Page 87 of Good as Gold
“Right,” he says gently. “As far as I know, the wagon will close for business when I leave town. But I thought I’d check in with you, in case you wanted to do Skye’s event and bank the money.”
“What kind of event is it?” I ask, keeping my expression neutral. It guts me to acknowledge that Matteo is leaving in a couple weeks.
“Some kind of celebrity golf tournament.”
“Wait. Real celebrities?”
“This is Vermont, so we’re using that term loosely. I think it’s some local TV anchor that Skye knows. And also your brother, Mitch.”
“Oh. Does Mitch even golf?” He’s a professional hockey player, and he lives two thousand miles away. I barely know the guy anymore.
“Who knows?” Matteo shrugs. “I just work here.”
“Right. Sorry.” I cross to the other wall of shelves and find the binder my father uses to track upcoming beer deliveries.
My mind is occupied by thoughts of Matteo leaving, and I flip through the pages with unseeing eyes.
“Can’t believe your dad doesn’t use a computer,” Matteo says. “It’s, like, 1985 in this office.”
“You’re not wrong.” I scribble a note about a possible wagon event over the holiday weekend and then refile the binder.
Matteo moves closer. He glances toward the open door, and then pushes me up against the bookcase for a slow kiss.
This is neither the time nor place, but I grip his biceps anyway and kiss him right back.
In a few weeks he’ll be gone, and I’ll wish I had more of his kisses.
“Dinner later?” he whispers.
“Of course. Worthy Burger? Thai food? There’s always pizza.”
“No, I’ll cook,” he says. “I’ll swing by the store on the way home. And then I get to choose the movie, right? It’s only fair that the winner gets to pick.”
I roll my eyes. “Sure. Milk your victory for all it’s worth.”
He catches my hand before I can walk away. “Oh, that comes later,” he purrs into my ear. “I have afullevening planned for you. Very full. Just keep calling mesirafter you take your clothes off later,” he says. “I’ll make it worth your while. Sir Sexy Pants has big plans for you.”
“Yes,sir,” I say in a voice so sultry that it borders on ridiculous. Then he kisses my neck, and my skin flushes hot.
“I need to win bets more often,” he says under his breath before biting my earlobe.
I lean back against the bookshelf and close my eyes.This could be your life, a greedy little voice inside me says. I hear it a lot these days.
But that voice lies.
“Oh shit! Sorry!”
We jerk apart. That damn air conditioner is so loud that we didn’t hear Livia walk in.
“Sorry,” my father’s assistant says again. She tosses a file folder onto my father’s desk and then exits the room.
“Well, fuck,” Matteo says, rubbing the back of his neck. “That was my fault. Is it gonna be a problem for you?”
“Don’t worry about it.” Even if she ran straight to my father to tattle on me—and why would she?—it doesn’t really matter what he thinks.
Sure, I’ll have to listen to his judgements. But that’s just a normal Tuesday.
“What time shall I make you dinner?” he asks.
