Page 19 of Love Starves

A warm breeze tickles the strands of hair on my shoulder as he replies, “Thank you.”

Tossing a glance behind me, it’s to find him standing at my back with two glasses of white wine. Oddly enough, I didn’t even hear him make them or glide up behind me while I was enthralled with the view. Accepting the offered glass and taking a small sip, I ask, “Is it yours?”

A sweet smirk crosses his lips while they’re still touching his own glass. “Nope. I had Crue and Kenj scare the wits out of some poor, rich sap until he handed over his key.”

Without meaning for it to, a laugh bursts out of my chest. Firstly, because it’s not all that unbelievable when I picture it. Mostly, though, it’s because I never knew Nick to be one to tease. As I tell him such, his only reply is, “There are many things you don’t know about me.”

Before things can get weird or I have the chance to start overthinking things, Nick guides me to the table with an open palm. He even pulls out my chair like all proper like. It brings many questions to mind, but he doesn’t give me the opportunity to voice them just yet.

Waiting patiently for me to accept, I don't play the game of leaving him there for long, taking my seat and allowing him to push it in for me. As his fingers find a small knob on the wall, and he uses it to flick on the chandelier to a soft glow. It doesn't provide much in the way of lighting as it does in setting the mood. If he'd had turned it up any higher, I would've taken that as a sign for this being nothing more than a business meeting or nothing more than a dinner between mutual friends. The misconception wouldn't even be accepted by the dumbest of idiots. For now, I'll allow Nick to pretend, especially since it comes with such a great view, and I'm not talking about the lights.

At some point, maybe before pouring the wine, his jacket had come off and now rests on top of a stool. Letting my gaze settle on the back of his head, I love the way the chocolate locks caress the top of his white dress shirt. Then it crosses the wide expanse of his back when the muscles shift as he moves toward the kitchen. Which ultimately has my eyes landing on a tight ass that black slacks know just the right way to hug and make all that glute power noticeable. Several of these spots on a man's body are my biggest weaknesses. Taking another swig of my wine, I almost choke on it as I suck in a harsh breath while watching him roll the sleeves expertly up his forearms. The image of sitting on that counter and having his undivided attention, ripping that shirt open with buttons flying in every direction has a flush rising to my cheeks that has nothing to do with the wine I'm now knocking back like a lemonade.

The ease with which he moves around in the kitchen, grabbing a heavily Italian-scented pan from the oven and bread from a warming box, speaks truth about this being his home. He places both on the table before moving to the refrigerator to grab a bowl of premixed salad and a bottle of dressing. It's a good thing my life didn't depend on me telling anyone what's for dinner, even though it sits right in front of me, because I'm not too ashamed to admit my eyes haven't strayed from his sexy body long enough to find out.

Pouring me another glass of wine, he finally takes the seat closest to my right. I'm not even sure when I'd finished it off, but I give him a quiet hum of thanks, bringing a smile to his lips. Maybe it's because I haven't been laid in weeks, but my focus stays on those lips as he speaks, asking for approval before adding anything to my plate. For the first time since knowing him, color fills his cheeks under my scrutiny, and it makes me come back to myself.

In my distraction, I'm now noticing the enticing-smelling Italian is a lasagna that could rival the best five-star restaurant. The taste confirms it as well. I have to keep myself from groaning the second the rich tomato sauce and cheese hit my tongue. I hadn't eaten at the meeting and am now fighting the urge to pick up my plate and shovel this in sideways. Thankfully, I've had plenty of practice in many situations such as these. Taking smaller bites not only expresses that I'm not a savage, or in my case, a moron who forgot to eat today, but also extends conversation time.

Which, Nick takes advantage of, taking a drink and clearing his throat softly before asking, "Everything taste okay?"

The tone of his voice says he's actually concerned with my answer. It's such an odd thing to hear any kind of insecurities from any of Giovanni's men, and it throws my head for a loop. But it doesn't stop my reply, "It's fantastic. As apologies go, this is a pretty damn good one."

"Glad to hear it," he says with a soft smirk. "This was always the go-to dinner when somebody in my house messed up."

Curiosity burns deep in my chest and forces the words past my lips. "Is that so? How many times have you had to make it?"

This draws a huff of a laugh out of him at an obvious memory that he shares with me. "Only once." Rubbing the back of his head with the hand not holding his wine glass, that blush returns as he sheepishly admits. "I stole my dad's car and accidentally crashed it into a lake by our house."

My gasp is quiet but all too real. He's the least person I'd expect to have such a story. "So, what was the excuse for going Grand Theft Auto? Joy ride? Late night rendezvous with a date?" Asking the last question with an exaggerated wiggle of brows, even though something deep in the pit of my stomach stirs that has nothing to do with the food. I have no claim to these men and therefore have no right to allow jealousy to rear its ugly head. Yet, there it is. Chasing it down with a deep swallow of wine, I'm hoping my preoccupation encourages him to continue, and I'm not disappointed.

With a small shake of his head, he chuckles. "Nothing exciting like that, unfortunately. See, my father and grandfather had been estranged for going on fifteen years. Pretty much ever since I was born, because my mother wasn't approved of by my father's family. Even under the threat of being cut out of his inheritance, my father still chose my mother. Grandfather had been furious and held up to the threat, taking father off everything. As far as everyone knew, happiness had won over money. My parents had me, and on the outside seemed to be living the perfect American dream life in a nice neighborhood that father worked his ass off to provide. Those fifteen years flew by with neither speaking to the other, then out of the blue one day, grandfather calls to say he's deathly ill and wants to make amends and get to know his grandson."

Hazel-colored irises lift to my face, seeming to glow faintly from the table's chandelier reflection, and his smile is sweet. "That wasn't the first time I took the car. It was just the only time I got caught and wouldn't have been if it hadn't been for a dog in the road. I'd overheard conversation between my parents about grandfather. Thinking I was a grown up, I felt like I had the right to make my own decisions, so I started visiting him. I got roughly three months with him before he passed, but that night was my last. Father was furious that I'd been going behind his back. He was angrier about that than he was about the car that had to be fished out of the lake."

A grim expression falls over his face, and I know I'm not going to like this next part. Taking another long swig of my wine, I wait patiently for the end of his story.

"Grandfather died the next week. Alone in his big house, surrounded by nothing but material things and no one to care for him. I'd taken my anger out on my father, especially when he refused to even allow me to attend the funeral. I said some godawful things to him that I wish every day that I could take back. Come to find out, grandfather wanted to have the final word. On his deathbed, he'd managed to slip a letter for my father into his will. Not even a month later, father caught mother in bed with her doctor. They appeared to be working things out, even talked about seeing a therapist. Then one day, they got in the car to go to dinner, and he drove them off a bridge into the same lake I'd crashed into."

I know my eyes are as wide as saucers, so I quickly try to hide my surprise by bottoming out my glass. A fact that Nick quickly notices and absentmindedly fills it again.

Not giving me the chance to say thanks, he finishes his story in a rush like if he doesn't get it out fast enough then he won't ever do it. "I found grandfather's letter when I was packing up the house. He'd absolved my father of all guilt in their fight and apologized from the deepest pit of an old lonely man's heart. Said he wished he hadn't wasted the time he could've spent with his only son and remaining family. My father inherited a sum of money that would've shocked even a millionaire. Then at the end there, he still chose his love over money. Obviously, he couldn't fathom a world without my mother in it and didn't want to live one separate from her. See, she'd filed for divorce in secret, or so she thought, and he was to be served the same day they died. It's messed up, but it was my life. I stayed so pissed at my father for the longest time right there at the end while he was still alive. It wasn't until he was gone and I had no one, that I realized that life is just too short to stay angry over things. Even if it feels like it's the end of the world at the time. The last dinner I ever ate in the house I grew up in was this recipe."

He shrugs a shoulder. "I was the only one there at that point to eat it, but I felt like I owed him that much even if he wasn't there with me. I haven't had to make it since. Until now."

I don't know what's wrong with me. Emotions swirl ugly feelings inside my chest at what Nick had to go through. One minute, I'm angry on his behalf and the next, I want to cry for him. However, what comes past my lips is neither. I let out this ridiculously high-pitched giggle right before I trip over the words, "So, you just served me morbid-guilt lasagna?"

Somewhere in that awkward part of my brain that gets unlocked when I drink alcohol, my comment is funny, but I'm already shaking my head with an apology on my tongue as soon as I say it.

Instead of a normal person's response, or maybe he's just used to me being a bitch, Nick doesn't throw the pan in my face and yell at me to leave for being an insensitive asshole. No, his head tilts back with a laugh that sounds like it comes from his toes, it's so loud. I love the sound almost as much as watching his Adam's apple move as he does it. Maybe it's the wine, but the desire to straddle his legs in the seat and lick a line straight up his throat almost has me throwing inhibition to the wind.

His chin drops and that hazel gaze finds mine wanting. Licking his lips, he glances down to mine then back up again like he wants to eliminate the gap between us and have me for dessert. By god, I'd let him, too.

Forcibly swallowing, he finally breaks our staredown as he anxiously chuckles again and says, "Yeah, I guess I did. More wine?"

We've polished off the entire bottle, and by we, I mean probably me. I forget now how many times he had to refill mine. "I probably shouldn't. I still have to drive home."

He's already out of his seat before I can finish, grabbing another bottle from the fridge. "I'd say you're already over the limit to drive, so it's okay to have a little more. Besides, I've got a guest room, so you won't be driving home tonight."

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