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“That’s just what I plan to do, eat some good pizza, drink a beer or two, all while I have some Grade A eye candy to ogle while I do it.”
“Good girl,” Megan replied. “Tell me the details tomorrow over coffee?”
“Sure.”
Almost two hours later, I was freshly showered, dressed in snug but relaxed fit jeans with a hole in one thigh, a pink t-shirt and flip flops. It was feminine but casual, because I didn’t want to look like I was trying to look good and I didn’t want Antonio to think that.
The dough had risen and the pizza ingredients were just about ready to go, salami, onions, mushrooms and bell peppers with three types of cheese. A six pack of beer sat chilling in the fridge and the butterflies in my stomach were mostly under control.
The dough was pre-cooking in the oven when the doorbell rang and I let out a long exhale. Antonio’s face met me with a smile when the door opened.
“Casual, but sexy,” he growled. “I approve.”
I rolled my eyes and took a step back. “Great, now I can die a happy woman.”
“Happy,” he purred and stepped inside with a predatory grin. “But not satisfied. Not yet.”
I couldn’t help but laugh. “You’re always on, aren’t you?”
“Not always, no. There’s just something about you that brings out the flirt in me, Augusta.”
“The kitchen is straight back, just follow the smell.”
“What’s for dinner?”
“Ah, the important stuff. Right?”
“Damn straight. Food is what fuels us, what stimulates us. It’s what brings us together.”
“Wow, a poet too? Now I am impressed.” I didn’t expect him to speak so eloquently about food. I guess I figured he just cooked because he was good at it, but it seemed like cooking and creating dishes was just part of who Antonio is.
“I am more than just a pretty face, Augusta. Sooner or later you’ll figure that out.” His long legs carried him straight to the stove to inspect the ingredients that sat warming on the stove. “Pizza? I approve.”
“Be still my beating heart.” I didn’t make pizza to please him, I made it just to make sure he wasn’t impressed. “Pizza was what I had time for, but I did make the dough. My teacher said to let it rise for three hours but I’m a working woman and ninety minutes got the job done.”
“I guess we’ll see, won’t we?” The teasing glint in his eyes made my belly clinch and pulse, a sensation I ignored.
“Even bad pizza is good pizza, right?” I crossed to the fridge, eager for a break from the eye candy I was so hungry for just a few moments ago. “Beer?”
“Sure. I brought amber ale, what do you have?”
I shrugged. “German black beer. Which do you want?”
“I’ll try yours first.”
I turned to the fridge and let the chill from within do its thing for my overheated skin. The weight of Antonio’s gaze, even when I was looking back, was heavy like a lover’s grope. I took my time reaching for two bottles of beer, letting out a silent sigh before turning to face him again.
“Here we go, two beers while the pizza bakes.”
“Thanks. How was your day, Augusta?”
I blinked, confused by the switch from flirt to gent. “Um, good?”
He laughed and shook his head. “I’m not a monster, you know.”
“I know. It’s just, you don’t seem like the how’s your day sort of guy,” I told him honestly. “My day was good. Busy as it always is, but I didn’t get puked or peed on, and one of the long-term patients was discharged, so it was not bad overall. How was yours?”
Antonio leaned forward with a slow smile. “Do you want me to tell you, or do you want to be surprised along with the rest of my…fans?”
“Walked right into that one, didn’t I?”
“You did.” Damn that smile was as irresistible as they came, especially when its full force was directed right at me. “Just admit that you like me.”
“What’s not to like, Antonio? I like looking at you, and listening to you talk. I like watching you cook. I even like sparring with you.”
“I hear a but coming.”
“But,” I started and raised both eyebrows. “You’re a heartbreaker.”
“I’m not,” he insisted. Antonio shook his head, a bittersweet smile on his gorgeous face. “In fact, the last time I let my heart get involved, it was my heart that got broken.”
“Really?”
“Really,” he shot back with another smile. “I loved Trishelle, at least I thought I did. Turns out she loved drugs more than she ever loved me or Rosie.”
I listened, rapt, as he told me all about his marriage to Trishelle. “But she seems to put together.”
“That’s the Hollywood lie. A coat of face paint and some designer clothes can make anyone seem like they have their shit together, especially with a high dollar production crew on the job.” His tone turned bitter. “I was foolish enough to think she’d settled down after we were married, but it got worse. And then it got better, when she was pregnant with Rosie.”
