End of the Innocence
Page 4
He stood, walking over to my bag and rummaging through it, then returned to the table and set my cell in front of me. “Call her. Now.”
“Fuck you. I’m not calling her now.” I shoved the phone to the side and defiantly scooped up some mashed potatoes.
“If you don’t call her now, you’ll wait weeks, and then you’ll have to explain why you waited so long to tell her the news. My family already knows. When they meet I don’t want you stressing out the whole time over whether your mom will find out how long we have been engaged.”
My jaw dropped. “When they meet? They aren’t meeting.”
He raised his brows at me as he stood over me, still pushing that damn phone toward me, somehow making the infuriating gesture look sexy. I picked up the iPhone and threw it, the landing making a satisfying crack against stone that caused both pleasure and despair to shoot through me. But at least I wouldn’t have to call my mother.
He smirked, which pissed me off even more.
I stood, the heavy chair beneath me not cooperating, and I untangled myself from it until I was beside him—still six infuriating inches too short to meet his gaze full on. “I’m not introducing my lovable family to your bloodthirsty vulture nest.”
He staggered back, his hand across his heart in mock pain. “Dearest, that is my blood you speak of.” He stepped forward again, gripping my waist sternly and bringing me to him. “I’ll have to ask you to take that back.”
I narrowed my eyes at him and pushed him back, the damn man for once cooperating, releasing my waist and leaning back against the table, our eyes now level. “You plan on us being married and our families not meeting? That’s not going to work out. Besides, your family will love my family. Trust me. They’re Italian. Being warm and hospitable is second nature to them.”
“So are iron suitcases and broken hubcaps!”
He tilted his head at me, a large grin crossing his face. “I think you confused that ... never mind. Let’s cross one disastrous bridge at a time. Do you want us to go to your parents, or should I bring them here?”
My body was on the verge of a breakdown—stress, anticipation, and anger all fighting losing battles inside of me. I imagined Brad’s huge body in my mother’s small kitchen, her Southern hospitality ingrained insistence that we stay with her, my tiny bed, the house hot, her thermostat religiously resting at seventy-eight degrees. Then I imagined my dad here, lost in Brad’s huge house, his worn-out suitcase rattling and rolling around the stone floors, him finding a gun when he reached for a toothbrush. Panic started to set in, spots appearing in the air between him and me.
My face must have shown something, for concern lit Brad’s face, and he reached forward, pulling me gently to him and hugging me against his chest. I sagged there, my arms stretching around his body to grip him tightly. My cheek pressed against the silk blend of his dress shirt, and I inhaled the scent of him—slight citrus, masculine, ocean, spice. A delicious blend of everything. “Just call them, babe. We don’t have to worry about making travel plans yet. Just call them, tell them the news, and then let me talk to them.”
I murmured a string of words against his hard chest, the word ‘phone’ slipping out into the open air. He straightened me, my legs wobbly before finding firm footing, my eyes focusing on him. Then he reached in his pocket and pulled out his cell, handing it to me with a warning look.
“Don’t throw it.”
I hefted the phone in my hand—his seemed pounds heavier than mine, though that was impossible. Then I sighed, pressed in the digits for my family’s home phone, held the phone to my ear, and hoped like hell no one was home.
Chapter 8
I should have prayed instead. The phone didn’t ring three times before my mother answered, her voice breathless, as if she had sprinted across the house to answer the call.
“Mom, you sound busy. I can call back.” I spun, walking across the kitchen and opening the back door, which lead to the porch.
“What? No no no. This is perfect, sweetie. What number are you calling from? And did you get my message? I called you last week ...” Her voice dropped off, and I hoped it was a rhetorical question. I really needed to get in the habit of checking my voicemail more often. Heaven forbid it had been something important.
I closed my eyes tightly, rubbing my temples, and tried to find the right words to get this over with. She spoke on, not waiting for a response. “What’s going on with you? Your father is here, but he’s in the garage, building something that I’m sure he’ll want to bring into the house. I swear, Julia, that man ... he would fill my whole home with other people’s garbage if I didn’t keep him in line.” She huffed into the phone, and I could imagine her in the kitchen, fixing dinner with the phone tucked between her neck and shoulder.
“I have some news, but I don’t want you to freak out when I tell you.” I waited expectantly for reassurance that I knew would never come.
A pause. A stilling of whatever she had been doing that had created noise. “Oh. My. God. What happened? Is it cancer?”
“No! I’m healthy and fine.” I spoke quickly, trying to head off her panic attack before it came.
“Well, dammit, Julia. You almost gave me a heart attack. Please don’t start a conversation like that; it’s terrifying to a woman my age.”
I gripped the chair’s arms, and fought the urge to rock the damn thing so hard the rockers would break off. “I ended things with Luke. A few months ago. I—”
“What? No you haven’t.” The relief in her voice, along with the certainty of her tone, caught me off guard.
“I know it seems sudden, but—”
“A few months ago? Julia, what are you talking about? Luke is here, waiting on your internship to finish up.”
I stopped rocking completely, my mouth involuntarily falling open. “What? What do you mean here?”
“Here, here. He’s in the garage with your father right now. He’s been here a few days; I put him up in your room.”
“WHAT? Are you crazy!”
“Between the two of us, you are the one acting crazy.” Her voice took on an edge of irritation. “He’s almost family. I wasn’t going to turn him away when he showed up on Thursday. I left you a message about it then. Besides, we all assumed you’d come home for a visit as soon as your internship wrapped up. When does your internship finish? We don’t have any details on it, or on your new place.” The sound of the mixer started in the background. She seemed to have completely missed the entire focus of this conversation.
I breathed loudly into the phone. “Mom. Get him out of there. I broke up with him months ago. He is being a crazy stalker; I can’t believe he is there!”
“Julia. Stop getting worked up. This is Luke we are talking about. He’s not a stalker. He’s the sweetest boy you’ve ever been with, I can assure you of that.”
“Mom, you don’t know half the people I’ve been with, so you can’t assure me of anything. Where is Dad? Let me talk to him.”
“I am not putting your father on so you can spout this nonsense to him. When your internship is finished, come home. We can discuss this then, and you and Luke can work out whatever tiff you are having so we can continue with wedding plans. Trust me, these things blow over, and he has been such good company to your father this week.”
Wedding plans. God, please tell me she hadn’t still been working on those. I had told her to halt all planning for that ill-fated possibility six months ago, when my gut had first told me the wedding might not ever become a reality.
I spoke rapidly into the phone, but my words went unheard, nothing but silence in my ear. She had hung up. I pulled the phone from my ear and gawked at it. I don’t know why I was surprised. My mother, the queen of independence, wasn’t the type to drag out conversations, especially when she had supper on the stove. I locked the phone screen, trying to work through what had just happened. Luke. At my parents’ house. Anger boiled with quick fury in my blood, and I stood, whirling around and yanking the heavy door open, stomping into the kitchen a bit dramatically, embracing the anger that flowed with greedy speed throughout me.
Brad turned at my entrance, his plate empty, his eyes locking on his phone and following it as I swung my arms emphatically. “You won’t believe this shit!” He stood, snagging his phone from my hand and pocketing it, as he grabbed his plate and took it to the sink.
“They aren’t happy about the engagement?”
“I didn’t even get that far! Luke is staying at my parents’ house!” His blank look returned my infuriated one. “Luke! My ex-fiancé!
He set down his plate, the sound echoing in the empty kitchen. I expected fire, an outrage to match my own, nostrils flaring, hands clenched, a dramatic show of he-man strength. Instead, he tilted his head slightly, his expression unreadable. “I know you’ve told me about Luke, but refresh my memory.” He walked back to the table, sliding out a chair and sitting down, his face calm and peaceful across from my furious one.
I blew out a long breath, flexing my hands in front of me. “Dated eighteen months, engaged for twelve of those. I ended it about a month or two before you and I met.”
“Nice guy?”
“Was extremely nice. Quiet, kinda lazy. But when we broke up he went batshit stalker on me—showing up at work and the house, power-calling my cell. That’s why I moved in with the guys and quit my other job. I started my internship at CDB, changed my number, and haven’t seen him since.” I rolled my neck and blew out a breath, willing my heart to slow down. I glanced at him, scowling at his calm expression.
He met my look with an easy confidence, shrugging nonchalantly. “What is it you want me to do?”
“I don’t know. Wave your arms about. Scream. Charge up there and forcibly remove him!”
He chuckled at me across the table. “Julia. This relationship between you and him needs to be ended by you. Anything I say to him won’t resonate. You spent a significant amount of your lives together.” He reached over, dragging my chair across the stone floor until it touched his, his strong hands pulling me onto his lap. I sat, in a child’s position, curled on his lap, his big arms engulfing me, his breath on my hair. “I’ve had you for three weeks, and the thought of losing you is unbearable. He had you so much longer than that. I don’t blame him one bit for going crazy without you. You need to be kind and gentle, but firm, with him.”
I growled against his chest. “I was kind and gentle and firm—when I broke up with him almost three months ago!”
“And drunk.”
I winced. “Yes, and I was drunk. But we’ve talked since, while I’ve been sober, and I’ve told him the same thing.”
He leaned back, tilting up my chin until my eyes met his. “Why don’t we go up to your parents’? I will support you in any way that I can, but the conversation between you two needs to be in private. He’s already lost you; his pride doesn’t need to suffer, as well.”
I narrowed my eyes at him. “He’s not a wounded puppy. He’s an invader in my childhood home, sleeping on my sheets, and probably going through my shit. I’ve made my feelings crystal clear by my complete avoidance of him. He’s not hanging out at my parents’ house thinking we are ‘on a break’ – he has run out of places to stalk me and is hoping my dear ol’ mom and dad will give him a clue as to how he can track me down.”
He grinned, a devilish smirk that made me want to yank down his zipper and suck his cock. “You just evaded the Magiano family. Your ex-boyfriend is hardly cause for panic.”
I frowned. “You are way too relaxed about this.”
He leaned forward, kissing me swiftly, his hands moving as my mouth opened to his, strong fingers circling then gripping my waist, twisting my body until I had no choice but to lift one leg over and straddle him. My worries were lost in his kiss—a soothing connection that turned sexual in a moment, his hands moving brusquely over the top of my shirt, yanking it out of my dress pants and sliding his hands underneath the fabric, the warmth of his touch causing my breath to hitch. I ground against him, feeling him respond underneath me, as he squeezed my breasts, his thumb teasing my ni**les through the fabric of my bra.
By the time he laid me back, tugged off my dress pants, and wrapped my thighs around his head, it was decided. He was coming home with me, but I was on my own with Luke. Damn my weak resolve.
Chapter 9
We left Friday night, hitting the interstate at six. I called Mom on the way, keeping the conversation brief. I didn’t mention the hulk of a man at my side, or my reason for coming. I didn’t want to give Luke any benefit of preparation. Then I called Olivia remembering two hours out of town that we had made plans for Saturday night—dinner and a movie—a mini-celebration of my new engagement. Olivia wasn’t happy, but understood, her irritation turning to indignation at my mention of Luke’s presence. With her blessing to kick ass in hand, I closed the phone and settled into the passenger seat.
I grew up in a town small enough to be close-knit, but large enough to have a Wal-Mart. Located in an unassuming corner of Georgia, too far from any airport, it typically took me seven hours, but Brad’s car ate up the drive in six. The drive went almost too quickly for my taste, and my mind was still processing possible outcomes by the time we pulled down the quiet suburban street that had sheltered my upbringing.
It was a half hour after midnight when Brad brought the car to a slow stop next to our mailbox and slid it into park. I leaned over, kissing him gently on the lips. “I’ll call you in a bit. You’ll find a hotel?”
“Fuck you. I’m not calling her now.” I shoved the phone to the side and defiantly scooped up some mashed potatoes.
“If you don’t call her now, you’ll wait weeks, and then you’ll have to explain why you waited so long to tell her the news. My family already knows. When they meet I don’t want you stressing out the whole time over whether your mom will find out how long we have been engaged.”
My jaw dropped. “When they meet? They aren’t meeting.”
He raised his brows at me as he stood over me, still pushing that damn phone toward me, somehow making the infuriating gesture look sexy. I picked up the iPhone and threw it, the landing making a satisfying crack against stone that caused both pleasure and despair to shoot through me. But at least I wouldn’t have to call my mother.
He smirked, which pissed me off even more.
I stood, the heavy chair beneath me not cooperating, and I untangled myself from it until I was beside him—still six infuriating inches too short to meet his gaze full on. “I’m not introducing my lovable family to your bloodthirsty vulture nest.”
He staggered back, his hand across his heart in mock pain. “Dearest, that is my blood you speak of.” He stepped forward again, gripping my waist sternly and bringing me to him. “I’ll have to ask you to take that back.”
I narrowed my eyes at him and pushed him back, the damn man for once cooperating, releasing my waist and leaning back against the table, our eyes now level. “You plan on us being married and our families not meeting? That’s not going to work out. Besides, your family will love my family. Trust me. They’re Italian. Being warm and hospitable is second nature to them.”
“So are iron suitcases and broken hubcaps!”
He tilted his head at me, a large grin crossing his face. “I think you confused that ... never mind. Let’s cross one disastrous bridge at a time. Do you want us to go to your parents, or should I bring them here?”
My body was on the verge of a breakdown—stress, anticipation, and anger all fighting losing battles inside of me. I imagined Brad’s huge body in my mother’s small kitchen, her Southern hospitality ingrained insistence that we stay with her, my tiny bed, the house hot, her thermostat religiously resting at seventy-eight degrees. Then I imagined my dad here, lost in Brad’s huge house, his worn-out suitcase rattling and rolling around the stone floors, him finding a gun when he reached for a toothbrush. Panic started to set in, spots appearing in the air between him and me.
My face must have shown something, for concern lit Brad’s face, and he reached forward, pulling me gently to him and hugging me against his chest. I sagged there, my arms stretching around his body to grip him tightly. My cheek pressed against the silk blend of his dress shirt, and I inhaled the scent of him—slight citrus, masculine, ocean, spice. A delicious blend of everything. “Just call them, babe. We don’t have to worry about making travel plans yet. Just call them, tell them the news, and then let me talk to them.”
I murmured a string of words against his hard chest, the word ‘phone’ slipping out into the open air. He straightened me, my legs wobbly before finding firm footing, my eyes focusing on him. Then he reached in his pocket and pulled out his cell, handing it to me with a warning look.
“Don’t throw it.”
I hefted the phone in my hand—his seemed pounds heavier than mine, though that was impossible. Then I sighed, pressed in the digits for my family’s home phone, held the phone to my ear, and hoped like hell no one was home.
Chapter 8
I should have prayed instead. The phone didn’t ring three times before my mother answered, her voice breathless, as if she had sprinted across the house to answer the call.
“Mom, you sound busy. I can call back.” I spun, walking across the kitchen and opening the back door, which lead to the porch.
“What? No no no. This is perfect, sweetie. What number are you calling from? And did you get my message? I called you last week ...” Her voice dropped off, and I hoped it was a rhetorical question. I really needed to get in the habit of checking my voicemail more often. Heaven forbid it had been something important.
I closed my eyes tightly, rubbing my temples, and tried to find the right words to get this over with. She spoke on, not waiting for a response. “What’s going on with you? Your father is here, but he’s in the garage, building something that I’m sure he’ll want to bring into the house. I swear, Julia, that man ... he would fill my whole home with other people’s garbage if I didn’t keep him in line.” She huffed into the phone, and I could imagine her in the kitchen, fixing dinner with the phone tucked between her neck and shoulder.
“I have some news, but I don’t want you to freak out when I tell you.” I waited expectantly for reassurance that I knew would never come.
A pause. A stilling of whatever she had been doing that had created noise. “Oh. My. God. What happened? Is it cancer?”
“No! I’m healthy and fine.” I spoke quickly, trying to head off her panic attack before it came.
“Well, dammit, Julia. You almost gave me a heart attack. Please don’t start a conversation like that; it’s terrifying to a woman my age.”
I gripped the chair’s arms, and fought the urge to rock the damn thing so hard the rockers would break off. “I ended things with Luke. A few months ago. I—”
“What? No you haven’t.” The relief in her voice, along with the certainty of her tone, caught me off guard.
“I know it seems sudden, but—”
“A few months ago? Julia, what are you talking about? Luke is here, waiting on your internship to finish up.”
I stopped rocking completely, my mouth involuntarily falling open. “What? What do you mean here?”
“Here, here. He’s in the garage with your father right now. He’s been here a few days; I put him up in your room.”
“WHAT? Are you crazy!”
“Between the two of us, you are the one acting crazy.” Her voice took on an edge of irritation. “He’s almost family. I wasn’t going to turn him away when he showed up on Thursday. I left you a message about it then. Besides, we all assumed you’d come home for a visit as soon as your internship wrapped up. When does your internship finish? We don’t have any details on it, or on your new place.” The sound of the mixer started in the background. She seemed to have completely missed the entire focus of this conversation.
I breathed loudly into the phone. “Mom. Get him out of there. I broke up with him months ago. He is being a crazy stalker; I can’t believe he is there!”
“Julia. Stop getting worked up. This is Luke we are talking about. He’s not a stalker. He’s the sweetest boy you’ve ever been with, I can assure you of that.”
“Mom, you don’t know half the people I’ve been with, so you can’t assure me of anything. Where is Dad? Let me talk to him.”
“I am not putting your father on so you can spout this nonsense to him. When your internship is finished, come home. We can discuss this then, and you and Luke can work out whatever tiff you are having so we can continue with wedding plans. Trust me, these things blow over, and he has been such good company to your father this week.”
Wedding plans. God, please tell me she hadn’t still been working on those. I had told her to halt all planning for that ill-fated possibility six months ago, when my gut had first told me the wedding might not ever become a reality.
I spoke rapidly into the phone, but my words went unheard, nothing but silence in my ear. She had hung up. I pulled the phone from my ear and gawked at it. I don’t know why I was surprised. My mother, the queen of independence, wasn’t the type to drag out conversations, especially when she had supper on the stove. I locked the phone screen, trying to work through what had just happened. Luke. At my parents’ house. Anger boiled with quick fury in my blood, and I stood, whirling around and yanking the heavy door open, stomping into the kitchen a bit dramatically, embracing the anger that flowed with greedy speed throughout me.
Brad turned at my entrance, his plate empty, his eyes locking on his phone and following it as I swung my arms emphatically. “You won’t believe this shit!” He stood, snagging his phone from my hand and pocketing it, as he grabbed his plate and took it to the sink.
“They aren’t happy about the engagement?”
“I didn’t even get that far! Luke is staying at my parents’ house!” His blank look returned my infuriated one. “Luke! My ex-fiancé!
He set down his plate, the sound echoing in the empty kitchen. I expected fire, an outrage to match my own, nostrils flaring, hands clenched, a dramatic show of he-man strength. Instead, he tilted his head slightly, his expression unreadable. “I know you’ve told me about Luke, but refresh my memory.” He walked back to the table, sliding out a chair and sitting down, his face calm and peaceful across from my furious one.
I blew out a long breath, flexing my hands in front of me. “Dated eighteen months, engaged for twelve of those. I ended it about a month or two before you and I met.”
“Nice guy?”
“Was extremely nice. Quiet, kinda lazy. But when we broke up he went batshit stalker on me—showing up at work and the house, power-calling my cell. That’s why I moved in with the guys and quit my other job. I started my internship at CDB, changed my number, and haven’t seen him since.” I rolled my neck and blew out a breath, willing my heart to slow down. I glanced at him, scowling at his calm expression.
He met my look with an easy confidence, shrugging nonchalantly. “What is it you want me to do?”
“I don’t know. Wave your arms about. Scream. Charge up there and forcibly remove him!”
He chuckled at me across the table. “Julia. This relationship between you and him needs to be ended by you. Anything I say to him won’t resonate. You spent a significant amount of your lives together.” He reached over, dragging my chair across the stone floor until it touched his, his strong hands pulling me onto his lap. I sat, in a child’s position, curled on his lap, his big arms engulfing me, his breath on my hair. “I’ve had you for three weeks, and the thought of losing you is unbearable. He had you so much longer than that. I don’t blame him one bit for going crazy without you. You need to be kind and gentle, but firm, with him.”
I growled against his chest. “I was kind and gentle and firm—when I broke up with him almost three months ago!”
“And drunk.”
I winced. “Yes, and I was drunk. But we’ve talked since, while I’ve been sober, and I’ve told him the same thing.”
He leaned back, tilting up my chin until my eyes met his. “Why don’t we go up to your parents’? I will support you in any way that I can, but the conversation between you two needs to be in private. He’s already lost you; his pride doesn’t need to suffer, as well.”
I narrowed my eyes at him. “He’s not a wounded puppy. He’s an invader in my childhood home, sleeping on my sheets, and probably going through my shit. I’ve made my feelings crystal clear by my complete avoidance of him. He’s not hanging out at my parents’ house thinking we are ‘on a break’ – he has run out of places to stalk me and is hoping my dear ol’ mom and dad will give him a clue as to how he can track me down.”
He grinned, a devilish smirk that made me want to yank down his zipper and suck his cock. “You just evaded the Magiano family. Your ex-boyfriend is hardly cause for panic.”
I frowned. “You are way too relaxed about this.”
He leaned forward, kissing me swiftly, his hands moving as my mouth opened to his, strong fingers circling then gripping my waist, twisting my body until I had no choice but to lift one leg over and straddle him. My worries were lost in his kiss—a soothing connection that turned sexual in a moment, his hands moving brusquely over the top of my shirt, yanking it out of my dress pants and sliding his hands underneath the fabric, the warmth of his touch causing my breath to hitch. I ground against him, feeling him respond underneath me, as he squeezed my breasts, his thumb teasing my ni**les through the fabric of my bra.
By the time he laid me back, tugged off my dress pants, and wrapped my thighs around his head, it was decided. He was coming home with me, but I was on my own with Luke. Damn my weak resolve.
Chapter 9
We left Friday night, hitting the interstate at six. I called Mom on the way, keeping the conversation brief. I didn’t mention the hulk of a man at my side, or my reason for coming. I didn’t want to give Luke any benefit of preparation. Then I called Olivia remembering two hours out of town that we had made plans for Saturday night—dinner and a movie—a mini-celebration of my new engagement. Olivia wasn’t happy, but understood, her irritation turning to indignation at my mention of Luke’s presence. With her blessing to kick ass in hand, I closed the phone and settled into the passenger seat.
I grew up in a town small enough to be close-knit, but large enough to have a Wal-Mart. Located in an unassuming corner of Georgia, too far from any airport, it typically took me seven hours, but Brad’s car ate up the drive in six. The drive went almost too quickly for my taste, and my mind was still processing possible outcomes by the time we pulled down the quiet suburban street that had sheltered my upbringing.
It was a half hour after midnight when Brad brought the car to a slow stop next to our mailbox and slid it into park. I leaned over, kissing him gently on the lips. “I’ll call you in a bit. You’ll find a hotel?”
