Total pages in book: 71
Estimated words: 68413 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 342(@200wpm)___ 274(@250wpm)___ 228(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 68413 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 342(@200wpm)___ 274(@250wpm)___ 228(@300wpm)
“Don’t get too excited. I promised your mom I’d find out what’s going on with you and that boy. She said you’re not telling her anything.”
“You’re bribing me with breakfast to get information for my mom?”
“She’s worried about you,” she grumbles, dishing out a large spoonful of cheesy potato, egg, and ham casserole onto my plate.
“I’m not telling her what’s going on because, as of right now, there is nothing to tell.”
“That boy leaving your place in the middle of the night says differently.”
“We just watched a movie.” I sigh.
“You said that already. Are you seeing him again?”
“Yes.”
“When?”
“Today.”
I shrug. We both work tonight, so he’s asked me to come over to his place when we get off. I’m excited to see it—and even more excited to spend more time with him.
“This will be three dates in a row. I think that means you have news for your mom, don’t you?”
“No,” I answer, taking a bite of the casserole. “This is delicious, by the way.”
“I know it is. I made it.”
I smile around another forkful.
“How many times do you need to see this boy before you talk to your mom about him?”
“I don’t know. Probably a million.” I shrug, and she shakes her head. “Miss Ina, we’re just getting to know each other. I don’t want to talk to my mom about him until I feel more solid in what’s happening between him and me.”
“I don’t understand you kids these days.”
“Neither do I,” I agree, picking up the glass of orange juice and taking a sip.
“Do you like him?” she prods after a few minutes of silence.
My stomach drops. I do like him—probably more than I should at this point. I’m also scared out of my mind.
“Well . . . ?” she prompts.
“I do like him.”
“Then what’s the issue?”
“I’ve had a crush on him for a long time.”
“Your mom mentioned that.” I’m sure my mom filled Miss Ina in on a lot of stuff when she was here for dinner the other night.
“I’m sure he’s known that . . . Everyone else apparently did,” I tell her, looking at my plate while pushing my food around. “And now, suddenly, he wants to spend time with me and is telling me he likes me. I just don’t know if I’m ready to believe him.”
“That’s probably smart,” she says softly. I lift my eyes to her. “It’s probably smart to take things slow. If he really does like you, he’ll wait for you to figure out your feelings.”
“I hope so.”
“If he doesn’t, it’s his loss. Not yours.”
I’m not sure she’s right. Now that I know how sweet Antonio can be, I’m starting to think it would totally be my loss.
Chapter 10
CUTE
ANTONIO
Arriving home from my morning run, I head down the hall to my kitchen and go right to the fridge. I grab a bottle of water, which I drain in a few gulps. When the front door buzzer goes off, I toss the empty bottle in the recycling bin and head to the door.
“Mom?” I frown, surprised to see her there.
“Hi, honey.” She tips her head to the side so I can kiss her cheek.
“What are you doing here?” I ask, seeing that she’s carrying several large shopping bags.
“Macy’s is having a sale. I got you a new bedspread, sheets, and a few pillows,” she says over her shoulder while walking into my apartment.
Staring at her back, I close the door and head down the short hall. She drops the bags on my brown leather couch, then starts to take off her coat.
“I don’t need new sheets or a new bedspread.” I walk into the kitchen to start a pot of coffee.
“Everyone needs new sheets every now and then.” She hangs her coat on the back of one of the two wooden chairs that sits at my dining table, set between the kitchen and living room.
“If I needed them, I would buy them.”
“Okay, then Libby will appreciate you having new sheets and a new bedspread when she comes over here.” She rolls her eyes.
“What?” I frown as I scoop out coffee into the coffee maker.
“No woman wants to sleep on sheets that another woman has slept on, Antonio.” She says it like I’m an idiot.
“No one but me has been in my bed or in my sheets since I moved into this place,” I tell her.
Her eyes widen with surprise. “What?”
“I’m not talking about that part of my life with you.”
Really, I have no idea why I even mentioned it. The fucked-up truth is that it didn’t seem right to bang some other chick while thinking about Libby—and I’ve been thinking about Libby since the moment I met her.
“You haven’t—”
“Mom, I’m never going there with you. So drop it,” I growl.
She presses her lips together, then mutters, “I just can’t believe this.”
“Jesus.”
“Antonio Enzo Moretti, do not use the lord’s name in vain,” she snaps, shooting daggers at me while crossing herself.