminded him lightly.
“Yeah, but…” But what? It was a Saturday night. Neither one of them worked tomorrow, and all he really wanted was to take her home and make love to her until the sun came up. But…
She slid back into her seat and crossed her arms. “Okay, this slow thing was very respectful and admirable but, Aldo, don’t you want to run the bases?”
He closed his fingers around the steering wheel in a death grip.
She was going to make him say it. Make him say the one thing that could never be taken back or forgotten…
“Gloria, I went through some trauma,” he faltered. Jesus, was he really tap-dancing around this? Was he really about to admit to the woman he’d been hung up on forever that he was afraid that his dick didn’t work anymore?
She was waiting for him to continue. But he had no idea how to get the words out without humiliating himself. It wasn’t fair keeping this from her.
“Aldo. I told you I was raped. I was beaten. Then I confessed my gigantic crush on three of the members of 98 Degrees that I’m still not sure I’m over. Can what you’re choking on be worse than all that?”
He couldn’t look her in the eye. He stared through the windshield so hard he was surprised the glass didn’t shatter. “I’m afraid I might not be able to…function in the way…that I used to before…”
“Your leg?” she asked, confusion etched on her face in the streetlight.
He shook his head. One quick jerky motion.
“Your—oh. Oh!”
He wanted to die on the spot. Wither up and turn to dust so he’d never have to look her in the eye again and see…pity? Disgust? Disappointment?
“Aldo.”
He grunted.
“Aldo, look at me,” she ordered, her voice firm.
It took everything he had to pick up his head and look Gloria in the eye. “We’ll take it slow,” she said. “Okay? I won’t force you into anything.”
“I don’t want to disappoint you. You deserve amazing. You deserve Old Aldo.”
Gloria scoffed. “I don’t know how someone can be so conceited and self-conscious in the same sentence.”
“It’s just that this recovery sometimes feels like I’m hanging on by my fingernails. If we try…that, and it doesn’t work… I don’t know if I could ever recover.”
She pulled his right hand off the wheel and laced her fingers through his. “If we’re talking about what I think we’re talking about, allow me to one-up you. I’ve never had an orgasm.”
It suddenly became imperative—the most important thing in the universe—that he, Aldo Moretta, give Gloria her first orgasm. And her last. And every single one in between.
He didn’t know what to say. A gauntlet had been thrown. One his competitive side couldn’t ignore. But the wounded, damaged side was terrified he couldn’t deliver. He would have to fight through this fear of failure, vanquish the beast, and give Gloria the satisfying sex life she deserved.
Oh, God. The pressure was going to kill him.
“That’s a whole lot of inner monologue you’ve got going on in that pretty head of yours,” Gloria teased.
“I don’t know what to say.”
“Just relax. Okay. Now that I know yo
u’re not physically repulsed by me, I can be patient,” Gloria told him.
He looked at her, shocked. “You seriously thought that?”
“Uh, hello.” She waved. “Damaged goods here. Don’t you know that everything is because of me? Textbook battered woman trauma. We believe everything everyone does is because of us.”
“You have a very healthy sense of humor, you know that?” he pointed out.
“That’s what my therapist tells me. You could talk to her, you know. I mean, we already have matching tattoos. It probably wouldn’t be any weirder if we saw the same therapist.”
“It took me this long to work up the guts to tell you. You want me to turn around and tell a complete stranger?”
Gloria held up her hand. “It’s only a suggestion. I’ll remind you I spilled my guts to a complete stranger, and it maybe kind of helped.”
Aldo dropped his forehead to the steering wheel. “Can we forget the last five minutes, please?” He knew how fucked up this was. Knew it was asinine of him to pursue her when he wasn’t sure he could give her everything she needed, be everything she needed. But, God, he didn’t want to miss his shot again. He was stuck between a rock and a hard place. The idea that, after all this time, he might disappoint Gloria was too much. But dammit, to be the first man to give her an orgasm? That was an honor he wasn’t letting any other man attempt.
“Already forgotten,” she promised.
They sat in awkward silence in the dark in front of Gloria’s apartment building. Each pretending everything was peachy keen.
“So you know you still get…hard,” Gloria ventured.
He gripped the wheel again, waiting to die from embarrassment. He was hard as fucking steel right now. He had no problems getting hard around Gloria…it was the rest of the process he wasn’t sure about.
“I mean, obviously you get…excited…at certain romantic moments,” she soldiered on to his dismay. “And when you slept over on my couch that first time you had some amazing action happening in your briefs…or boxers. Is it weird that I don’t know what you wear?”
“Jesus, Gloria. Please stop,” he pleaded.
“So you get hard,” she reiterated. “But you haven’t…you know…since before?”
“Oh, my God. Are you trying to kill me? No. No, I haven’t.” But he would. He would find a way. Some way to give Gloria what she’d never had. “Can we please talk about something else? Anything. Anything at all?” he begged.
“You know, I could help you test it out,” Gloria suggested. He could hear the smile in her voice and chanced a look at her.
She wasn’t joking. She looked…enthusiastic as she stared at his raging hard-on that was fighting the confines of his pants.
“Gloria, the first orgasm between the two of us sure as hell isn’t going to be mine.”
51
It was Friday night, and Gloria was in her pajamas, loose shorts and a t-shirt, in Harper’s kitchen pawing through take-out menus and debating which face mask she was going to try. It was Sleepover Night. Harper had invited Gloria, Sophie, and her friend from college, Hannah, for a night of full-frontal male nudity movies and pizza.
It was the perfect way to take her mind off of everything else. And quite honestly, Gloria needed the break. On top of orders, deliveries, payroll, and twenty-two centerpieces for a wedding tomorrow, there had been nearly a dozen hang-up calls at the shop.
Either it was a rogue fax machine or someone with a lame sense of humor. But every time she answered to silence on the other end, Gloria’s skin crawled. She couldn’t help but think this had something to do with her.
Hannah, a tall, lovely woman with wide eyes and hair the color of pennies, was recounting an embarrassing college story involving Harper and a bio lab mix-up.
Gloria couldn’t remember the last time she’d done something like this. The last time she’d had friends like this. High school? Pre-Glenn. She’d deprived herself of so many things with that one choice.
Her phone buzzed in her pocket.
Aldo: Have fun tonight, Glo. You deserve it.
Seven words that banked a warm fire in her belly. She bit her lip. Could she believe that this choice was different, better than her last? All signs were pointing to a big, bright neon yes. The only niggling doubt she had was Aldo Moretta’s braking ability. On one hand, she appreciated that he wasn’t pushing for a fast, physical relationship. On the other, she’d gotten to the point where it felt like one more goodnight kiss and she was going to spontaneously combust.
They talked on the phone, cuddled in front of the TV, went out, cooked dinner—which to Gloria was about as intimate as you could get with your clothes on. But there was still nothing happening on the naked front. He’d kissed her. Oh, had he kissed her. And she him. But every time she thought it was going somewhere, Aldo reached into his annoying well of self-control and hit the pause button.
She got it. He wasn’t ready to chance a less-than-stellar performance. But at this point, Gloria would be properly grateful for even a C- performance.
Sophie stabbed the blender button and sent the margarita mix roiling.
“So what fat-free, calorie-free deliciousness are we ordering tonight?” Harper called over her shoulder as she let the dogs out the back door to romp around in the warm night air.
“We were thinking pizza and chicken bites from Dawson’s,” Sophie yelled over the whir of the blender.
“What about dessert?” the pretty Hannah wanted to know.
“I brought cookie dough,” Gloria announced. “We can either make cookies or eat it raw.” Classic sleepover fare.
“Best. Night. Ever,” Harper sighed, lining up four pink, plastic margarita cups on the counter.
Sophie brought the blender pitcher over and sloshed margaritas into the cups. Gloria doled out the lime wedges she’d cut, and Hannah rounded out the assembly line by plunking a straw into each cup.
“A toast, ladies,” Sophie said, raising her glass. “To the lovely Harper. May she know how lucky we all are to know her.”
“To Harper,” Gloria echoed. She looked around their tight little circle and felt nothing but joy in the moment.
“You guys! My turn,” Harper said, placing a hand over her heart. “To all of you. Thank you for being my family. I love each one of you so much.”
A chorus of awhs, a clink of plastic, and they all took their first sips.
“I approve you as a bartender,” Hannah told Sophie.
Sophie winked.
“Well, let’s get this party started,” Harper said, dialing Dawson’s and placing their order.
Gloria took the opportunity to fire off a quick text to Aldo with the kissy face emoji.
Hannah held up two DVDs. “So what do we want? Full frontal or rom-com?”
Harper dropped her phone on the counter and groaned. “You guys have full frontal at your beck and call. Let’s not torture me with it when mine is on the other side of the world.”
“Oooh! Let’s talk about boys,” Sophie said, clapping her hands.
“My ‘boy’ is your brother. Isn’t that gross?” Harper laughed.
“For tonight, I’ll pretend he’s someone else’s brother,” Sophie said airily.
“Actually, there is a relationship I’m curious about,” Harper grinned. “Gloria, what’s the scoop on you and Aldo?”
Gloria choked on a frosty gulp of margarita.
“What makes you think there’s anything to tell?” she asked innocently, pretending that it wasn’t fodder for the whole town that they were dating.
“I have eyes and a brain,” Harper teased. “I saw some patty-cake during the Fourth of July fireworks in the park,” she explained to Sophie and Hannah.
“Hmm, Gloria Moretta. It’s got a nice ring to it,” Sophie mused.
Gloria felt her cheeks flame.
“You liiiiiiike him!” Harper teased.
“Who is this Aldo, and is he Gloria-worthy?” Hannah demanded, sliding onto a barstool.
&
nbsp; “Aldo is a muscly Italian stud who’s had the hots for Gloria since high school,” Harper supplied.
Muscly Italian stud. Aldo would love that description, Gloria thought.
Hannah snapped her fingers. “Luke’s best friend, right? That’s a long time to be carrying a torch,” Hannah said. “You must be pretty great.”
Gloria snorted.
“She really is,” Harper agreed.
“You guys,” Gloria laughed. “I’m still getting used to the idea.”
“The idea of what?” Sophie prodded.
“Of Aldo…and me…dating.”
Harper let out a whoop. “So it’s official?”
Gloria let out a long breath and nodded. She hadn’t been sure when or how to tell her friends. She wasn’t sure if she could handle their disapproval, if they showed any. “Official. I’m trying to take things slow, but boy, is he intense.” She fanned herself with the take-out menu. Neither part of the statement was technically a lie. She was trying to take it slow, and Aldo Moretta was incredibly intense.
“I can’t believe our little Aldo is finally all grown up,” Sophie sighed.
“Do you have any pictures of this Italian stud?” Hannah asked.
Gloria blushed again and nodded. “I have some on my phone.” They stuck their heads together over the screen, and Gloria felt herself glow while Hannah openly admired her boyfriend.
Sophie’s hot pink phone rang on the table. “Speaking of hot studs, it’s the hubby.” She took it into the dining room to answer. She returned a few seconds later, her forehead furrowed. She held her phone out to Harper. “It’s Ty. He wants to talk to you. Sounds like he’s in full-on cop mode.”
Gloria’s skin prickled again, and the hairs on the back of her neck stood up.
Harper raised her eyebrows and took the phone. “Hey, Ty, what’s up? I thought you had the night off.” She listened for a minute, her gaze falling on Gloria, and the color drained from her face.
