Page 23 of Fight for Forever
“No,” I kick off my sneakers and grin. “Maybe.”
“Oh-ho really? Is it serious? What’s her name? Is she Italian? How long have you known her?”
“Angelina, rein it in. AndI’mnot Italian.”
“You are an honorary Italian. You never bring girls here.”
“Wonder why? Don’t bother us.”
“Me?” she shrieks, and I pull the phone away from my ear.
Angelina is Dixon’s sister and for years has been reminding me to call her Aunty Angel. Always with a huge fucking grin on her face because she knows I will never call her Aunty Angel.
There are no fancy airs and graces at Angelina’s. The food is good, the ambience is relaxed. It’s the perfect place to take Megan.
“She’s not some fight whore, is she?”
“What? No,” I scowl. “Jesus, Angelina, what is a fight whore?”
“You know, one of those girls who only wants you cos of your body,” she laughs loudly, and I can imagine everyone staring at her. Angelina isn’t quiet, or shy about where she is or who is listening.
Yeah, this is a bad idea. Instead of getting annoyed, I play along.
“Don’t all women want me for my body?”
“Cane da caccia,” she laughs. “See you tonight. Best table in the house.”
I hang up laughing. I’ve picked up enough Italian over the years I’ve lived with Dixon to know she’s calling me a hound dog. So fucking untrue. I don’t go chasing after anyone. Although I’ve had a lot of sex. A lot.
Shit, I hope she doesn’t start telling Megan about all the women who follow me around, especially at fights. Maybe bringing Megan to my adopted family’s restaurant is a bad idea.
I can’t get out of it now. Angelina would never let me hear the end of it.
I’ll just give Megan fair warning. Shit…
Chapter Ten
My palms are sweating. I stand in the entryway staring at them. I can’t wipe them on my dress. I can’t go out with him with sweaty palms either. I run to my bathroom and wash them, then douse my hands in coconut hand lotion. That should do it.
The door buzzes and my shoulders tense. I flap my hands because now they’re just greasy instead of clammy. My heart is thudding. I catch my reflection in the mirror.
My hair is curled, make-up looks natural but pretty, and the dress Brooke loaned me is casual but sexy. I didn’t want to go overboard, so I’ve paired it with flats instead of the heels Brooke suggested.
“You can do this,” I tell myself.
And after a couple more breaths, I leave the safety of my bathroom and head to the front door. I’m about to walk through when I remember he is still down there not knowing I’m having a mini freak out. I hit the intercom and let him know I’m on my way down without waiting for a response.
I lock the door, double checking it before I head to the elevator. I paid to get better locks put on the door when I moved in. The landlord didn’t care, so long as I was paying.
My stomach flutters again as the elevator reaches the ground floor. “It’s just dinner,” I whisper to myself. “No pressure.”
Joey is waiting in the lobby when I step out of the elevator. He’s talking to the doorman, they’re both laughing, and the doorman has one hand on Joey’s upper arm, clapping it like he’s congratulating him on something. I take a moment to collect myself. And to take him in.
He’s wearing dark blue jeans that mold to his thighs like a second skin. The cornflower blue shirt is tucked in, showing off a brown leather belt with a small silver buckle. The color sets off his eyes. Because yes, it’s his eyes I’m looking at, not his enormous arms, the broad shoulders and tapered waist.
My cheeks flush and an unfamiliar, distant sensation throbs between my legs. I let out a small squeak. It’s not the first time I’ve had dirty thoughts about Joey, but it’s the first time my body has reacted so strongly to the idea of him getting very up close and personal with mine.
“Hey.”