Page 17 of Third Crime's A Charm
“Thank goodness,” Matteo replied and leaned close. “I’d definitely be in if it was her.”
“I know,” Truman said sadly and steered them toward the register. “You wouldn’t do it for me but you’d be on a plane and headed his way tonight if it was for her.”
Matteo hummed in agreement, his tone also sad but his attention was fixed on the line in front of them. “I might have, if you had just asked me.”
Seven
Apparently, Matteo wasn’t immune to Saturday night fever. He was already contemplating something foolish when they returned from their day out. He planned to blame it on the wine, but it was in God’s hands after Donna put on the Bee Gees.
After a day of touching and teasing, Matteo had gotten used to the feel of Truman’s arms around him and the low rumble of his voice. He still remembered how Truman had embarrassed him and crushed his romantic hopes for them. But on the way back from the market, Matteo decided to call a truce and put the moves on Donna’s Truman.
He was going to fuck the bean.
How could Matteo resist when Truman was so pleasantlyAmericanand domestic, with his tongs and his apron as he tended to the grill? He was unbearably sexy when he was being ruthless and imposing but Matteo found Truman’s softer side fascinating. Especially when he twirled Donna and did the Hustle with her on the deck. It shouldn’t have been a surprise that Truman was a good dancer, Matteo had seen firsthand how well he moved his hips.
Matteo’s plan to lure Donna into the hammock didn’t work out. She agreed to sit in it sideways, keeping her feet on the ground, but popped up five minutes later to make a salad. Donna was too much of a busybody and in more of a dancing mood, thanks to the wine. That left Matteo with his notepad and his thoughts so he planned to use the time to sketch and brainstorm.
But it wasn’t long before Donna pulled him up onto the back deck disco and pushed him at Truman. They spun and laughed and the three of them danced until the steaks were done. After dinner, Matteo suggested more dancing but Donna said it was time for her to turn in and vanished with their plates.
They laughed when the music changed to romantic classics and Dean Martin croonedThat’s Amore.The sun was setting and Matteo gave into the fantasy and the dreamy gleam in Truman’s eyes. He scooted his chair closer and held Truman’s hand as they kissed and finished off another bottle of wine.
“We should go to bed,” Matteo said, raising Truman’s hand and kissing his knuckles.
There was a hesitant groan as Truman leaned in and pecked at Matteo’s lips. “This is killing me,” he admitted softly. “I want you, just like this, but I know you’re going to change as soon as we’re inside and the door’s closed. I’m not ready to let you go yet.”
“We could keep going and do it out here,” Matteo suggested, then laughed at how red Truman’s face turned and how wide his eyes were.
“What if Donna or the Barnabys saw? I don’t think I?—”
“I’m kidding, Truman!” Matteo captured his cheek and kissed him firmly. “I won’t change. I want to keep playing.”
A frown creased Truman’s brow. “Playing?”
“I don’t want to stop pretending. Tomorrow, we can be terrible people again but I want to fuckthisTruman tonight,” Matteo explained and patted Truman’s chest.
“This Truman…” His hand covered Matteo’s and his frown deepened. For a moment, Matteo thought he might say no. “Okay. Let’s go,” he said, rising and pulling Matteo with him. “Just don’t mention this to the other Truman, he’ll be jealous.”
He tiptoed to the door and tapped his lips before opening it, making Matteo burst into giggles. Truman scolded Matteo and warned that they’d get caught but tripped on the hall runner and almost knocked a picture off the wall, resulting in another fit of giggles.
“No wonder you need me for the job,” Matteo whispered, fanning his face between bouts of laughter.
“Come on!” Truman grabbed his wrist and tugged, causing Matteo to trip on his own feet and nearly crash into the wall. They made it to the bedroom and Matteo was giddy as he yanked his shirt over his head. “Oh, no…” Truman fell back against the door, his lip pushed out into a pout.
“What’s wrong?” Matteo was holding the shirt over his head, ready to toss it at Truman.
“We can’t do this.”
Matteo’s arm lowered before he went ahead and whipped it at Truman. “Why not?”
Truman caught it and hugged it against his chest, looking incredibly sad. “You’re too drunk, Matteo. I don’t want you to wake up and regret this and blame me,” he said, making Matteo roll his eyes.
“Why do you think I drank so much?” he asked as he kicked off his flip flops. “I know I’ll regret this tomorrow but at least I can blame it on the wine,” he said and Truman’s neck craned.
“So…you decidedbeforeyou started drinking?” he verified slowly.
“Duh, as you Americans like to say.” Matteo held up his hands. “Does it make a difference?”
“Yes!”
