Page 58 of I'm Your Guy
Warmth blooms inside my chest. “Thank you. Something to do with my hands when Rigo puts on the hockey game.”
“Well, it’s really cool. So, uh, thanks.”
We stare at each other again. Oops. I know I should stop. It’s just that I really like his face.
Luckily, this heady moment is interrupted by a shout. “Hey, DiCosta.”
We both turn to see a guy in a Cougars jacket trotting across the street. Thanks to Rigo’s hockey habit, I recognize Hudson Newgate.
“Sorry to ask,” Newgate says as he approaches. “But is there any chance I could catch a lift to the rink? My battery is dead.”
“Sure,” Tommaso says. “You want a jump, though?”
Newgate shakes his head. “Already tried.”
“Okay, let’s go.”
We head off the porch, and when we reach the street, Newgate greets me. “Hi there,” he says. “I’m Hudson Newgate.” He thrusts out a hand.
“Hi,” I say stiffly. But then I offer my hand, because you never know when you’re going to meet a client. “I’m Carter, the interior designer.”
His eyes widen. “Really. DiCosta is going upscale?”
Tommaso rolls his eyes. “I don’t know shit about furniture. Carter does. Now my place looks amazing.”
“You gonna have us over to see it?” Newgate asks. “That would be fun.”
“After the holidays, sure.” Tommaso turns to me with a two-finger salute. “I’ll catch up with you later?”
“Of course. Have a nice day at the office.”
A little smile forms at the corners of his mouth, and then he turns away. I watch them go, conflicted.
I came here spoiling for a fight. I wanted to hash it out.
Obviously, he wants to smooth it over and pretend it never happened.
So I guess that’s what we’re going to do.
TWENTY-ONE
Tommaso
On the way to the practice facility, I’m lost inside my head.
It’s a blessing that Carter turned up on my doorstep this morning, because I hadn’t known what to say to him, and I’d been doomed to brood about it all day long.
Still, I almost didn’t survive the encounter. Finding an indignant Carter on my doorstep—his hair shining in the morning sunlight, face flushed and animated, eyes flashing—made me want to kiss the hell out of him all over again.
I like it that way, he’d said. The best sixty seconds of my month.
Yeah? Well, it had been the best sixty seconds of my life. But he can never know that.
“You okay?” Newgate asks me from the passenger’s seat, and I realize I haven’t said a word for five minutes.
“God, sorry. I’m such an asshole,” I say immediately.
He laughs. “Not really, but I can tell you’ve got a lot on your mind.”
