Tossed Into Love
Page 21
He shakes his head and takes a step toward me. His hand comes up to wrap around the side of my neck. “We don’t need to talk about it.”
“I think we do.”
I try not to be distracted by how good his hand feels on my neck, with his thumb sweeping softly against my pulse.
“If I didn’t think we had staying power, I’d agree with you.”
What?
“What?” I whisper aloud.
“You like me, right?”
“I . . .”
“You like me, and I like you.”
“You like me?” I ask stupidly.
His head jerks back.
“Yeah.”
“Oh.”
“Fuck, but you’re cute when you’re clueless.” He leans in to touch his mouth to mine quickly; then he pulls back, meeting my gaze once more. “Mom already knows we have plans tonight. I told her about them.”
“You told your mom?”
“She’s happy about the idea of me and you together. So yeah, I told her. She needs good stuff to think about right now.”
“Oh my god,” I whisper. “Why did you do that? What if things don’t work out?”
“Did you call your mom today?” he questions, cutting me off. I look to the side. “Didn’t you tell her we have plans tonight?”
“No,” I admit.
He frowns.
“Why not?”
“My mom’s crazy.”
“What?”
“If I tell her we have plans tonight, she will likely call the nearest judge and ask when he can fit in a wedding. Then she’ll toss out my birth control in hopes I get knocked up so you’ll have a reason to stick around after we have a shotgun wedding.”
“Baby . . .” His lips twitch like he thinks I’m being funny, and he shakes his head.
“You think I’m kidding, but I’m not.” I rest my hands against his solid chest.
“You’re on birth control?” he asks suddenly, changing the subject.
My body jolts.
“What?”
“You said she’d toss your birth control.”
“I . . . well . . . yeah, I’m on birth control,” I say, feeling my cheeks get warm at the admission of something so personal.
“Why?”
“Why?” I parrot.
“Yeah. Why are you on birth control?”
“Because . . .”
“Baby, you’re a virgin. Why are you on birth control if you’re a virgin?”
Oh my god. This conversation has suddenly gone completely past the point of embarrassing to humiliating.
“Do we really need to talk about this?” I question.
“Yeah,” he answers firmly, bringing me closer to him by wrapping his hand around my hip.
“Okay. But do we really need to talk about this right now and right here?” I counter.
He looks around like he just realized where we are.
“Right. We’ll talk about it tonight.”
“Great. Something not to look forward to,” I mutter.
He laughs, then leans down and touches his lips to mine before releasing me and taking a step back.
“Do you need help in here?”
“No, I’ve got it covered.” I sigh.
“All right. I have some stuff to take care of in the office.”
“Okay,” I say, thinking that I should ask Martina and/or Tony to go over the administrative side of the business with me one day so that I will know what I’m doing when the time comes.
I know everything about running the front of the shop, but I’m clueless about everything that happens behind the scenes.
“It’s just you and me closing tonight.” He pulls me from my thoughts, and I focus on him. “Before we shut everything down, I’ll make us a pie to take to your place.”
“Sounds good,” I agree.
He gives me a small smile, then leaves the kitchen.
Once I finish with the marinara sauce, I take it off the burner to cool. Then I grab the garbage and head to the back door. As soon as I step outside, a small flash of white zooms past me and disappears under the dumpster.
Living in New York, I’m used to rats. From the glimpse I caught, though, I thought it was a kitten. I grab my cell phone out of my pocket and turn on the flashlight, then lean down to see if I can see the cat. A pair of wide eyes stares back at me, and my heart melts in my chest.
I was right; it’s a kitten. A tiny white one—or it looks like it once was white, but it’s covered with grime and dirt.
“Come here, kitty, kitty,” I whisper. It backs up. “I promise I won’t hurt you.” It takes a step toward me, then jumps back when a loud thud comes from somewhere close. “It’s okay . . . There is nothing to be afraid of. I promise I won’t hurt you.” Seeing that my urging isn’t going to bring him or her out of hiding, I head back inside. I wash my hands and then grab a paper plate and go to the front where we make the pizzas.
“Can you put some ham on here?” I ask Hector.
He looks at the plate, then at me. He shrugs before he places a few pieces of ham on the plate without question.
I go back outside and set the plate on the ground, then turn my flashlight back on the kitten and see that it’s right where I left it.
“I brought you some food,” I tell the kitten. It looks at me and then at the plate. I push it under the dumpster. “Come on, baby. It’s okay.”
It doesn’t make a move toward the food. Figuring I will have to earn its trust, I leave the plate and head inside, hoping my absence will draw it out of hiding.
“What’s going on?” Hector asks after I wash my hands again.
“There’s a kitten outside under the dumpster. I was trying to lure it out of hiding with food.”
“Chiquita, there’s a million strays in the city,” Hector says.
Antonio comes up to my side with a pen and paper in his hand.
“Why are you two talking about strays?” Antonio asks.
“Libby saw a stray cat out under the dumpster in the back.”
“There’s strays back there all the time, Princess.”
I roll my eyes.
“I know, but this wasn’t a cat—it was a kitten. A tiny, tiny kitten.”
“You want to rescue it?” Antonio asks. I nod. “Baby, it’s probably wild. Just call animal control.”
“I will if I can’t lure it out.”
“If you can’t lure it out?” he repeats, his brows pulling together.
“Yes.”
“What are you going to do with it if you do manage to lure it out?”
I shrug. “I don’t know. Give it a bath and take it home . . . ?”
“Take it home?”
“Why are you repeating everything I say?”
“Because you’re talking about taking a feral cat home with you.”
“It’s just a kitten,” I remind him.
“It’s also wild.”
“Whatever. I don’t know why we’re discussing this. I’m not asking you for help in luring it out or taking care of it.”
“Taking care of it?” He looks at me like I have a few screws loose.
“Yes, taking care of it—if I can get it out. I’ll take it home, clean it up, then take it to the vet to make sure it’s okay.”
“Then you’re going to keep it?”
“Well, yeah, if I can.”
“And if you can’t keep it?”
“Then I will find it a good home.”
“You’re serious?”
He sounds surprised, and I really don’t know why—I just told him what my plan was.
“I’m going to get my coat, then head down the block to the corner store to get some milk for it.”
“Fuck me. You’re serious.”
“I already told you I was serious,” I growl, and his face softens in a way that I have to say I like a whole lot.
“I’ll go get you some milk.”
“I can get it.”
“And so can I. You stay here where it’s warm. I’ll go get you some milk for your wild cat,” he says, making me wonder how it’s possible that he can be a jerk and sweet at the exact same time.
“I think we do.”
I try not to be distracted by how good his hand feels on my neck, with his thumb sweeping softly against my pulse.
“If I didn’t think we had staying power, I’d agree with you.”
What?
“What?” I whisper aloud.
“You like me, right?”
“I . . .”
“You like me, and I like you.”
“You like me?” I ask stupidly.
His head jerks back.
“Yeah.”
“Oh.”
“Fuck, but you’re cute when you’re clueless.” He leans in to touch his mouth to mine quickly; then he pulls back, meeting my gaze once more. “Mom already knows we have plans tonight. I told her about them.”
“You told your mom?”
“She’s happy about the idea of me and you together. So yeah, I told her. She needs good stuff to think about right now.”
“Oh my god,” I whisper. “Why did you do that? What if things don’t work out?”
“Did you call your mom today?” he questions, cutting me off. I look to the side. “Didn’t you tell her we have plans tonight?”
“No,” I admit.
He frowns.
“Why not?”
“My mom’s crazy.”
“What?”
“If I tell her we have plans tonight, she will likely call the nearest judge and ask when he can fit in a wedding. Then she’ll toss out my birth control in hopes I get knocked up so you’ll have a reason to stick around after we have a shotgun wedding.”
“Baby . . .” His lips twitch like he thinks I’m being funny, and he shakes his head.
“You think I’m kidding, but I’m not.” I rest my hands against his solid chest.
“You’re on birth control?” he asks suddenly, changing the subject.
My body jolts.
“What?”
“You said she’d toss your birth control.”
“I . . . well . . . yeah, I’m on birth control,” I say, feeling my cheeks get warm at the admission of something so personal.
“Why?”
“Why?” I parrot.
“Yeah. Why are you on birth control?”
“Because . . .”
“Baby, you’re a virgin. Why are you on birth control if you’re a virgin?”
Oh my god. This conversation has suddenly gone completely past the point of embarrassing to humiliating.
“Do we really need to talk about this?” I question.
“Yeah,” he answers firmly, bringing me closer to him by wrapping his hand around my hip.
“Okay. But do we really need to talk about this right now and right here?” I counter.
He looks around like he just realized where we are.
“Right. We’ll talk about it tonight.”
“Great. Something not to look forward to,” I mutter.
He laughs, then leans down and touches his lips to mine before releasing me and taking a step back.
“Do you need help in here?”
“No, I’ve got it covered.” I sigh.
“All right. I have some stuff to take care of in the office.”
“Okay,” I say, thinking that I should ask Martina and/or Tony to go over the administrative side of the business with me one day so that I will know what I’m doing when the time comes.
I know everything about running the front of the shop, but I’m clueless about everything that happens behind the scenes.
“It’s just you and me closing tonight.” He pulls me from my thoughts, and I focus on him. “Before we shut everything down, I’ll make us a pie to take to your place.”
“Sounds good,” I agree.
He gives me a small smile, then leaves the kitchen.
Once I finish with the marinara sauce, I take it off the burner to cool. Then I grab the garbage and head to the back door. As soon as I step outside, a small flash of white zooms past me and disappears under the dumpster.
Living in New York, I’m used to rats. From the glimpse I caught, though, I thought it was a kitten. I grab my cell phone out of my pocket and turn on the flashlight, then lean down to see if I can see the cat. A pair of wide eyes stares back at me, and my heart melts in my chest.
I was right; it’s a kitten. A tiny white one—or it looks like it once was white, but it’s covered with grime and dirt.
“Come here, kitty, kitty,” I whisper. It backs up. “I promise I won’t hurt you.” It takes a step toward me, then jumps back when a loud thud comes from somewhere close. “It’s okay . . . There is nothing to be afraid of. I promise I won’t hurt you.” Seeing that my urging isn’t going to bring him or her out of hiding, I head back inside. I wash my hands and then grab a paper plate and go to the front where we make the pizzas.
“Can you put some ham on here?” I ask Hector.
He looks at the plate, then at me. He shrugs before he places a few pieces of ham on the plate without question.
I go back outside and set the plate on the ground, then turn my flashlight back on the kitten and see that it’s right where I left it.
“I brought you some food,” I tell the kitten. It looks at me and then at the plate. I push it under the dumpster. “Come on, baby. It’s okay.”
It doesn’t make a move toward the food. Figuring I will have to earn its trust, I leave the plate and head inside, hoping my absence will draw it out of hiding.
“What’s going on?” Hector asks after I wash my hands again.
“There’s a kitten outside under the dumpster. I was trying to lure it out of hiding with food.”
“Chiquita, there’s a million strays in the city,” Hector says.
Antonio comes up to my side with a pen and paper in his hand.
“Why are you two talking about strays?” Antonio asks.
“Libby saw a stray cat out under the dumpster in the back.”
“There’s strays back there all the time, Princess.”
I roll my eyes.
“I know, but this wasn’t a cat—it was a kitten. A tiny, tiny kitten.”
“You want to rescue it?” Antonio asks. I nod. “Baby, it’s probably wild. Just call animal control.”
“I will if I can’t lure it out.”
“If you can’t lure it out?” he repeats, his brows pulling together.
“Yes.”
“What are you going to do with it if you do manage to lure it out?”
I shrug. “I don’t know. Give it a bath and take it home . . . ?”
“Take it home?”
“Why are you repeating everything I say?”
“Because you’re talking about taking a feral cat home with you.”
“It’s just a kitten,” I remind him.
“It’s also wild.”
“Whatever. I don’t know why we’re discussing this. I’m not asking you for help in luring it out or taking care of it.”
“Taking care of it?” He looks at me like I have a few screws loose.
“Yes, taking care of it—if I can get it out. I’ll take it home, clean it up, then take it to the vet to make sure it’s okay.”
“Then you’re going to keep it?”
“Well, yeah, if I can.”
“And if you can’t keep it?”
“Then I will find it a good home.”
“You’re serious?”
He sounds surprised, and I really don’t know why—I just told him what my plan was.
“I’m going to get my coat, then head down the block to the corner store to get some milk for it.”
“Fuck me. You’re serious.”
“I already told you I was serious,” I growl, and his face softens in a way that I have to say I like a whole lot.
“I’ll go get you some milk.”
“I can get it.”
“And so can I. You stay here where it’s warm. I’ll go get you some milk for your wild cat,” he says, making me wonder how it’s possible that he can be a jerk and sweet at the exact same time.
