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We sat in silence when she returned to the table and finished off the eggplant. I ate the scraps she didn’t finish, which weren’t much.
“I’m really hot. Must be all the spices in that dish. I’m gonna take off this robe now, okay?”
Yeah. I’m really hot, too, and it’s most definitely not the spices in the dish.
She let the robe fall to the ground, and my dick immediately hardened. Her breasts were even bigger than they were the last time I’d seen her. Jesus Christ. How much bigger could they get?
Fuck. I want you so badly, Gia.
I was going to have to just suck it up. “Yeah. It’s fine if you take it off.”
Speaking of sucking, I would have given anything to bear my mouth down onto those hard nipples pointing through the spandex material of her bikini top. Trying not to touch her was pure hell. The swell of her smooth, tanned stomach was almost too much to take. That little dome with that perfect belly button. Even the disturbing realization that she was carrying Elliott’s baby in there couldn’t stop the fact that I was still jonesing for her body twenty-four seven. But whenever I was physically around her, that feeling was ten times worse. I couldn’t imagine how I’d feel if it were my baby. I’d probably be even more turned on, if that were even possible.
I started a conversation to get my mind off this physical need. “How’s the book coming?” Coming. My reaction to that simple word reminded me of that game I used to play with Gia at the bar.
“Believe it or not, it’s coming along better than it ever has. I am in the middle of a sad part where the couple can’t be together.”
“Oh, so you turned it into an autobiography, did ya?”
That was a sad attempt at a joke on my part.
“No. It’s just art imitating life.” She smiled.
Even her smile set me off. I shut my eyes momentarily to curb the need to reach over and kiss the hell out of her.
“When do you think you’ll be finished?” I asked. “I’m curious to read it, to see if you’ve written me in as a deviant side character.”
“Oh, you’ve definitely made your way in.” She laughed.
Lifting my brow, I said, “Yeah? What does that mean?”
“Well…since I can’t have the real thing…I’ve taken to remembering sex with you and using it as inspiration for those scenes.”
Fuck.
“You stealing my moves, Mirabelli? Isn’t that copyright infringement?”
“Nope. You gave them to me. They’re my moves now.” She winked.
I would love to give it to you. Right this fucking minute.
“I just sent the first half of the book to my agent. A few of the chapters are really hot. She’s gonna get an eyeful. I’m supposed to be going to the City in a few days to have lunch with her and talk about it, actually. I’m sure she’ll let me know exactly how she feels about everything.”
It made me happy to see that things were moving along with her writing. She’d struggled for so damn long. At least one thing was going right in our lives.
“Cool. Good luck with that.”
“Thanks.”
Figuring I could use a nice splash of cold water on my face, I got up to take a leak, deciding to use the bathroom outside of Gia’s bedroom.
On my way out, I took a peek inside her room and noticed some boxes. The sight of that made my stomach sick.
I walked inside and looked around. This was serious.
When I returned to the living room, Gia’s eyes were closed. It looked like she was nodding off.
“I see you picked up some boxes.”
Her eyes flew open at the sound of my voice. “Um…well…I need to start slowly packing things away. I told you…I’m moving back to the City. And I might as well give you my two weeks’ notice now, too. I’m leaving after the end-of-the-season party.”
It felt like she’d hit me with a ton of bricks. The right words escaped me. She was giving me her notice. She was leaving. I knew this was coming. I had just been hoping to figure out a way to stop it. But could I really stop it? I knew I wanted Gia in every way, but that seemed like a separate thing from whether I could be a father to Elliott’s child. That was the issue I still hadn’t figured out. And until I did…I didn’t have the right to dictate her every move. Up until now, there hadn’t been a timeline by which I needed to figure things out, but it seemed that was no longer the case.
I had two weeks.It was the middle of the busy lunch hour at the cafeteria-style restaurant. I’d just spent the last hour filling my literary agent, Talia Bernstein, in on all of my personal happenings of this summer. Talia was young and hip, so I didn’t feel like she would judge me.
