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CHAPTER THIRTEEN
MELANIE
What was the protocol for facing your boss after you came on his hand?
In the hour after I left Dominic, I brooded over the question in my living room and finally solved the dilemma with three beers and the pizza Dominic had handed me before hustling me out the door. As I licked my fingers clean with no regard for etiquette, I understood that I hadn’t actually solved anything at all, but I felt good and buzzed—so at least that was something to be grateful for.
When I first got home, a small part of me listened for a knock on the door or a text on my phone, but I wasn’t surprised neither ever came. Dominic Esposito was as enigmatic as a deep-space wormhole, and I’d just hurt my head trying to figure out his next move.
My hand flew to my lower belly, and my face grew hot as I remembered the way I’d shamelessly leaned into his touch and dissolved into a wanton puddle of lust.
Ever since the day we met, I’d felt the electric spark of attraction. But in spite of the long looks and the flirtatious banter, we’d never done a thing. In some ways that was a relief. I liked my job, and nothing good was bound to come out of banging the boss.
Yet there were times when a single glance from that man would make me forget my own goddamn name. And tonight when Dominic looked my way and said, “Come over here,” I was a goner.
“Boy, did I come,” I muttered to my listening cats, wincing a little over the memory of how ninety seconds of groping had released a climactic tidal wave that left my legs shaking. Dominic could have taken whatever he wanted, and I would have given it all up eagerly. There was no telling how many different ways and in how many creative positions we would have christened the kitchen of Espo 2 if Gio hadn’t walked in. Thank god Gio had called out his arrival. I had time to dart over to the sink and brush the flour off my boobs by the time he entered the room. I was sure he didn’t suspect a thing. The alternative was too mortifying to consider.
Releasing an exasperated groan, I tossed a chenille couch pillow across the room. The cats abandoned me and chased the pillow, attacking the fluffy aggressor in kill mode.
I watched my pets trying to murder the pillow for a few minutes, then dove into my purse to grab my phone. Maybe calling someone would help me mull over all the Dominic-related angst that was keeping me here on the couch in fetal position. It was nearly midnight, but Lucy had always been a night owl.
“Hey, Mel,” said my sister, and I envied the easy tone in her voice. Lucy probably wouldn’t be foolish enough to fantasize endlessly about her hot boss and then dry hump his left hand.
“Hey, Luce,” I said, trying to sound just as breezy and unconcerned.
“What’s wrong?” she asked immediately. After a lifetime of sisterhood, Lucy had developed a sixth sense where my moods were concerned.
“Everything’s great,” I told her.
“Is it? You don’t usually call this late.”
“I swear, everything is great. My job is great. The restaurant is opening in two days. Did I tell you that? We had an event tonight, and it was great. Here on the home front, the cats are great. Oh, and the weather is great. And then there’s my boss. He’s really great.”
“What’s wrong with your boss?” Lucy asked. “Are you drunk?”
“A little. And nothing’s wrong with him. Well, either of them. I have two bosses. I might have mentioned that. Anyway, they’re brothers. Dominic’s the one I work with more these days. And he’s really great. Well, I think he is. He sure looks great. He’s got great hands. Not that they’ve ever been on me. His hands I mean.” I hiccuped loudly.
“MELANIE!” The howl on Lucy’s end was probably enough to injure the eardrums of half of San Francisco. “Did you fuck your boss?”
“What? No.” I hiccuped again.
“Oh my god. You did. Wait, I thought you said Dominic was a joyless, ornery douche nozzle.”
“I did? I said that?” I tried to remember, but my head felt a little foggy.
“Never mind,” she laughed. “A good body doesn’t need a happy personality, I guess, and you’re more than overdue for some fun. I’m just surprised because I didn’t figure you’d opt to dip your quill in the office ink.”
“I don’t have a quill,” I grumbled. “In fact I think I might be the ink in that metaphor.”
Lucy whooped. “So you did fuck him!”
“No! Now dammit, stop being so crass.”
“Then start feeding me details.”
So I took a steadying breath and starting talking.
The dough. The flour. My hands. His hands.
