Page 13 of Stuck with Me

“It would last as long as you needed it to.”

“Well, shit. I’m sort of needy.” Our bantering has gotten way off course and has manifested into foreplay. Time to land this plane. “But again, unlike my grandma, I don’t mix business with pleasure. And with you, Mr. Moretti, it’s going to be strictly business.”

He screws up his face like he’s sad about this and fakes a silent sob. It only makes me hotter. It’s so infuriating. “That’s fine with me because I never said I wanted to sleep with you. You’re not my type.”

“Oh, right, because I’m not made of fiberglass and plastic. You’ll probably have better luck finding your perfect woman displaying the most recent fashions at Macy’s.” I snicker.

“And I’m sure you’d fancy yourself a mate down at the state penitentiary on release day.”

I narrow my eyes. “Well, shit. This almost never happens.”

He quirks a brow. “Yeah, what’s that?”

Resting my elbows on the tabletop, I gift him with a front-row ticket to the Rosie’s Impressive Rack show. “After spending the evening with you, I hate you even more than I did before.”

“Would ya look at that, we have something in common after all,” he sneers, scratching at his beard where a hint of grey is showing off.

There’s something about it—the subtle grey in not only his beard but at his temples. It’s so hot I want to not only ask him if he wants to get out of here, but I’m desperate for it.

It’s not lost on me how fucked up this is. I hate Nico. I hate him for who he is. I hate him for what he’s doing here.

And yet, my fingers ache with the deep need to tangle in his hair.

Nico’s phone rings and thank, God. Because I might’ve blurted out exactly what I’m thinking.

When he checks the screen, a flash of worry crosses his face like he’s debating if he should answer. But he gives in, holding up a finger to me, and presses his phone to his ear as he says, “Hey, Mama.”

I trace the side of my neck with my fingers as I glance around the bar, trying not to eavesdrop. There’s only a handful of people still loitering. I assume most have gone home to spend Christmas Eve with family and friends. It’s another reminder that Gigi is gone and I’m alone.

It’s been so long since I lost my parents that I barely remember Christmas with them. But Gigi and I had lots of traditions. We went to the Christmas Eve service at the Lutheran church then returned home and exchanged one gift with each other followed by watching National Lampoon’s Christmas Vacation. In the morning she’d make frittatas and cornetti for breakfast and we’d open the rest of our gifts while Christmas music played in the background. Then we’d join the Martins for Christmas dinner.

A deep ache builds in my chest. Sometimes the grief over losing Gigi feels that way. Like a heavy weight sitting on my chest and making it difficult to catch my next breath.

“Good, glad to hear Amelia made it home safely,” Nico says.

My brain catches on the nameAmeliaand my thoughts shift to wondering who she is. Maybe it’s an ex.

“I really wish you would’ve waited to go until after Christmas.” The woman’s voice on the other end of the phone is so loud I can hear most of what she’s saying.

“I know, but this needs to be taken care of now,” Nico responds while he looks at me.

I glance away, spotting Jones across the restaurant as he’s putting on his coat.

“Did you meet the granddaughter of the whore yet?”

I whip my head back to Nico, my eyes widening.

He winces. “Mama,” he scolds.

“What?” she answers shrilly. “That woman cannot be trusted. Her grandmother tricked your granddad into throwing away his inheritance. And it’s your job to make things right.”

A violent heat fills me, beginning in my feet and traveling through the rest of my body quickly. I push to stand, my legs feeling like they’re full of lead.

“I gotta go. I’ll call you in the morning,” Nico rushes out the words and stands with me. “I’m sorry about my mother. She’s got no filter sometimes.”

No filter? More like no respect for the dead.

“Your mother is a piece of fucking work. Where does she get off talking shit about my grandma?” I wrestle with my coat as I tug it over my shoulders.

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