I finished another tray and set it aside until the first one was done in the oven. “Listen, Giff, I get that you’re Amanda’s friend, but I think this is something you need to leave alone. What happened or didn’t happen between Amanda and me is our business. If we don’t want to talk about it, you shouldn’t push. We’re both adults, we went into that night with our eyes open, and no one got hurt.” I had a sudden flash of myself, buck naked, carrying Amanda on my shoulder and nearly tripping over her shoes and had to fight back a smirk. “So that’s all you need to know. Stop digging.”
“Okay. Sure.” Giff shrugged. “Here’s the thing, though, Vince. I want to make sure you know something about Amanda. I call her cookie, did you know that? Do you know why?”
I shook my head, although it was on the tip of my tongue to suggest that it was because she tasted so sweet. Giff wouldn’t know that, of course. And it wasn’t something I wanted to share, either.
“Amanda comes across as a tough chick. She acts like nothing bothers her, like she can handle anything. And don’t get me wrong—she doesn’t take shit from anyone, and she hates the idea of being seen as weak. But there’s also a side of her that’s vulnerable, and that’s the part no one sees very often. I’m not getting in your business. I’m just asking you to remember that about her, whatever might happen next.”
The oven timer went off, and I grabbed a hot pad so that I could switch the trays. Giff watched me in silence.
When I had the second tray of ladyfingers safely in the oven, I turned back to him. “I appreciate what you’re saying. The truth is, though, that neither of us wants more than what we had that night. We had fun, and we parted on friendly terms the next morning. We both know that we’re from totally different worlds. We’re not looking to change that.”
Giff smiled a little. “So I should just mind my own goddam business and stop talking to you, right?” He sighed. “All right. It’s a shame, though. I think you’d be good for her. Maybe she’d be good for you, too. I don’t know you well enough to say that. But Amanda’s world could use a little shaking up from someone who only wants the best for her.”
When I didn’t respond, he pushed off from the counter. “I’ll leave you to your ladyfingers, and I’ll see you the night before the wedding.”
“Okay.” I nodded. “See you later, Giff. Thanks.”
His forehead wrinkled as he frowned at me. “For what?”
I shrugged. “For helping my sister get the wedding she wants. And ...” I took a deep breath. “For caring enough about Amanda to look out for her. To stand up for her. I think she’s a pretty incredible woman, and it’s good she has a friend like you.”
Giff cocked his head. “That sounded like more than a one-shot hook-up type of observation, Vince. That sounded like a guy who’s interested in more.”
Opening the fridge, I took out the milk and eggs to begin the custard. “Would it matter if I was? I know my limitations, Giff, and I know what’s realistic and what isn’t. I like what I know about Amanda, and maybe in another time or place, I’d want to know more. But she’s heading in one direction, and I’m going in another. The fact that we hit it off doesn’t mean we’re going to have a fairy-tale ending.” I cracked an egg into the bowl. “Not that I’m looking for one.”
“Uh huh.” Giff’s lips twitched. “Well ... it’s been my experience that those fairy-tale endings come around when you’re not looking for them.” He winked at me. “But hey, what do I know? I’ve got to run. People to see, parties to plan. I’ll catch you later, Vince.”
I acknowledged his good-bye with a jerk of my chin and kept right on working. Work was my solace, the one thing I knew I could count on. It was what made me who I was, and it was why I couldn’t jeopardize my future by getting off-track now. I couldn’t be distracted. Not by one night with a woman who couldn’t ever be anything but a single night’s pleasure.
I took out my frustration on the eggs, whipping them into a frenzy, as I remembered that morning after. At first, everything had been utter perfection. Or I’d thought so. Driving back home through bright sunshine under a perfect blue sky, I’d basked in the feeling that only came after a night of incredibly satisfying sex. I was relaxed yet somehow energized.
Sure, leaving Amanda had been a little ... weird? I wasn’t sure how to put that feeling into words. I’d sensed her pulling away when we’d been talking about cars and parking and the obvious differences in our lifestyles, and by the time we’d made it to her front door, I knew she was ready for me to be gone.
That was cool, because I knew I had to leave. In another lifetime, I’d have wanted to walk over to the Italian market to pick up food and then come back and cook brunch for her. We might have eaten together, laughing, on the broad terrace I’d seen extending from the side of her living room. And then we might have gone back to bed and indulged in a little more of that really excellent sex we’d shared.
But that didn’t happen. Instead, I’d kissed her once more before I’d forced myself to leave, heading downstairs to retrieve my car from the valet and begin the drive home.
Once I’d pulled into my driveway, though, and climbed out of the car, I had the oddest sensation that I’d forgotten something important. Close on the heels of that feeling was a thought that came unbidden to my mind.
I should text Amanda and let her know I got home.
I’d frozen, one hand on the trunk of my car, my mouth dropped open. “What the fuck was that?” I’d spoken the words out loud, which was unfortunate, because Mrs. Literandi, my upstairs neighbor, happened to be standing in the yard, watering her flowers. Mrs. Literandi had spent fifteen years as a nun, teaching in a high school, before she’d met Mr. Literandi and left the convent, but she’d never lost that stern glare and a voice that brooked no nonsense. When she fastened her eyes on me, I was pretty sure she had a direct line to the Pope, St. Peter and my mother.
“Vincent.” Her lips pursed. “Is there a problem?”
“Ah, no. Just remembered something I forgot to do,” I fibbed.
“That’s no reason for profanity.” She stomped to the next row of flowers.
“Yes, ma’am.” I reached into the trunk to pull out my bag and hightailed it into the house before she found something else wrong with me.
I’d spent the rest of the afternoon brooding and lecturing myself. This wasn’t how I felt after a hook-up. I was usually glad to be home, relieved to be alone again and eager to move on. But there’d been something about Amanda ... some connection we’d made that night. I’d found myself wondering how I could get her number without anyone else finding out. I could text Liam, but there was a good chance my sister would see the message.
And then I’d gotten mad at myself all over again for even thinking that way.It’s over, I’d lectured in the quiet of my own head.Move on.
But that hadn’t been as easy as I’d expected. A few weeks later, needing something to distract me from my memories of that night, I’d picked up a willing woman at a bar in Wildwood. She was visiting friends for the weekend and had a motel room a few blocks off the beach. It had felt like the perfect set-up: she was tiny and blonde, and the things she’d whispered in my ear were definitely promising.
Once in her bed at the motel, however, I found it difficult to stay focused on the task at hand. When she stripped off her shirt, displaying a pretty set of boobs, I should’ve been drooling. Instead, I was unimpressed, certain that they were more than likely surgically enhanced. Even her moans of pleasure felt wrong. Off. Manufactured.
