by Freya Barker
“That was implied.” Ma waves her hand again, clearly not giving in. “Besides, you were supposed to tell Joey to call me, at which point I could’ve told him when to expect us. After all, this is his house, and we don’t even know who you are or why you’re here.”
“Ma…” I warn her, but Ollie’s on a roll.
“I would’ve told him, had he not been busy dealing with a crazy man hostage situation, and if I didn’t have some mafia hit man’s hands squeezing the life out of me! And for the record, no, you don’t know who I am, mainly because you never bothered asking, but Joe knows and he invited me into his house.”
“A mafia hit man?” Ma echoes, her mouth open.
“Good God give me patience,” Ollie mutters, shoving her chair back, and with plenty of attitude marches off and disappears up the stairs.
My instinct is to go after Ollie, but seeing the shock on my mother’s face, I decide to make use of her confusion. I don’t think aside from me—or on occasion Pops—she’s ever had someone stand up to her like this. My mother is a good person, but has no sense of boundaries and is supremely territorial to boot.
I grab a chunk of cheese and bite a piece off before turning to my mother.
“Ma, Pops—meet Ollie.”
Ollie
Okay, so I probably could’ve handled that better.
I’m lying on my stomach on Joe’s bed, where I flung myself quite dramatically, replaying the scene downstairs over in my mind.
As a teenager, before my parents died, I had a legendary temper—and even after, before seeing my boyfriend and my leg blown to bits—it was known to flare on occasion. However, since then I’ve had a firm hold on it, at least I thought so, until I met Joe—and now his family.
Shit.
Throwing down with Rita within an hour of meeting her was probably not the way to ingratiate myself into the family fold. She threw me with her seemingly warm reception on the phone, but from the moment she walked into Joe’s house, it was clear she was laying claim and I’d been made to feel like the intruder. I bit my tongue, knowing there’s really no claim for me to make, but when she decided to shove me under the bus, my tenuous hold on my temper came to an abrupt end.
Truth be told, I half expected Joe to come after me, but since he didn’t, I’m pretty sure I overstepped with him as well. Damn. It would’ve been more effective if I’d chosen the front door to storm out of, because I can hardly hole up here indefinitely. One way or another, I’m going to have to face them all. Especially since Joe won’t likely let me walk out the door until Cruz calls with the all-clear, even if he’s pissed at me.
I must’ve dozed off at some point, because the next thing I know, my hair is pulled away and warm lips brush my neck.
“Hey.” Joe’s breath against my skin causes a delicious shiver.
“Hey.” I blink my eyes open and scan his face for mood. Not angry. Amused, if anything.
“Guessing you needed a nap after going a few rounds with Ma?”
“About that…” I start apologizing, but Joe clearly isn’t done.
“Love my mother. She doesn’t always make it easy, but my boys are crazy about her.” Already I’m feeling like I’m on the other side of the fence, by myself, and none of what I’m hearing is particularly reassuring, so I quickly try again.
“Look, I’m really—”
“Sure, they love Pops too, but Ma caters to them, even encourages them to take advantage. So they do and get spoiled rotten in the process. Every time my parents pack up, I’m left to try and get those kids back on track.”
“I overstepped,” I manage to get in, and am confused when I get a grin.
“Jenny never said boo. She just let Ma take over her kitchen, her house, her kids—even me.” Okay, that one hurt. Being compared to his dead wife is not enjoyable, and I’m about to say so when his hands grab me by the hips and he rolls to his back, me on top. He cups my face in his hands and smiles big. “You? You’ve barely met her and you go toe to toe. Watching you stand up to her? Fucking amazing. Knowing you’ve got my back doing it? Even fucking better.”
“You’re not pissed?”
At this he drops his head back and barks out a laugh. “Fuck no. Far from it. I had a frustrating afternoon, found my parents parked in my driveway—when I’d been looking forward to making my day better in a variety of creative ways with you—which did not make me happy. Witnessing that Italian temper of yours come out to play and challenge Ma—who’s never had anyone other than me defy her—that didn’t just make my day, Sweets, it made my fucking century.”
Wrapping an arm tight around my waist, he uses the other to scoot us up in the bed until his back is braced against the headboard and I’m sitting astride him. Then his hand is back at my face, brushing my cheek before his fingers slide into my hair.
All of it nice, but it’s the look in his eyes when he drops them down to my mouth that has the heat pool between my legs. With a tug on my hair, he pulls me down to meet his lips.
His kiss is not gentle. It’s starved, wet, heated, and he leaves no doubt this is more than just a kiss. This is a claiming.
I don’t generally subscribe to men beating their chest—it tends to make me combative—but a declaration like this has me roll over and play dead.
It soon escalates into something wild, abandoned. My arms wrap around his head, holding him tightly to me, and my hips grind on the rock-hard cock straining against his jeans.
“Oops…”
Joe rips his mouth from mine and barks out, “Ma!”
Oh God.
This is almost as embarrassing as having Tommy Schneider’s mom walk in on us when we were supposed to be doing homework in his room in eighth grade. The only thing making this a fraction less mortifying, is the fact I’m still wearing my shirt.
“I’ll just, erm…”
I feel Joe taking in a deep breath while I cowardly hide my face in his neck, and say in a softer tone, “Give us a minute, Ma, yeah? We’ll be right down.”
It’s not until I hear her footsteps retreating down the stairs—I’d been too far gone earlier to have heard a canon go off, let alone his mom coming up the stairs—that I lift my head and look at Joe.
“Now she’s really gonna hate me.”
He grins and tugs my hair. “She’s not gonna hate you.”
“Are you kidding me?”
“Baby, she won’t hate you.”
“Like I didn’t give her plenty of reason already, now she can add corrupting her boy to the list.”
His grin grows bigger. “I thought I was doing the corrupting? Must’ve been doing it wrong. Besides…” He grinds his hips up and with just a touch of friction to my happy place, my body is right back with the program, any interruptions gone from memory. “…does that feel like I’m a boy?”
“Mmmm.”
“Sadly,” he says, lifting me off his lap. “Ma is waiting with dinner, which is why I came to get you in the first place.”
“Dinner? How long have I been asleep?” I call over my shoulder as I walk to the bathroom to tame my hair.
“Couple of hours. Long enough for me to have a heart-to-heart with my parents, Ma specifically.” I’m just fluffing my strands with my hair pick when Joe leans into the bathroom. “Told them you’re in my house on a temporary basis since you had a fire in yours, but in my life long-term.”
“Pardon?” I swing around on him.
“Sweets, what the fuck do you think we’re doing here?”
I don’t get a chance to react, because the next moment the pick is plucked from my hand and tossed on the counter, and I’m pulled from the bathroom and down the stairs.
His mother is by the stove, stirring something on the burner that smells amazing.
“Cara, work on the salad, will ya?” she says without looking.
My mouth falls open at not only the sudden endearment, but also the request for my assistance. I look over at the table, where Sal is watching, one side of his mouth pull
ed up in a lopsided grin, as Joe gives my hip a squeeze before joining his dad. I glance back at Rita, whose back is still turned, and walk into the kitchen.
I get the sense in the world of Rita Benedetti that’s as much of a welcome as I’m gonna get.
I’ll take it.
Chapter 26
Joe
“Buongiorno.”
I look up to see Ma sitting at the counter, a cup of coffee in front of her.
My parents chose to sleep in the RV. Actually, Pops did. Ma was all for taking one of the boys’ rooms, but Pops argued since they paid through the nose for the rental, they were going to damn well use it.
Mom has always been an early riser, but she’s usually busy in the kitchen. I’m surprised to find her actually sitting down.
“Mornin’, Ma.” I kiss the cheek she lifts for me before heading for the coffee pot. I can feel her gearing up to say whatever it is that has her sitting on a stool instead of wielding a spatula this morning.
Her eyes are on me when I turn, lean against the sink, and take my first sip of coffee.
“So…” She wipes imaginary crumbs off the counter in front of her. “Olivia.”
“What about Ollie, Ma?”
“She’s not like Jenny.” She looks at me with an eyebrow raised.
“Nope. She definitely isn’t.” I agree without sharing more.
“It concerns me. You and Jenny, you were perfect for each other. She was a great mother to the boys. I don’t understand how—”
I’ve long since passed the age where I needed to justify myself to my mother, but I know her. Unless I get this out into the open with her now, she’ll find a way to let her opinion be known, either with Ollie, or even with my boys when they get back. Moving what Ollie and I have into a future will require tact and a soft hand when it comes to our kids, and Ma has neither of those.
“Ma, Jenny and I had a good life—we worked hard on that. We had a great family—we worked hard on that too. But we were far from the perfect couple you think we were. The hardest work we put in was on our marriage.”
She flaps her hand and smiles. “Pffft, everyone has their squabbles.”
“What you call squabbles were some pretty fundamental differences, Ma. Please don’t sanctify what we had. You don’t do me, or the boys, a favor with that.”
“Still,” she says, leaning forward. “She loved you. Loved those boys.”
“Yeah, she did, and I loved her, loved our family, but then she died, Ma. Should I piss away the rest of my life living in the shadow of that, or should I grab hold of a spark of sunshine and follow it into the light? Which do you think is the better example to set for my boys?”
“She’s a spark of sunshine?” she asks, shocked.
“Ma, clue in: she was a spark—now she’s a fucking beam. You’re really pissing me off by pushing something I shouldn’t have to explain to you, but I’m doing it anyway ‘cause I know you care. Now can you open your eyes enough to see some of that light shining on my life?”
She forces a watery smile and blinks away the wet in her eyes. “I can do that, mi figlio.”
I smile back. “Good, then can this conversation be done? I need some breakfast.”
“I can do that too.”
She scoots off the stool and heads straight for the stove, pulling a frying pan out of the drawer.
I lean over and kiss her on the cheek. “Love you, Ma.”
Five minutes later, Ollie comes down the stairs—either not expecting my mom already up, or being Ollie, not caring—in her nightie and with her crutch.
“Morning.”
Ma, being Ma, takes in all of Ollie from the toes up, turns back to the bacon she’s cooking, and says, “Morning, cara. Sweet nightie, that color suits you.”
There are times I want to strangle my mother, and then there are times, like now, when I want to kiss her.
I pour a coffee, drop a kiss on Ma’s hair in passing, and slide the cup in front of Ollie, before tagging her around the neck and planting a hard kiss on her mouth.
-
“Shit.”
I look over at Ollie, who suddenly scoots back from the table where we’ve been eating breakfast. Pops walked in about ten minutes after she came down, his timing perfect so he sat at the table just as Ma came in with a plate for him. Ollie brought in the coffeepot. My father took one glance at her, processed, picked up an empty mug from the table and held it out to her. His gentle “Yes, please, bella,” was rewarded with one of her smiles.
“What?” Her eyes fly to me.
“Grace. Her hairdressing appointment is in forty-five minutes. I forgot all about it.”
“I’ll take her.” I toss back the dregs of my coffee and get up. “Give her a call. Tell her I’ll be there in half an hour and to wait in the lobby.”
“Who’s Grace?” Ma asks.
“Grace is Ollie’s family.” My eyes slide to Ollie, who is smiling at me warmly. “You wanna fill them in on Grace? I’ve gotta hit the shower.”
I know ten minutes later, when I come back downstairs, she’s told them all about her friend. I know because Ma jumps up as soon she sees me.
“I’m coming with you,” she announces.
“Ma…”
“Haven’t had a decent wash and blow in donkey’s years. I could do with one. I’m coming with. Just give me a sec to use the powder room.”
She’s full of shit. Ma couldn’t give a rat’s ass about a wash and blow. I relay this to Ollie when she walks over to the TV stand, where I tag my phone, straight into my arms.
“You get my mother has ulterior motives, right?” I point out, looking down at her. A grin spreads over her upturned face.
“Yup, and I don’t care.”
“Christ,” I mutter. “It’ll be two lit fuses to a powder keg.” I grin at her amused snort.
“Maybe, although I can see them getting along just fine.”
I lower my voice so Pops can’t hear. “Hate to bring it up, but what’s the likelihood Grace is gonna to keep her lips zipped?”
“Slim,” she replies instantly on a whisper. “I have a feeling your mom can squeeze blood from a stone, she sets her mind to it. They’re gonna be here for two weeks, honey. They’re gonna cotton on soon enough, and hopefully, this’ll all be done soon anyway.”
She has a point, so I convey I get it with a soft kiss on her lips. “I’ll tackle Ma and Grace, you okay with Pops?” We both turn to look at my father still sitting at the table, unapologetically scrutinizing us.
“He asks, I’ll tell him straight up. I’m not good at subterfuge.”
Straight up, just like Ollie. What you see is what you get—one of the many things I love about her. Grinning, I bend down to take her mouth, oblivious to anything else until Ma clears her throat.
“Ready when you are.”
-
On the way back from a torturous Saturday morning spent at Tillie’s Trim ’n Tease with Ma and Grace, I’m roped into stopping to pick up lunch for everyone. Ma and Grace got thick in the time they spent side by side getting snipped and curled, and it apparently was a foregone conclusion Grace would spend the rest of the day with us. I barely get a chance to give Ollie a head’s up while the two of them bicker over the takeout menu at Serious Texas BBQ on Main, and we arrive thirty minutes later with enough ribs and chicken wings to feed us for a week.
I should’ve figured, with my mother around, food would be abundant, which also means I’m going to have to carve out some time at the gym to work it all off again.
Ollie makes a beeline for Grace when we walk in, enveloping her in a big hug, which Grace—true to form—pretends not to enjoy. Next Ollie turns to me.
“You survived,” she says with a grin.
“Barely,” I complain, which only makes her grin wider. I reach out, slip an arm around her waist and pull her close. Immediately her hands come up to rest on my chest, her face tilted up to me. My eyes are immediately drawn to her full lips, and my mouth follows.
“I see things have progressed.”
I lift my head and turn to find Grace studying us, hands on her hips.
“Told ya,” Ma says from the kitchen, grinning.
“Thank fuck,” Grace shares, as she joins a slightly shocked Ma in the kitchen. “Was about ready to give up on your boy.”
Ollie
“Hey, baby. How’s Amsterdam?”
Joe’s grinning because my daughter’s excited chatter can be heard clear across the room.
It’s Wednesday night, and apparently they just got back from a night on the town. Amsterdam is their last stop before they fly home Saturday.
I cannot wait.
It’s been an interesting few days since Rita and Sal got here. Not exactly a stellar start, but getting better day by day.
Joe’s dad was easygoing. Even when I explained my situation to him while Joe did the hairdresser with Grace and his mother last Saturday morning. He didn’t judge, he simply nodded pensively and asked an occasional question. He completely won me over when he pointed to my leg.
“He doesn’t see it.” When I looked at him questioningly he clarified. “My son. He doesn’t see you’re missing a leg.”
His comment made me smile big. “I know.”
That afternoon was spent around the pool with Grace and Rita bonding over cocktails, Sal reading his paperback and occasionally rolling his eyes, and Joe and I alternating between the water and the loungers. The only thing missing were the kids.
Rita seems to have warmed up to me. Yesterday she even taught me how to make some of her favorite recipes. Including her world-famous—her own term—cannoli. I’m not a bad cook, and even a decent baker, but this woman takes it to a whole new level. I’m learning to recognize food equals love for her. At this rate, I’ll be as wide as I’m tall by the end of their visit.
“And last night we had pancakes for dinner,” Trinny runs on, barely having taken a breath since she started talking. “They are humongous! They call them wagon wheels and you can get them with anything you like. Apples, syrup, raisins, bacon, cheese, even vegetables, but that seems wrong to me, although Kim’s dad said the bacon one was da bomb. I had apple and syrup and it filled me right up.”