Tossed Into Love
Page 7
“Miss Ina, he’s just picking up a key. My virtue is safe,” I mutter.
Her eyes go to Antonio and narrow.
I peek up at him to see him fighting back a smile.
“This isn’t funny.”
“It’s a little funny, Princess,” he says, looking at me.
Rolling my eyes, I look down the stairs at Miss Ina. “He’s not even coming inside. You can go back to bed.”
“Fine, but I’ll be calling your mother about this later,” she says.
I don’t reply, just watch her hobble away with her walker.
Once she’s out of sight, I look at Antonio. “I’ll be right back.” I leave the door open a crack and go to my bedroom. I find his key in the jeans I had on last night. I grab it and head back to the living room, then stop dead when I find Antonio in my kitchen and the door to the fridge open.
“What are you doing?”
“I didn’t have a chance to have breakfast,” he tells me.
I blink at him.
“You didn’t have breakfast?”
“It’s only six. Nothing was open.” He shrugs, then looks into the fridge once more.
“Okay . . . so pick something up when you leave,” I suggest.
His eyes move back to me. “Why? I’m here now.”
“Antonio—”
“Have you eaten yet?” he asks, cutting me off.
I feel my head twitch. “No . . .”
“So I’ll make us breakfast while you get ready for work,” he states.
I stare at him, wondering if he’s been abducted by aliens. First he tells me I’m pretty, then calls me “babe,” and now he’s offering to make me breakfast?
“Babe, you might want to get a move on. You need to get ready to leave,” he says.
I look from him to the clock, then feel my eyes widen when I see that he’s right. I don’t have a lot of time before I need to leave for work. It’s going to take me forever to sort out my hair. With no time to deal with whatever is going on with him, I drop his key to the restaurant in the kitchen and grab an outfit from my wardrobe. I go into my bedroom and shut the door behind me. On autopilot, I shower, do my hair and makeup, and get dressed. I’ve chosen a pair of black slacks and a black scoop-neck sweater with a bow that ties behind my neck—its cream ribbon matches my boots. When I’m done, I open the bedroom door and find that Antonio is no longer in the kitchen. He’s sitting on my couch with two plates of scrambled eggs and toast in front of him on the coffee table, along with two cups of coffee.
“You gonna stare at it, or are you going to eat it?”
At his words, I meet his gaze, head across the room, and take a seat.
“Thank you,” I mumble, picking up my plate.
“You have nothing but junk food in your fridge. How the hell do you have that body?” he asks as I take a bite of toast.
I almost choke on it when I try to swallow.
“I’ve always been skinny. I have healthy food, too . . .”
“Where?” he counters.
I look at him and narrow my eyes. “There’s some canned veggies in the cupboard, and you found the eggs,” I point out.
“Right . . . canned veggies and eggs.” His lips twitch, and my stomach does that weird dip thing it’s been doing a lot lately.
“I work a lot. I don’t have time to cook three-course meals all the time, so I normally eat on the go,” I say by way of self-defense as I grab the remote and turn on the TV. I flip around to find a morning news show.
“Do you make good money doing makeup and hair?”
Even though the question is asked casually, it still makes me feel a little strange—like there is a deeper question hidden behind it.
“Can I ask you why you’re asking me that?”
“You told me the other day that the top you had on cost you two hundred dollars. I’m just curious if you bought it yourself or if someone got it for you.”
“If someone got it for me?” I repeat.
His eyes wander over me in a way I try to tell myself I don’t like all that much.
“Yeah. Did a man take you shopping, or did you buy it for yourself?”
“A man bought it for me,” I toss back at him, enjoying watching his eyes shutter and his jaw clench. “That man was my dad. It was my birthday gift last year from him,” I state, completely offended.
Suddenly I realize exactly what kind of girl he thinks I am. Dropping my half-eaten piece of toast on my plate and picking up my cup of coffee, I take both to the kitchen and drop them into the sink. I don’t even bother to scrape the eggs off into the garbage.
“Libby . . . ,” he calls, but I don’t look at him.
“If you’re done, I need to get to work.” I grab my coat off the arm of the couch and put it on, along with my scarf. Then I pick up my purse.
“I didn’t mean anything by my question.”
“You did,” I state, finally looking at him.
He flinches.
Whatever.
“I need to leave. Are you done?” I ask, seeing that he hasn’t moved from his spot on the couch.
“Lib—”
“Fine. Just lock up before you go.” I cut him off as I open the door and step out. I don’t slam the door behind me even though I want to, but I do stomp down the stairs.
“I thought he wasn’t going inside,” Miss Ina says, startling me.
I jump in place, grabbing my chest.
“Miss Ina, not now. Please.”
“I know, I know.” She waves a hand at me. “You don’t have time to talk because you need to get to work, but I expect you over for tea so we can talk about why you look ready to commit murder.”
“How do you feel about helping me hide a body?”
“I’m old, girl, but I still have a life to live. I can’t go to prison.”
“Right,” I sigh, defeated. My eyes widen when I hear my apartment door open and shut. “Crap,” I whisper.
I rush to Miss Ina and shuffle her back into her apartment. I follow her and close the door as quietly as I can while she asks loudly, “What on earth are you doing?”
Putting my finger to my mouth in a silent demand, I then get up on my toes to look through her peephole until I see Antonio walk past her door. Letting out a relieved breath, my shoulders sag.
“Seems you got it bad for that boy,” she murmurs.
I glare at her. “I hate him.”
“I bet you do.”
“No, seriously. I do. I hate him.”
“Okay.” Her lips twitch, and I fight the urge to stomp my foot to emphasize my point. “Is he gone?” she asks.
“Yes.”
“Well, then, what are you doing? Don’t you need to get to work?”
“What if he’s outside?”
“If he’s outside, then you know he’s got it bad for you, too,” she tells me.
“He hates me more than I hate him.”
“Sure he does,” she mutters, moving me out of the way and opening the door. “Now, go on.”
“Why did Mac insist on befriending you?” I question.
Her nose scrunches up. “I don’t know, but you need to go. I have things to do.”
“Fine.” I swallow, then peek out into the corridor. Seeing it empty, I step out and turn back to say thanks to her for letting me hide out in her apartment. Before I can, she slams the door and locks me out. “Grumpy old woman.”
“I heard that!” she shouts.
I mouth “I heard that,” then turn on my heel and open the front door to the house. Seeing Antonio standing on the sidewalk, I grit my teeth.
“Libby!” he calls, but I ignore him as I head to the edge of the sidewalk to catch a cab to work. “I’m sorry.”
“Good.”
“I shouldn’t have asked you that.”
“No, you shouldn’t have,” I agree, feeling him get close to where I’m standing.
“Can you look at me?”
“Don’t you need to be somewhere?” I snarl, pissed at him and at myself.
I’m angry at myself for liking him when I shouldn’t and angry at him for being a jerk one minute and sweet the next.
Her eyes go to Antonio and narrow.
I peek up at him to see him fighting back a smile.
“This isn’t funny.”
“It’s a little funny, Princess,” he says, looking at me.
Rolling my eyes, I look down the stairs at Miss Ina. “He’s not even coming inside. You can go back to bed.”
“Fine, but I’ll be calling your mother about this later,” she says.
I don’t reply, just watch her hobble away with her walker.
Once she’s out of sight, I look at Antonio. “I’ll be right back.” I leave the door open a crack and go to my bedroom. I find his key in the jeans I had on last night. I grab it and head back to the living room, then stop dead when I find Antonio in my kitchen and the door to the fridge open.
“What are you doing?”
“I didn’t have a chance to have breakfast,” he tells me.
I blink at him.
“You didn’t have breakfast?”
“It’s only six. Nothing was open.” He shrugs, then looks into the fridge once more.
“Okay . . . so pick something up when you leave,” I suggest.
His eyes move back to me. “Why? I’m here now.”
“Antonio—”
“Have you eaten yet?” he asks, cutting me off.
I feel my head twitch. “No . . .”
“So I’ll make us breakfast while you get ready for work,” he states.
I stare at him, wondering if he’s been abducted by aliens. First he tells me I’m pretty, then calls me “babe,” and now he’s offering to make me breakfast?
“Babe, you might want to get a move on. You need to get ready to leave,” he says.
I look from him to the clock, then feel my eyes widen when I see that he’s right. I don’t have a lot of time before I need to leave for work. It’s going to take me forever to sort out my hair. With no time to deal with whatever is going on with him, I drop his key to the restaurant in the kitchen and grab an outfit from my wardrobe. I go into my bedroom and shut the door behind me. On autopilot, I shower, do my hair and makeup, and get dressed. I’ve chosen a pair of black slacks and a black scoop-neck sweater with a bow that ties behind my neck—its cream ribbon matches my boots. When I’m done, I open the bedroom door and find that Antonio is no longer in the kitchen. He’s sitting on my couch with two plates of scrambled eggs and toast in front of him on the coffee table, along with two cups of coffee.
“You gonna stare at it, or are you going to eat it?”
At his words, I meet his gaze, head across the room, and take a seat.
“Thank you,” I mumble, picking up my plate.
“You have nothing but junk food in your fridge. How the hell do you have that body?” he asks as I take a bite of toast.
I almost choke on it when I try to swallow.
“I’ve always been skinny. I have healthy food, too . . .”
“Where?” he counters.
I look at him and narrow my eyes. “There’s some canned veggies in the cupboard, and you found the eggs,” I point out.
“Right . . . canned veggies and eggs.” His lips twitch, and my stomach does that weird dip thing it’s been doing a lot lately.
“I work a lot. I don’t have time to cook three-course meals all the time, so I normally eat on the go,” I say by way of self-defense as I grab the remote and turn on the TV. I flip around to find a morning news show.
“Do you make good money doing makeup and hair?”
Even though the question is asked casually, it still makes me feel a little strange—like there is a deeper question hidden behind it.
“Can I ask you why you’re asking me that?”
“You told me the other day that the top you had on cost you two hundred dollars. I’m just curious if you bought it yourself or if someone got it for you.”
“If someone got it for me?” I repeat.
His eyes wander over me in a way I try to tell myself I don’t like all that much.
“Yeah. Did a man take you shopping, or did you buy it for yourself?”
“A man bought it for me,” I toss back at him, enjoying watching his eyes shutter and his jaw clench. “That man was my dad. It was my birthday gift last year from him,” I state, completely offended.
Suddenly I realize exactly what kind of girl he thinks I am. Dropping my half-eaten piece of toast on my plate and picking up my cup of coffee, I take both to the kitchen and drop them into the sink. I don’t even bother to scrape the eggs off into the garbage.
“Libby . . . ,” he calls, but I don’t look at him.
“If you’re done, I need to get to work.” I grab my coat off the arm of the couch and put it on, along with my scarf. Then I pick up my purse.
“I didn’t mean anything by my question.”
“You did,” I state, finally looking at him.
He flinches.
Whatever.
“I need to leave. Are you done?” I ask, seeing that he hasn’t moved from his spot on the couch.
“Lib—”
“Fine. Just lock up before you go.” I cut him off as I open the door and step out. I don’t slam the door behind me even though I want to, but I do stomp down the stairs.
“I thought he wasn’t going inside,” Miss Ina says, startling me.
I jump in place, grabbing my chest.
“Miss Ina, not now. Please.”
“I know, I know.” She waves a hand at me. “You don’t have time to talk because you need to get to work, but I expect you over for tea so we can talk about why you look ready to commit murder.”
“How do you feel about helping me hide a body?”
“I’m old, girl, but I still have a life to live. I can’t go to prison.”
“Right,” I sigh, defeated. My eyes widen when I hear my apartment door open and shut. “Crap,” I whisper.
I rush to Miss Ina and shuffle her back into her apartment. I follow her and close the door as quietly as I can while she asks loudly, “What on earth are you doing?”
Putting my finger to my mouth in a silent demand, I then get up on my toes to look through her peephole until I see Antonio walk past her door. Letting out a relieved breath, my shoulders sag.
“Seems you got it bad for that boy,” she murmurs.
I glare at her. “I hate him.”
“I bet you do.”
“No, seriously. I do. I hate him.”
“Okay.” Her lips twitch, and I fight the urge to stomp my foot to emphasize my point. “Is he gone?” she asks.
“Yes.”
“Well, then, what are you doing? Don’t you need to get to work?”
“What if he’s outside?”
“If he’s outside, then you know he’s got it bad for you, too,” she tells me.
“He hates me more than I hate him.”
“Sure he does,” she mutters, moving me out of the way and opening the door. “Now, go on.”
“Why did Mac insist on befriending you?” I question.
Her nose scrunches up. “I don’t know, but you need to go. I have things to do.”
“Fine.” I swallow, then peek out into the corridor. Seeing it empty, I step out and turn back to say thanks to her for letting me hide out in her apartment. Before I can, she slams the door and locks me out. “Grumpy old woman.”
“I heard that!” she shouts.
I mouth “I heard that,” then turn on my heel and open the front door to the house. Seeing Antonio standing on the sidewalk, I grit my teeth.
“Libby!” he calls, but I ignore him as I head to the edge of the sidewalk to catch a cab to work. “I’m sorry.”
“Good.”
“I shouldn’t have asked you that.”
“No, you shouldn’t have,” I agree, feeling him get close to where I’m standing.
“Can you look at me?”
“Don’t you need to be somewhere?” I snarl, pissed at him and at myself.
I’m angry at myself for liking him when I shouldn’t and angry at him for being a jerk one minute and sweet the next.
