by Gina LaManna
“What are you thinking about so hard?” Anthony asked, one hand on the wheel, his head turning slightly in my direction.
I surveyed myself in the mirror once more – golden (fine, brown) hair tucked behind my ears, light brown eyes I’d inherited from my mother, and a face that hadn’t yet betrayed me too much with lines and wrinkles. I was only hours away from thirty now, after all.
I debated lying to Anthony, but it would be worthless to do so. He’d see through me in a second. “I’m wondering why you gave yourself an allotment of words for tonight.”
“Next question,” Anthony said. “Don’t be offended. It’s not you, sugar, it’s me.”
I rolled my eyes. “Okay, okay, fine. Well, how about this: I propose that anytime we talk about work it doesn’t count for your word count.”
“Deal,” he said. “But I want the words Next Question also included in my Do Not Count list.”
I hesitated. “Fine.”
After agreeing to the deal, we continued the ride in silence. I wondered if Anthony was conserving his words for later, and if so – exactly what he was planning on saying. The ride went by lickety-split, my mind churning through hundreds of words and not finding any of them worth uttering. Before I knew it, Anthony pulled onto a side street somewhere on the outskirts of downtown St. Paul.
“Where are we?” I asked, looking around. I didn’t see a warehouse anywhere.
“We’re a half mile away,” Anthony said. “But I want to go over some things.”
“Work things?” I asked with a playful nudge.
“Yes,” Anthony said. “These words don’t count.”
“What’s the plan, Stan?” I asked.
“My name’s not Stan,” Anthony deadpanned.
“I, uh...I know that.” I looked his way, trying to determine if he was serious. “It’s a saying.”
“But my name’s Anthony, not Stan,” he said. “Call me Anthony.”
“Oh, uh, okay.” I flashed a confused smile. “Sorry, Anthony.”
“That was a joke,” Anthony said. “Can’t you see I’m sarcastic?”
“No, actually, I can’t,” I said.
“My smile doesn’t give it away?” he asked.
“Anthony—” I leaned over and delicately ran my thumb over his lips. “You weren’t smiling.”
“Oh.” He sat back in his driver’s seat looking completely bewildered. “Sometimes I feel like I’m smiling on the inside, but for some reason it doesn’t appear on my face.”
I grinned and pulled my hand back. “Emotions are tricky. Don’t worry; I won’t even count those words. Now, tell me what’s on the agenda for tonight.”
Appearing grateful to talk about something he understood better than sarcasm, he exhaled a sigh that sounded like relief. “We’re going to drive across the street from the warehouse. There’s a parking ramp open twenty-four hours a day, and since there’s a bar in the strip mall across the street, there’s always people coming and going. Our car won’t be suspicious.”
“Do people normally drive minivans to the bar?” I asked. Fearing Anthony wouldn’t catch the joke, I continued quickly. “And what about after the bar closes?”
A glimmer of amusement showed in Anthony’s chocolate-chip-brown eyes. “Well, I’d say we have ‘til about five or five thirty a.m., when the bartenders count their tips and cash out. After that, you start getting the early morning shoppers for the farmers’ market. This parking ramp is never quiet.”
“Smart,” I said. “Good work.”
Anthony looked as if he wanted to say thanks, but felt uncomfortable. I was fairly confident he didn’t know how to take a compliment. Not that it was his fault; Carlos wasn’t known to be proactive in terms of positive reinforcement, and if I were to guess, I’d say Anthony had spent most of his working life under Carlos’s supervision.
“Anyway,” he said, changing the subject, “the plan is simple. I have men on the street monitoring the facility. They’ll be there all night. We’re just going to keep an eye on the place. There’s rumors – not ones I trust, but rumors still – that our man will be making his entrance tonight.”
“He’s not here already?” I asked.
“No,” Anthony said. “There’s evidence he’s been here before, but he’s off on a shipment at the moment. The last shipment, it’s believed. And we want to make sure there are no more.”
Anthony’s jaw was set in a firm line. I was a little intimidated by his demeanor, but then again, that was his MO.
I nodded. “What’s my job?”
“Your job is to keep me company,” Anthony said simply.
“You know, I am more than a source of entertain—” My words began with an icy tone, but when Anthony’s face broke into a wide smile, I stopped speaking.
“I’m joking,” he said. “I make jokes, too.”
I punched him in the chest – not super light, but not so hard I’d actually hurt him. I pulled my hand away, shaking my knuckles in pain. He didn’t even flinch.
“Our job, sugar, is to be here in case the rumors are true. If our man returns here, we need to give my guys instructions. We need to okay the proper punishment for him.”
“I’m not dealing with any punishment,” I said. “I didn’t sign up for that.”
“I meant only that we’d ask him questions,” Anthony said. “It’s not my place to decide anything beyond that.”
“Oh, whew,” I said. “Fine, I’m good at asking questions. Speaking of, is there a restroom nearby?”
“There’s one in the parking garage,” Anthony said.
“You thought of everything,” I said, clearing my throat. “But can we head that direction now? I had some coffee before we left.”
Anthony’s stare said something along the lines of Rookie mistake.
“I had just woken up,” I said with a shrug. “Give me a break. I wanted to be alert.”
Anthony pulled away from the curb. “I’m not sure if this is considered work talk, so I’m going to keep my mouth shut.”
I felt a laugh bubble up as Anthony turned into the parking garage. I couldn’t help it. “You know, saying you’re keeping your mouth shut wastes words.”
“Maybe I’m trying to waste words,” Anthony said with a sly glance in my direction. He pulled into the parking garage, slipped the attendant more money than I made in a week, and picked a spot on the fourth floor. In front of our parking space sat an open window overlooking a large, dark warehouse.
I gave a faux pout. “Wasting words, shame on you.”
Stretching up in my seat and removing the foot I’d rested on the dashboard, I peeked through the space in the cement. It was more of an open hole than a window. Since it was hard to see anything from the car, and I needed to use the restroom anyway, I put one hand on the door handle and waited to see if Anthony would say anything about my leaving.
We seemed to be alone on this floor, and all activity was quiet below except for the bark of a dog in the far off distance.
Anthony didn’t argue when I clicked open the door.
Turning back, I raised an eyebrow. “New theory: are you wasting words because you’re afraid to talk to me?”
Anthony grimaced. “Next question.”
“Great,” I said. “This will be a fun night of deep, meaningful conversation, I can already tell.” I gave him a mock angry glare and departed to find the bathroom.
After a few missteps and detours (there was no map anywhere), I returned to the car. Anthony had little to say, so I snuggled into the seat, leaned an elbow on the doorframe, and hunkered down for a long, painful stakeout.
AFTER AN HOUR OF WAITING, the clock was fast approaching midnight and I was fast approaching thirty. My leg started to jitter. Would thirty feel different than twenty-nine? Why did nobody realize it was my birthday? The only person who knew was Meg, and I’d explicitly warned her about all the painful things I’d do to her if she so much as thought about sending out an invitation.
I si
ghed, and once again pushed thoughts away from the subject of my birthday.
“Was that sigh work related?” Anthony asked.
I gave a mournful shake of my head.
“My question was, though,” Anthony said. “In case you’re keeping track.”
“Fine,” I said. Clearly, Anthony wasn’t going to carry on small talk. I resigned myself to talking about nothing except work for the rest of the evening. Deciding that some conversation would be better than nothing, I sighed again. “Why are you here on rumors, if you don’t even believe them?”
“You don’t get to my level in the organization by dismissing rumors because they might not be true,” Anthony said.
“Tell me then, how do you get to your level of experience?” I prodded. I didn’t know much of anything about Anthony’s past, and I wanted more than anything for him to take the bait and start talking. I was doing my best to follow Meg’s advice and find out about Anthony. The problem was that I wanted to know, but he didn’t want to tell me.
Anthony surveyed the window – starting at the top, following the cracked cement outline to the bottom, eventually settling his gaze on me. Pressing his back against the driver’s side window, he crossed his arms against an expansive chest.
“How did I get to be head of security for the Luzzi Family?” he asked. “For starters, one must track down every single threat – real or otherwise – and squash it out. That’s why your grandfather is still alive.”
I cleared my throat, feeling my cheeks blush. I’d only meant it to start up a pleasant, semi-work related conversation. My only goal had been to pass the time and help me forget the upcoming hour that would make me a year older. Eleven fifty – ten minutes to go.
Anthony’s gaze softened, almost as if he hadn’t realized too late that I hadn’t been looking for a deadly serious response. His stiff posture relaxed and he shifted back in the seat, his eyes focused straight ahead. Reaching towards the dashboard, he ran his hands around the steering wheel, sliding his hands against the leather with a soft whoosh. It may have been the first sign of nervousness I’d ever seen from Anthony.
“You weren’t asking that as a serious question, were you?” Anthony asked.
I shrugged. “I was just trying to make conversation. You can answer however you’d like; I didn’t want to put you on the spot.”
“But you weren’t looking for the truth, were you?” Anthony asked. “What did you really want to know?”
Thrown by his direct line of questioning and surprised by the melting edges of his sharp exterior, I fell quiet. “Uh...” My heart picked up speed. “Don’t worry about it. I didn’t mean anything.”
“I’m not always great at a relationship like this, so do me a favor, Lacey. Don’t be so shy that you never ask for what you want. Or tell me what you need. Or show me how you feel.” He turned his gaze up to me, his dark eyes unsure. “If you layer it with hidden meaning, the chances are high that I won’t catch on to what you honestly want.”
I felt my own smile appear so genuine it crinkled the laugh lines around my eyes. My aging, thirty-year-old eyes. “This coming from the man with the best Spidey Senses I know. However, if you can’t read the convoluted, hidden meanings behind all of my half-baked questions, then we might have a huge problem.”
Anthony’s eyes reflected panic.
“I’m sorry, that was a joke,” I said quickly. “Listen, I’m a girl – sometimes I don’t always know exactly what I’m feeling. I cry for no reason and I’ll twist your words into something I know you didn’t mean when you said them. We’ll disagree and we’ll have miscommunications, but that’s okay.” I smiled. “Because we’ll talk about it and figure it out. If you’re willing to give it a shot, I am.”
Anthony looked a bit overwhelmed, and to be honest – I didn’t know where that load of emotional content had come from. Yikes! Turning thirty did scary things to a person.
“What do you—” Anthony started, but I reached over and pressed a finger none-too-gently against his lips.
“Anthony, relax,” I said. “Neither of us is in a place to rush anything. You mentioned this relationship we have...I’m not even sure what it is.”
Anthony’s lips puckered against my finger, but he seemed too scared to move.
Eleven fifty-eight. I glanced at the clock. Two minutes left of being twenty-nine.
“But don’t worry,” I said. “I’m okay with that.”
As I let my finger slip away from his lips, I realized I was okay. We were okay. Whatever this was, we didn’t need to move any faster or slower – my gut feeling told me that I was right where I should be in this moment. And that was enough.
Eleven fifty-nine – a crazy thought rushed through my head. I had one minute left in my twenties – why not make the most of it? I leaned forward, meaning to take charge and be the first to kiss Anthony. Somehow, I was already too late.
His hands grabbed my freshly blow-dried hair, pulled it deliciously tight against my scalp, and pressed his lips to mine. I tangled with the seatbelt for a long, embarrassing minute before I could withdraw my hand and wrap it around his neck. While one of his hands held the back of my head tight, the other wrapped around my waist, his fingers toying with the bottom of my standard black tank top. The tips of his fingers brushed against my skin, sending jolts of desire through my veins.
His lips were soft, yet forceful, demanding I focus on him. Though somehow, through it all, I managed a quick glance at the car’s green LED clock display.
Midnight.
Anthony pulled back as my eyes slid towards the front of the car and latched onto the glow from the digits. Not wanting the moment to stop, I took advantage of his hesitation. He pulled slightly away, scanning my face for signs that something was wrong. I gave him a smile that started deep in my soul and couldn’t help but blossom on my face.
If this is what thirty felt like, bring it on.
“Thank you,” I whispered, my voice barely audible. I didn’t stop to think that it was the tiniest bit awkward I’d thanked him for the kiss. I temporarily forgot that he had no way of knowing he’d started my birthday off with a bang, turning it into something quite special.
“For wha—” Anthony began.
But before he could continue, I pushed the dratted seatbelt out of my way, climbed to my knees, and held his face between my hands. Giving him my best mischievous grin, I leaned in close and traced my fingers down the side of his face; his eyes closed as the tips of my fingers trailed past, his jaw quivered as I touched his cheek, and by the time I pressed lightly against the rough tattoo of the word Italy on his neck, he was more still than a statue.
Cupping his cheek with my other hand I pressed the lightest feather of a kiss to his lips. Our skin barely touched, but the moment was filled with a sweetness and gentleness of which I’d only ever dreamed.
Sitting back in my seat, I re-buckled up and waited patiently, letting the moment hang heavy in the air. Anthony kept his eyes closed for a prolonged minute, his breaths coming in barely audible waves. I rested my head back against the car seat, wondering for a moment if I’d ruined everything. Maybe I’d been too forward. Maybe all he wanted was one night with me. I hadn’t thought so, but...
Anthony opened his eyes and broke my train of worrisome thoughts with an upwards quirk of his lips that nearly melted my heart on the spot.
“Well,” he cleared his throat and pulled himself up higher in his seat. He rested one hand against the steering wheel. “You’re welcome, I guess.”
I burst out laughing, and for a moment he looked confused – scared, even. But when he saw the tears start to leak from the corners of my eyes, he joined in. Together we guffawed so loudly, so enthusiastically, it was a wonder one of his men didn’t call up from the warehouse and warn us to be quiet.
“You’re cute,” I said, unable to help myself. “You question criminals who’ve stolen millions of dollars and thrown people in trunks who’ve tried to kill you. Who would’ve thought a
kiss could disarm you?”
A mixture of emotions toyed on Anthony’s face. I could tell a part of him was almost offended, as if he were upset I’d discovered his Kryptonite. Finally, however, he shook his head with an amused eye roll. “Don’t tell anyone, or else.”
“Or else...what?” I toyed, leaning over the center console and hanging my head teasingly close to his lips.
I heard a low noise build in Anthony’s throat, and I pulled back before he could kiss my words away once more. His mouth worked like a memory charm on me – kiss and poof! Couldn’t remember anything I’d ever intended to say.
“Don’t worry,” I said. “Your secret’s safe with me. I don’t kiss and tell.”
Anthony looked as if he wanted to attack me in one way or another, but before he could lay a finger on me, his watch blinked a brilliant white light.
“Message,” he said with a grunt.
As disappointed as I was, I also felt no small amount of satisfaction that he seemed just as disappointed as I was that we’d been interrupted.
“What is it?” I asked, as Anthony pulled out his phone and read a text in Italian that I couldn’t understand.
“They found something,” he said. “Are you ready?”
Chapter 8
“I MEANT TO TELL YOU something,” I said as Anthony and I jogged down the staircase inside the parking garage. According to Anthony, it was too dangerous to take an elevator while on a stakeout. I didn’t believe him; I would bet all my money (if I had any) that it was just the gym trainer in him taking pleasure in making my quads burn.
Anthony nearly ran into me as I stopped on the second floor and turned around.
“Did you hear me?” I repeated. “I meant to tell you something.”
“Is now really the time?” Anthony asked, his arm sliding all too easily in place around my waist. He held me in a one-armed hug, and I was a bit surprised to see that his usual “business face” hadn’t been put on yet. During moments of action, he didn’t usually take any risks – no goofing off, no flirting, no jokes. Well, sometimes flirting, but just a little bit.
