by Gina LaManna
“You know you’re supposed to return the clothing, right?” The girl jutted out a bony hip, her skinny jeans looking like they clothed a pair of toothpicks. The sky-high heels on her feet still only put her at my shoulder height.
Meg opened her mouth, probably to say something a little bit rude. I put my hand out like a stop sign, halting Meg’s explanation and inserting my own. “It was a double dare.”
She looked more confused than ever. Putting a protective arm around Blake’s shoulder, she smacked her purple-painted lips. “How do you know these...people?”
“Uh...” Blake looked helplessly at me.
“We dated,” I said. “For quite a while. I met him in the back of a cop car.”
I smiled at Blake. Not only was he an ex, he was a pretty dang sexy ex. He was thin, but not skinny, with enough strength to flip me around just how he liked me. He had tattoos up the side of his body, right up to his rib cage, the stuff of movie stars and rockers. He’d been my introduction to bad boys.
But despite his bad boy status, he wasn’t a mistake; the only mistake I’d made with Blake was letting him get away. All because I’d been too afraid to introduce him to my Family. We’d moved in together and had even been talking marriage, but he told me that before I could expect a ring he expected to meet my family. And when that didn’t happen and I couldn’t explain why, crap hit the fan and I ran for the hills. I regretted the decision like no other, but I was arguably stuck between a rock and a hard spot. And Blake’s chest was sadly not the hard spot I was talking about.
What was I supposed to say? Meet my grandfather, Carlos Luzzi – Don of the St. Paul mob? By the way, he signs my pay checks. I don’t have a 401k, exactly.
It was a difficult dilemma. But the bottom line was that Blake didn’t consider me marriage material. Ironically, I’d have had a better chance of him sticking around if I’d just introduced him to my Family – seeing as not introducing him to my family hadn’t worked out so well. Nowadays, I ran into him left and right with a string of babes on his arm. And usually, I was stuck wearing some sort of oversized onesie or spa clothes. Life wasn’t fair.
“This is Laura,” Blake said, shaking me from my thoughts.
“Hi Laura,” I said half-heartedly.
The only light at the end of the Blake and Lacey tunnel was that we were both still very attracted to each other, and more compatible than ever. When we ran into each other at the bars, there was a fifty percent chance we’d end up back at his place, hot and sweaty underneath his sheets.
Those nights always ended a tiny bit sloppy, a lot of amazing, and pretty dang passionate, but still there was an unspoken agreement that I had to be gone before the sun rose. No Family introductions equaled no relationship talk.
“Blake and I have been dating for a while now,” Laura said.
“Good for you.” I gave her a teensy grin, but was satisfied since I knew I’d had a, uh, romantic night with Blake a week ago. Either they weren’t an exclusive thing, or it really hadn’t been that long at all. “Are you two exclusive?”
Blake shifted uncomfortably. “Uh.”
“Yes.” She elbowed him. “Aren’t we, babe?”
At his lack of response, her purple lips pouted. “Blakey boo?”
I gagged a little bit in my mouth. Feeling a bit nauseous, I looked around for Meg, who was hitting on one of the valets – a small, Hispanic man who had a perfect line of sight, straight to her chest.
“Do we want to discuss this now?” Blake asked.
“Fine.” Laura thrust hands on her hips and stared at me pointedly. “Anyway, we’re really growing as a couple. Like today for example, we’re trying a new experience. Blake said he’s never been here with another girl before.”
“Yeah, well, not with me, that’s for sure. It was my first time being naked around so many other people.” I shook my head. “But I’m sure Blake will really enjoy a nice sausage fest with the dudes in the male hot tub. You know, since you can’t really be around each other in the spa, anyway.”
“Naked? Sausages?” Blake’s voice sounded weak. “I thought this was...”
“Babe. You’ll be fine.” Laura looked like she was propping up Blake, as he leaned on her shoulder. “Babe. Stand up, please.”
“Well, see ya,” I said. “Meg, let’s get out of here before we get a ticket.”
Meg leaned over and scooped up her little man in a big, juicy hug. The valet smiled like a dazed Cheshire Cat, his mouth smushed into about twenty pounds of boob-age. She whispered very loudly, “I’ll be back, my little burrito.”
She squeezed his tush and he jumped about a mile high.
“Goodbye, my churro,” he sang.
Meg waddled over. “Churro, you hear that? How cute is he?” She nodded at Blake. “Hey, Lacey’s ex. Heard you and Lace had a good night last week, you little lovebirds.”
I blushed a ridiculous shade of red and pulled her out of there. “See you crazy kids later,” I called over my shoulder. I purposely didn’t stick around to hear the argument that would follow. But I also didn’t bother to hide the teensy bit of satisfaction on my face as I got in the car.
Lacey – 1. Laura – 1. (She was now exclusively sleeping with Blake, after all).
“Rolo?” I reached into my glove compartment and held a pack out to Meg. “Forgot about my emergency stash.”
“Give that to me, you lying sack of Smarty chalk.”
We rolled away from the curb, happily chomping on chocolate to round out our rather unique evening.
Chapter 4
AFTER DROPPING MEG off at the bar she owned, I headed back home. Home for me was a dilapidated apartment building that had never quite hit its prime. The only decoration on the place came in the form of a spray painted word that, when used in school, would get you kicked out of the third grade.
It wasn’t exactly a family style apartment complex; this space was for people who didn’t mind the non-functional fire alarm system, who were okay with storage space the size of a milk jug, and who had developed the skill of never seeing nothin’ when the occasional gunshot happened on our block. Though now that I thought about it, the only gunshots fired in recent months had been directed at my bedroom window. I was starting to really feel like I belonged.
I wheeled up behind Clay’s perv-van. The thing was a creepy paneled contraption that looked like it’d been discarded by an ex-ice cream man headed fast towards prison. The inside of the van, however, housed state of the art surveillance equipment, the size and scope of which would make a CIA van look like a crude Lego truck.
I parked next to the non-functional fire hydrant, just behind the green curb. This was another of Clay’s inventions, the paint meant to confuse others from parking there, and in doing so, ensure a permanent space for his massive van. I did a double take at the flashy black Lamborghini Aventador parked across the street. I hadn’t seen the car before, but I could guess to whom it belonged. There was only one person I knew on a payroll large enough to afford such an extravagant luxury.
I hurtled over the front steps, wondering what Anthony was doing here. The only instances when he’d shown up here in the past unannounced were to deliver bad news. Times when things had gone very, very wrong. My belly clenched with nerves. Or maybe anticipation. Or, there was the small chance it was heartburn.
Anthony was my sometimes trainer, Carlos’s Head of Security, and the man who occupied most of my fantasies. Anthony was the real deal; he wasn’t called to rescue cats stuck in trees. Or even dogs. He wasn’t brought in until the price tag of any given assignment reached into the millions-of-dollars range.
I paused outside my saggy front door, the Number 7 tilting at an angle which promised it would someday become the letter “L.” I leaned against the doorframe and took a few deep breaths. I couldn’t let my trainer catch me out of breath, even if he wasn’t a real trainer. Initially, he’d only been placed in that position to keep an eye on me as an overpaid babysitter.
In through
the nose, I reminded myself. Out through the mouth.
On my last exhale, just as I was getting up the courage to open the door, it opened from the inside and I tumbled headfirst into my apartment.
Tupac the Cat yowled from his hiding place on top of the fridge, his usual alarm when strangers entered the place. I felt myself being picked up and placed firmly back on my feet. My legs hadn’t been quite working properly, thanks to my knee becoming oddly lodged in the extra rolls of fabric from the spa’s shorts. When I glanced up I was nose to chest with a sexy hunk of a man, Anthony I-don’t-know-his-last-name.
“Hey,” I gasped. I looked up to see Clay further back in the kitchen, a beer halfway to his mouth, his hand frozen around the neck of the bottle.
“Thanks for the lift.” I glanced at Anthony, then made please leave now eyes at Clay.
My cousin snapped to attention and turned to leave, but not before trailing his eyes down to my attire, summing up his assessment with a final, judgmental stare. Clay blushed quite extensively, muttered a few words about beer and bathrooms and bedrooms, and before I had time to connect his phrases and figure out what he meant, he’d disappeared into the hallway.
I looked down at myself, horrified to see that the V-neck of my monster-sized shirt had slid way downwards until the point of the V touched my navel. My breasts were on quite a display, kind of how the stars in Hollywood wear their dresses daringly low. The difference was that I didn’t have any fancy tape or skin-colored guards keeping the girls in place. And there was no “push up” happening anywhere; I was in full on, free-ballin’ mode.
“Doll,” Anthony smirked.
He reached over and untangled me from my clothing, shifting the shirt back into its proper location. I looked down at my feet and smudged my toes against the ground, not willing to meet his eyes.
“It’s nothing I haven’t seen before,” Anthony pointed out.
I stuck my hand on my hip and met his gaze. “Hey now, that’s uncalled for. And what are you doing in my house, anyway?”
“I was just leaving, and then it sounded like there was a gas leak outside the front door. Or someone breathing heavily. It was hard to decipher.”
“Oh, well, the gas is fine.”
“Tough set of stairs?” A smile danced in Anthony’s dark, endlessly deep eyes.
“I was just...” I paused, shrugging while I thought up a good excuse.
I didn’t have time to think of one, since all thoughts fled my mind as Anthony reached out and hooked his pointer finger in the front of my V-neck. He pulled the shirt outwards and took a long, leisurely peek inside.
I was stuck for the moment, not quite sure how to react. After all we’d been through, this blatant flirting wasn’t something I’d gotten used to yet, even with him. Sure, he’d touched my boobs once, and he’d even given me the most magical kiss of my life, but we’d never talked about either of those instances again. With a nod that suggested he was satisfied with what he saw, he dropped his finger and let my shirt fall back in place.
“Uh,” I gulped, trying to remember my train of thought. “What did you say you were doing here?”
In response, he took a step closer and stuck his hand under my shirt. I wasn’t sure where it was going until I felt his thumb slide between the elastic of the mongo-sized shorts and the soft spot on my abdomen. He slid his wrist around so his hand was positioned dangerously low over my lady bits.
Like, dangerously low. My stomach warmed under his fiery gaze, and his fingers seemed to shoot electrical volts straight through my belly button to the rest of my body. I was overcome with the urge to slip right out of my clothes, which wouldn’t be so difficult on account of they were ginormous, and lead him into my bedroom.
I may have even closed my eyes to enjoy the moment, because when I heard a guttural noise in Anthony’s throat, I found myself having to open my eyelids. He bit his bottom lip and shook his head, as if he were angry, his muscles flexing as he pressed me against the flimsy wooden door.
He was over six feet of solid muscle and manly smell; it was a hint of clean linen and mint, with a twist of expensive shampoo. My knees started to go wobbly, and when his hand slid behind my back and cupped my butt, hauling me back into a standing position, I was afraid the door might light on fire – my skin flamed against his touch.
I cautioned a glance up at his stern face. “What’s wrong?”
He let out a long, slow sigh. “You’re not wearing any panties.”
“Yeah...it’s a long story. They were against the rules.”
“And no bra.”
“Also against the rules.” I sucked in air as his hands let the elastic slap against my skin, and his thumb brushed erotically over my breast.
“Uh...” I closed my eyes.
“And I have half a mind to take you into that bedroom and do some things I’ve been recently forbidden to do to you.”
I gasped. “Who forbade you to do anything?”
To my surprise, he laughed. Then he reached right back under my shirt and fondled my breast with an easy carelessness. When he leaned forward and whispered in my ear, I was almost panting.
“Just this once, I might consider disobeying orders. If, of course, that was an invitation?” His voice was heady and thick, filled with what I hoped was desire. He pressed against me, and I forgot not only the right answer, but the entire question itself.
There was a giant crash behind us as Clay crossed beyond the kitchen doorway from the bathroom to the living room. He must have glanced inside and become distracted, knocking one of his many monitors off one of the numerous shelves.
I could feel my face redden, despite the fact that all three of us were adults. In fact, I was on the verge of pushing thirty. Well, on my skinnier days I pushed closer to twenty-eight. All other days I was a solid twenty-nine. For me, age was also a moving target. A lot like Clay’s sexuality.
I cleared my throat and took quick stock of Anthony’s expression. His teeth were bared, much like a vicious dog, and air was escaping from between his teeth at a rapid rate.
“Gas leak?” I smiled.
Anthony did an extremely long blink that didn’t have a whole bunch of humor in it.
Clay must have settled in the living room, because things became quiet once more, and I suspected he’d put a pair of headphones the size of basketballs over his ears.
“I have to go.” Anthony reached behind me and put two giant hands on my rear end. He hoisted me up so that my back was pressed against the door and I had no choice but to wrap my legs around his waist. He pressed his body firmly into me and moved one hand to the nape of my neck. He pulled me in and ravaged my mouth with an intense kiss, his breath shockingly minty.
Did he drink Listerine?
I’d barely registered what had happened by the time he set me down. I wondered briefly if I’d been intoxicated by the alcohol in his mouthwash, as he pushed the door open, making sure I didn’t tip over. He strode down the stairs and was gone before I caught my breath for the second time in about as many minutes.
I took a seat at the kitchen table and eventually Clay wandered in, trying for nonchalance and failing miserably. He cracked open another beer and slid it my way. I happily guzzled it quite fast. He cracked open another one as I finished the first and whizzed it across the table before speaking.
“What happened to the door?” He nodded at a large crack that ran from the top to the bottom, presumably from my encounter with Anthony.
“Gas leak,” I said knowledgeably.
We sipped our respective beers for a few moments of silence that weren’t exactly tense, but weren’t easy, either.
Eventually we both spoke at the same time.
“Why was Anthony here...” I started.
“What were you doing...?” Clay raised his eyebrows, not bothering to finish his sentence.
We both opened our mouths to start again, but neither did.
Clay crossed his arms. “I’m not saying anything until you te
ll me what you were doing with Anthony. And why you look like that.”
“Like what?” I gestured to my body. “Sexy and refreshed?”
Clay scrunched up his nose. “I was thinking sunburned and matted. You look like a lost and abused puppy.”
I sighed, suddenly not wanting to be in my apartment anymore. My door was cracked, the stove vomited excessive quantities of smoke whenever it turned on, and a La-Z-Boy was currently serving as our coffee table in the living room. “I’m sick of this apartment. Let’s go out for a drink.”
Clay looked taken aback. “What’s wrong with it?”
My leg jittered, and I wasn’t sure what had come over me. Maybe it was the trail of ants I’d noticed earlier today marching proudly around the edge of the sink. Or maybe it was the fact that I hated having company like Anthony for multiple reasons: partly because there was a slight chance his car would be stolen, and partly because the artistic graffiti populating the front of the place didn’t exactly spell out Date Lacey Luzzi! Or there was the small issue of alarms. If there was ever a fire here, I’d probably die, since Clay had alarms for everything in the world except the usual, necessary things, like fires.
“I don’t know,” I said. “I’m just cranky. I think a scoop of gelato will do me well.”
Clay stood and pushed the metal folding chair under the scratched up kitchen table. “It’ll take a shovel and an army of Italians to get enough gelato in your system to crack you out of this funk.”
“Well, then a shovel we shall bring.”
A SHORT TIME LATER we’d driven the short distance downtown to Marinello’s, the best Italian deli in town by day, a secure place to grab a drink by night. I say secure because technically the place closes at ten p.m. after the dinner rush. But for the Marinello family and the Luzzi Family, the building never closes. Carlos had been known to hold meetings here frequently, a mixture of business and poker that often lasted until the sun rose.
The familiarity of the place never let me down. Though the building wasn’t exactly nice, it felt like home. There were pictures lining the wall of the Family from years ago. Even my mother made an appearance in a few of them with her scabby knees, bowl haircut, and all.
