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Ten-Pound Salami

I slept terribly and woke up cranky. A hot shower only made me feel marginally better. So now, the only thing getting me through this awful morning is the thought of restarting my search for Adam and perhaps snagging one of Gio’s homemade muffins, in a stealth-like manner, of course.

I pause at Gio’s bed, noting it’s still made.

On the landing, I glance over the railing and into the living area. Beneath me, Gio is passed out on the couch. He’s wearing sleep pants with one leg bent like a flamingo and one arm tossed above his head. The other hand rests on his bare chest. With fluttering eyelashes and his lips edging into a smirk, he appears deep in REM sleep. From this angle, he’s way too peaceful and way too hot.

It’s annoying.

Unable to let this moment pass, I return to my room and grab his pillows. Leaning over the railing, I align the stack with my target. Then I release them. The white fluff plummets fifteen feet, landing squarely on Gio’s abs.

His eyes fly open. He frowns, looks down at his pillow-assaulted stomach, and then up to me. I lean on the railing, twiddling my fingers and telegraphing a message.

Gotcha!

“Miss me already?” he asks in a sexy sleepy voice.

Gio’s body unfurls and stretches. I try not to admire how every muscle on his torso flexes like an accordion. Or how the sight of them activates a keen awareness in my own body. This is a form of torture I hadn’t counted on. He simply exists, and it bugs me.

This is also annoying.

“Good idea, sleeping on the couch,” I say as I descend the stairs.

“You locked me out.” He snuggles into his bed pillows.

“In case you’re too sleepy to do math, that was me one-upping you. Again. Enjoy sleeping at my feet tonight,” I say, reminding him of our agreement.

“But we’d have so much more fun in your bed.” He grins with a cheek pressed into his pillow.

I pause at his comment, ready to fight the assertion, but then recall what I tried and failed to do last night behind closed doors. I shake my head, wanting to dislodge the momentary lapse in judgment. I was desperate, a little drunk, and a lot horny.

I’m still horny.

Casey glances up from her laptop at the kitchen island. “Muffin?” She holds up a plate.

“Did Chef Salami make these?” I scrunch my face, playing disgusted, even though they smell like heaven in a pretty paper cup.

Gio lifts his head. “You didn’t have a problem with my baked goods yesterday.”

“Maybe I don’t want your salami touching my baked goods,” I say with a good amount of sass.

The room falls silent for a second. Then Gio’s loud chuckle booms. He’s so thrilled with my Freudian slip, he’s roused from his nest of pillows to flash me a gleaming grin.

“Oh. My. God. You two.” Casey rises from her chair and escapes through the open sliders. She resettles in a chair on the deck, slips on her headphones, and blocks us out for good.

“Did someone say baked goods?” Amelia saves me.

Though, I’m not sure anything could save me from the embarrassment. I feel flushed.

Gio studies me like he knows his image was responsible for bringing me to the brink last night. Now, if only I could finish my game of capture the big O flag, I’d be happy.

I busy myself with making a glass of water and then chug it like my life depends on it. Over the rim of the glass, I watch with envy as Amelia devours a muffin. Based on her reaction, it’s delicious. My stomach grumbles. But then I notice something else. Something very, very worrisome.

“What are you wearing?” I ask.

Amelia’s hair is curled in tight ringlets and adorned in teal glitter and seashells. A crown of pearls sits on her head. She’s ready for mermaid duty, not for an afternoon playing buffer, mediator, and referee for Mr. Meatstick and me. I was counting on her to get me through this day.

With a mouth full of muffin, she gives me an apologetic look.