Total pages in book: 80
Estimated words: 74548 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 373(@200wpm)___ 298(@250wpm)___ 248(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 74548 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 373(@200wpm)___ 298(@250wpm)___ 248(@300wpm)
“Dad,” I said, “this is my best friend Christopher.” My roommate held up a hand by way of greeting. “And this,” I said, coming up to Dante and resting my hand on his big bicep, “is my fiancé, Dante Dombruso.”
“Holy shit,” my father muttered. And then it occurred to me that maybe my Teamster father knew about organized crime in this city. Maybe he knew exactly who was staring him down, bringing to life the expression ‘if looks could kill.’
Dante pushed off the counter and came to stand right in front of my dad, arms still crossed over his chest. He was intimidating as hell when he wanted to be, and God was it hot. “You hurt Charlie. You hurt the person that means more to me than anyone else in this world,” Dante told him in a low voice. “You do that again, and it’ll be the last thing you ever do.”
A little giggle escaped me, and I pressed my knuckles to my mouth and tried to cover it by clearing my throat. Everyone in the room turned to stare at me, and I said, “Damn. I’ve never seen you in action, Dante. That’s impressive.” I smiled at him, and he raised an eyebrow at me. “But you don’t have to threaten my dad. He knows he messed up. And I’m done letting him hurt me, he doesn’t have that kind of power over me anymore. So, instead of threatening to chuck him the bay after fitting him with a set of cement loafers, how about if you just shake hands with your future father-in-law?”
Dante grinned, just a little, and then got serious again as he turned back to my dad and stuck his hand out. My dad shook it quickly.
A slightly hysterical yip came from the end of the kitchen. Peaches was in his pen, vibrating with excitement, wagging his stumpy tail so hard that the back three quarters of the dog was wagging along with it.
“Peaches!” my father exclaimed and rushed up to the pen, snatching up the dog. Instead of trying to chew my father’s head off, the dog barked delightedly and licked his face.
“You have got to be kidding me,” Christopher murmured.
“I never thought I’d see this little fella again,” my father said happily. “I thought your mother took him along to Ohio. How did he get here?”
“She dropped him off on the way to the airport. She didn’t want to leave him at home with you, because she thought you’d take him to the pound,” I told him.
“I would never do that, not in a million years. Why would I?”
I shrugged and said, “Guess she was mistaken. So, do you want to take him with you? He’d enjoy being back in his home and his yard. He doesn’t like apartment life.” Or any of us.
And so Peaches the dog went home with my father, and Dante and Christopher and I let out a collective sigh of relief. My father and I had agreed to talk soon, maybe get together to watch a game. Football had always been our common ground. “So,” I said, falling back onto the couch, “my dad was happier to see the dog than he was to see me. And my mother had a much harder time saying goodbye to the dog than her own son. I think I’m developing an inferiority complex to a smelly zombie lap dog.”
“It’s kind of surprising that you’re as normal as you are, with those parents,” Christopher told me with a little grin, curling up on a chair.
“Cement loafers?” Dante said, coming into the room and sitting beside me. “Really?”
“Well, what do you want? I was never in the mafia. I don’t know a bunch of cool gangster euphemisms for offing someone,” I told him with a smile.
Dante was holding a plate of pumpkin pie and fed me a forkful, his dark eyes going even darker when I ended up with whipped cream on my mouth. He leaned in and slowly licked it off my lips, and Christopher sighed and said, “Man, anything will set you two off. I’ll go for a walk or something.”
He started to get up, but Dante said, “No, stay. There’s someplace I’m planning to take Charlie, so I’m not getting anything started.”
When we finished eating, we got in Dante’s BMW. It was a glorious fall day, the sky a cloudless blue, and I rested my hand on my fiancé’s knee as we drove across town.
His cell phone rang and I picked it up and put it on speaker. “Dante? You better not have me on a fucking speaker phone,” Mrs. Dombruso exclaimed.
“Hi Nana,” I said, “we’re in the car. And this way we can both talk to you at once.”
“Well, I guess that’s ok then. So listen, I just got off the phone with the Mark Hopkins. The bastards are totally booked for New Year’s. So then I had a flash of inspiration. We should have your wedding here, in my house! I mean, what’s the point in having a grand ballroom if nobody ever gets married in it?”