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“No one special. And no, I don’t think you know him.” I shrug, moving over to my dresser. Kneeling down, I tug open the bottom drawer and flip through my jeans, finally pulling out my absolute favorite. They’re a dark rinse, skinny fit without being skintight, and they make my legs look long when they’re really not. “No need to make a big deal about it.”
“When you say things like that, darling, I’m assuming it’s a big deal. You just don’t want to get my hopes up.” She clasps her hands together, her blue eyes that are just like mine twinkling with delight. “Is he handsome? How long have you been seeing him? What’s his name?”
Look at her. She automatically assumes I’ve found a special someone—her word choice long, long ago, not mine. The twenty-three-year-old spinster is the disappointment of the family. It’s ridiculous.
My friends definitely think it’s ridiculous I still live at home, but that’s the way it’s done in a traditional Italian family. Usually. I’m the need-to-be-protected baby girl in my parents’ eyes. Their only girl, since it’s just my older brother and me. John is married with two babies, doing his own thing clear across the country in Boston, where his wife is from.They met in college, the perfect sort of romance that made my mom infinitely happy.
So now my parents focus all of their attention—much of it unwanted—on my lacking love life.
Realizing she’s still waiting for a reply, I heft out a long sigh, glaring at her. “Mom. He’s no one. I swear.”
“Tell me his name,” she demands.
“Gage Emerson.” Just saying his name out loud makes my skin tingle. I love his name. I loved especially when I whispered it in his ear just before he came. Hard.
Taking a deep breath, I tell myself to calm down. Those aresonot the thoughts I should be having with my mother in the same room.
Mom frowns, a little crease forming between her scrunched brows. “Hmm, I don’t recognize the name. I don’t know of any Emersons who live in the area, but I must confess, I’m woefully out of touch when it comes to those who are your age. I haven’t been to the country club in forever.”
She sounds so old fashioned sometimes, and what is she? In her early fifties? Mom acts and sounds much older. But she grew up in a much stricter world than I ever did. My grandparents wouldn’t let her do anything.
It drives me crazy, how she loves to go on and on about me needing a man in my life. Her disappointment that I haven’t found a boyfriend is her old-fashioned thinking rearing its ugly head.
“He’s not from the area,” I tell her, tossing my jeans onto the last spot of empty space on my bed.
“Oh? So how did you two meet?”
“At an event a few nights ago. Remember the brewery- and wine-tasting thing I told you about?”
“Ah, yes. So.” She smiles. “What does hedo?”
He’s a shark who’s sniffing around Molina property and wants to steal it from us for nothing so he can turn around and make a huge profit.
Oh yeah, and he’s a sex god who had me screaming his name when he made me come.
“He’s in real estate,” I finally answer as I head back into my closet.
My stomach roils, and I press my lips together. Why am I going out with him again? Yes, I’m hoping he’ll get me an in with Archer Bancroft so I can talk him into carrying Autumn Harvest bakery desserts at his restaurants in his two hotels.
I hope this entire setup works. More than anything, I hope I can enjoy my dinner tonight and not want to stab Gage in the chest with my fork. As long as he keep his mouth shut and looks pretty, we should be good.
You are such a bitch.
Maybe I am. But the man provokes me like none other. Both in a good and bad way.
Mom follows me, hovering at the open door. “Residential or commercial?”
I can practically hear her brain calculating how much he could possibly be worth. “I don’t know. I’m guessing commercial.”
“Ahh. That’s nice. How old is he?”
“Um.” I swallow hard. I don’t know all the pertinent information about Gage Emerson beyond his name, that he and Archer are friends, and he’s a jackass snake in the grass who’s really good with his hands. And his mouth. And his...
Wow, isn’t my opinion of him top-notch?
“I think he’s in his early thirties?” I wince, not one hundredpercent sure my answer is right. Looks like Google and I need a second date tonight.
“Sounds like you don’t know much about your young man.”
