Page 16 of Raging Inferno

Jimmy. His name is fucking Jimmy.

I liked the way it sounded coming from her mouth and that night I thought of all the ways I could make her scream fucking Jimmy again.

Too bad that was the last time I saw her or heard her sweet voice. It’s been nearly a month later and I still can’t get her off my mind. I wasn’t kidding about her having a face you don’t forget and I quickly learned there is nothing about Melissa Moscato you forget.

Not her face or her voice and certainly not her body. That body—goddamn.

“Dad!”

Shit.

“Sign the progress report, got it,” I respond. Clearing my throat, I climb into the truck beside Frankie.

“The teacher is ready to start. I’ll call you when I get home,” she says quickly not giving me a chance to say goodbye before she disconnects the call.

Ten minutes later Frankie pulls up to the supermarket and parks in the fire lane. We all jump out and I grab a cart.

“Hey, Probie,” Frankie calls, throwing an arm around Pete. “Do me a solid, will you? Head on over to the pharmacy department and ask him what’s good for hemorrhoids these days.”

“Dude, come on,” Pete groans.

“And don’t come back with some bullshit Preparation H either,” Frankie adds, giving him a pat on the back. Pete takes off for the pharmacy and the rest of us split up. Frankie heads to the seafood department for the fish, Colt starts for the canned tomatoes and Tony takes off in search for a loaf of semolina. As for me, I head to the produce aisle for the zucchini noodles and the rest of the ingredients.

I’m just about finished grabbing everything I need when I spot Melissa standing in front of a mountain of eggplants with a perplexed look on her face. Taking her in, I lean against the wagon and watch as she lifts one and then another before frowning and putting them both back.

“The lighter they are the fewer seeds they have,” I say, pushing off the cart. Startled she lifts her eyes to mine and I make my way toward her. Her tongue sneaks out and runs across her plump lips and like a moth to a flame, I’m drawn to her.

“Mr. Casale,” she stammers, running her fingers nervously through her long hair. Cocking my head to the side, I narrow my eyes and playfully smirk at her.

“I thought we moved past the formalities,” I say, stepping in front of her. While reaching for an eggplant, my arm brushes against hers and I hear her inhale a sharp breath. Like the night at the restaurant, she is clearly nervous around me and I can’t help but wonder why. Maybe the scene Lisa and I made in her office is the reason she’s uncomfortable or the fact every time I see her I blatantly stare at her. Whatever it is, I want to change it.

“You should call me Jimmy,” I tell her.

“Oh,” she murmurs. Raising an eyebrow, she watches as I study the eggplants trying to select the best one. “Why is that?” she asks.

“Well, for starters I’ve decided I’m going to call you Melissa from now on,” I pause, taking a moment to smile back at her. “Sisters orders and all that,” I add before glancing back at the eggplants and picking one from the pile. It doesn’t appear bruised and as I drop it from one hand to another, I decide it’s light enough not to be loaded with seeds.

“I should probably apologize for her,” she mutters.

“Nah,” I say, shaking my head.

“She’s great,” I add, bringing us face to face.

“She’s a pain in the ass but, she means well,” she replies, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. A beat of silence stretches between us and we both just stand there staring at one another trying to decide what to say next. In fascination, I watch as a shy smile spreads across her pretty mouth and the urge to touch her lips rolls through me.

Diverting her eyes to my hands, she tips her chin to the eggplant.

“They all feel the same to me,” she admits as I take her wrist, turn her palm over and drop the eggplant into her hand.

“Feel that one,” I insist, watching her fingers tighten around it.

“It’s nice and hard,” she murmurs. Her cheeks turn a pretty shade of pink as she slaps her free hand to her forehead. “That sounded ridiculous,” she groans, causing me to grin.

“You don’t want a soft eggplant,” I tease.

“No, I suppose that wouldn’t be good,” she replies, dropping her hand from her face. “I’m not usually this socially awkward,” she blurts, releasing a frustrated sigh. “Thanks for helping,” she adds, raising the eggplant with a sigh before tossing it into her basket.

“It’s the least I can do,” I tell her, not ready to end the conversation. “Thank you for helping Gabby get on the right track.”

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