Page 42 of Falling for the Grumpy Bad Boy

“Did you see the way he was trying to dip her? I thought he was going to drop her right on the floor.”

“And her face! She looked like she was being held hostage.”

We were both still laughing when the song ended and a slower ballad began.

“Think he’ll find her?” I asked as Rhett pulled me closer for the slow song.

“Oh, he’ll find her. Question is whether she’ll still be running when he does.”

The thought sent us into another fit of giggles. There was something about seeing the usually serious, intimidating Conroy so completely out of his element that was absolutely delicious. And Simone had shown some surprising survival instincts that made it even better.

“We’re terrible people,” I said, though I didn’t feel the least bit sorry about it.

“The worst,” Rhett agreed, spinning me slowly. “But at least we’re terrible people with good rhythm.”

By the time we finally escaped the club, we were both overheated. Whether it was from the dancing or the chemistry, I couldn’t say. The humid night air was only a little better than the stifling heat of the crowded dance floor.

“I need food,” Rhett announced, stretching his arms above his head. “All that laughing worked up an appetite.”

“There’s a pizza place down the block,” I suggested, pointing toward the neon sign that beckoned like a beacon. “Doesn’t look fancy, but it’s open late.”

“Perfect. Fancy is overrated anyway.”

The pizza joint was exactly the kind of place you would expect to find in this part of town. But the cheese was melted and the sauce was tangy. There was something perfectly satisfying about eating terrible pizza on a street corner at midnight.

“You know, I had you all wrong.”

“How so?” Rhett asked, trying to manage the strings of cheese dangling from his slice.

“I thought you were all serious all the time. Intense. Focused on work and nothing else.”

“I am focused on work,” he said.

“But you’re also…” I searched for the right word. “Fun. I didn’t expect fun.”

He laughed, and the sound sent warmth spreading through my chest. “I’m full of surprises, remember?”

We finished our pizza and began the walk back to the hotel, meandering through the quiet streets like we had all the time in the world. The alcohol had melted something between us. It felt different from our usual interactions. Real.

“Where did you get your love for cooking?” I asked.

“My mother,” he said. “She’s the heart of our family. We had this big, loud Italian household—cousins and aunts and uncles always coming and going, everyone talking over each other, total chaos. But Ma’s kitchen was like the eye of the storm. Peaceful but full of this incredible energy.”

“That’s where you learned to cook?”

“That’s where I learned everything that mattered. She had me helping from the time I could reach the counter. Stirring sauces, kneading dough, chopping vegetables. I loved it more than anything else—more than sports, more than hanging out with friends. I just wanted to be there with her, learning her secrets.”

There was something beautiful about the way he talked about his mother. It wasn’t just a job for him or even just a passion. It was a connection to something deeper, something that had shaped who he was.

“What about the rest of your family? Your cousins?”

The warmth in his expression flickered, and I saw him pull back slightly. “They are… different. We don’t have much in common.”

“Different how?”

He shrugged. “Just different paths, you know? They were into things I wasn’t interested in. I preferred the kitchen to hanging out with the riffraff.”

“Riffraff?”