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If only I could get her to realize how fucking talented she truly was.
Her voice rasped with gravel and then turned smooth as silk as she sang the final words over and over again.
If you please.
Good God, did I ever.
She was a goddess and a performer and a feisty little bright spot on the stage all at once, and the crowd was going crazy for her.
Hell, I couldn’t even be mad at the bastards who stared at her with heat in their eyes.
This girl, my girl, was a fucking magnet you couldn’t take your eyes off of.
I’d sung a song of my own, but other than a tiny moment of recognition, the crowd hadn’t given me even half the ovation. And, fuck, the whole damn establishment had acknowledged my rookie status on the New York Mavericks the instant we stepped inside the front doors.
The irony of it made me smile. It made me proud. It made me feel only validation and joy for Gemma.
I loved seeing her in this element. This loose. This at ease.
I didn’t know if I’d ever be able to take her on a date where she didn’t sing, such was the siren-like call of her voice and the euphoria her performance provided.
I wasn’t sure what the next stop on our dating tour could be, having already done both the drag club and the karaoke bar, but I knew it sure as hell wouldn’t be a silent night at the movies.
The crowd went wild as the song came to a close, and Gemma jumped down off the stage gracefully.
My smile stretched from ear to ear as I awaited her arrival at our table, a fresh drink in her spot that I’d ordered in preparation.
She mooned over the simple gesture as she sat down, and I marveled at how easy it was to impress her.
“Nonna must treat you really awful if ordering you a drink is this impressive.”
She laughed. “God, I love when you call her that, Leonard.”
I rolled my eyes. “That’s who she is to me.”
“Yes,” she agreed. “And you’re Leonard to her.” She smirked. “She talks about you constantly.”
And for once, I was the one who blushed.
“No, she doesn’t.”
“Oh yes, she does. She thinks you hung the moon and the stars and then some.”
I laughed. “That sure isn’t how she talks to me.”
“Of course it isn’t. Because she also thinks you’re too cocky for your own good.”
“Now, that sounds more like her,” I said with a roll of my eyes, and she nodded. “How do you like working for her, by the way?”
“Aside from all the dildo handling?” She shrugged. “I guess it’s pretty good.”
I’m sorry…what? Did she just say dildo handling?
“Aside from the what?” I asked. Surely, my ears had deceived me.
“Aside from the dildo handling.”
Apparently, my ears are working just fine…
Those two words latched themselves inside my brain, and once I’d comprehended them as much as was mentally possible, my sip of beer turned right around in my throat, spraying up and out before I could stop it.
Gemma held up a hand in front of her face and squealed. “Oh my God. What is it with us and fluids?”
“I’m sorry,” I said, ignoring her question completely. “Did you really just say dildos?”
“Oh no!” She covered her mouth with her hand, and her eyes widened as realization set in. “Holy crap!” she muttered behind the skin of her palm. “You didn’t know?”
“Please tell me dildos is a code word for anything else besides actual dildos.”
Her laugh was uproarious and long, and if it weren’t for how completely exhilarating I found it, the wait might have annoyed me.
When she finally got it together, her smile was unrepentant. “What exactly do you think your aunt sells?”
“T-shirts or candles or some shit,” I answered, and she giggled.
“So, I hate to break this to you, but your aunt has an online sex toy and lingerie business. That’s what I do for her. Organize them and ship them out.”
“You have got to be shitting me.”
She shook her head vigorously. “I cannot believe you didn’t know.”
“Of course I didn’t know! I guess that’s not the sort of thing you tell your great-nephew. Fucking hell, that was way, way, way too much information for my brain to handle.”
“I guess I probably shouldn’t tell you who does all the inventory testing then, huh?”
I almost choked again on my beer and shook my head adamantly. “For the love of God, no more details. Let me go back to thinking my Nonna sells candles and fucking T-shirts.”
Fucking hell, I knew my Nonna was a goddamn wild card, but her selling sex toys online wasn’t even within the realm of possibility until about two minutes ago when Gemma had spilled the terrifying beans.
Nearly five Christmases ago, Nonna had announced to the family that she was going to start her own online store and sell T-shirts as a fun hobby.
