Touch (The Pagano Family Book 2)

by Susan Fanetti

  That probably meant that she should definitely not be thinking about anything like romance, especially not with a normal, not-crazy, thirty-four-year-old man.

  “Manny. Did you have sex with this Luca last night?”

  She nodded. There was nothing else she could do. When Dottie closed her eyes, she added, “But he was nice, Dottie. Really nice. He let me do all the touching, and it was good. I really liked it. Most guys I’ve had sex with weren’t as nice as he was.”

  Now Dottie laughed. “Okay, okay. This is making me feel a little weird. I need to go a little bit slower. I’m glad he was nice. The answer to your question is pretty confusing, but I’ll try. You like this man, and you had…a good time with him. You want to see him again?” Manny nodded, and Dottie smiled and put her hand on the table, next to Manny’s.

  “It’s absolutely normal to feel jealous when you see him kissing somebody else the next morning. But—and here’s the confusing thing—that doesn’t mean he did anything wrong. Unless he told you he’d see only you, and especially after only one date, then he can see anyone he wants, whenever he wants.” Dottie took another drink of juice. “He sounds like maybe he sees a lot of girls, though, babe, if the very next morning he was making out with somebody else. That worries me for you.”

  “Why?”

  “Because he doesn’t sound like a man who gets serious with women. And you’ve never before been interested in a man in this way. Love is hard, babe. To love like that, we make ourselves completely vulnerable. Take down all of our defenses and let one person into our very innermost self. Do you understand? In a lot of ways, it’s one of the hardest things in life. The best things usually are.” At that, Dottie gave Manny’s hand a quick squeeze and then let it go. “And you’ve worked so hard for so long to be as strong as you are. You have done amazing things, come so far. The thought that you are even interested, that you’re feeling like you like this man in that way—do you realize what an enormous step that is for you? I would hate for you to fall in love with someone who didn’t treasure a gift like that.”

  “What should I do?”

  Dottie shook her head. “I don’t know, babe. There’s never a clear answer in love. That’s why it’s so scary.”

  “I don’t love him. I barely know him.” But she was thinking about him an awful fucking lot today.

  “Okay. Well, go slow. Try to go slow. And I’m here. I’m always here for you. Dad and Dimi, too. No matter what happens, we are here for you.”

  oOo

  It was past two in the morning when Manny crept in through the front door of her parents’ house. She was tired and crabby. Fierce Ferret had been tight and ready, and they’d put on a good show. They’d escaped elimination and moved on to the next round of the stupid, endless Battle of the Bands thing.

  But by the time they were announced as tops of the night, Manny had about had enough of the human race. The crowd had started to wear on her, but that wasn’t the worst. Gigi fucking Lee was the worst.

  Tonight, after the show, while everybody was celebrating and before their little encore, Gigi had decided to give everybody nicknames. Dmitri was ‘Russkie’—because apparently it was all Russia to her. Seth was ‘Trilby’—because of the hipster hat he always wore. Gigi had a thing for both Dmitri and Seth, so they got, at least, not actively mean nicknames. Kevin got ‘Bugs,’ because of his eyes. Kevin was a quiet guy who Manny didn’t think had ever been mean to anyone. He didn’t even yell during band fights. He was goofy-looking, with huge, bugged-out eyes and a long, thin neck with a pronounced Adam’s apple, but Gigi had let him fuck her whenever she’d gotten something out of it. That stupid nickname had really hurt his feelings. Even Manny could see it. But Gigi fluttered on, clueless. Or maybe she’d just been pretending to be. That was the kind of stuff Manny had trouble deciding. But knowing Gigi, she was probably pretending.

  Continuing with her totally boring and obvious naming game, she’d named Manny ‘Little Miss Psycho.’ Dmitri had yelled and tried to make her take it back, but Manny was used to stuff like that, so she didn’t yell. Instead, she’d turned the game around and named Gigi. ‘Rancid Cunt’ was the name she’d bestowed.

  And all of the boys had laughed.

  Gigi, her face dark red, had charged, and Manny had simply jabbed her hard in her gut. Gigi had fallen to the floor, crying, curling in on herself. Manny was proud. She hadn’t even raged out. She’d just handled a pest problem.

  When they’d been called out for the encore, Gigi had struggled to her feet and meekly picked up her bass.

  But Manny knew that she and Gigi weren’t done. It was exhausting, trying to figure out how to do this bitch dance with a girl she really didn’t want to think twice about.

  Manny closed and locked the front door, trying to be as quiet as possible. But she heard the floor creak behind her and turned to see her father standing in the doorway between the dining room and the kitchen, low light from the kitchen—probably from the hood over the range—making him a silhouette.

  “Hey, princess. Have a good night?”

  Adam Timko was a big guy. He might have been built a lot like Luca once upon a time. He kept his balding head shaved, and his broad, strong body had started to soften in middle age, but Manny could see that he had once been hot. That was probably an odd thing to think about one’s father. He had lively blue eyes and a warm, toothy smile. He’d worked overtime nearly every single week of her childhood, to pay for her therapy and for the necessity of being the sole breadwinner in their family. He was still working overtime about half the year, because they were still paying off debts they had incurred to help her.

  He was one of the good guys, definitely.

  “Hi, Dad. It was okay.”

  “Just made hot cocoa. There’s enough for two. Want some?”

  “Sure.”

  She sat down at the Formica table in the kitchen. As her father poured the cocoa into cups, with his back to her, he said. “Your mother tells me you met a boy.”

  Never were there secrets in this house. “He’s thirty-four, Dad. Pretty sure that makes him a man.”

  “Don’t be so sure. You should bring him home. I’d like to meet him.”

  “Dad! We went on one date. I don’t even know if he wants to see me again.” He’d said he did, but then he’d been kissing that girl. Mixed signals sucked.

  Her father set the mugs on the table and sat down. “I think he will. And I want to meet him. Before you get too deep, I want to take his measure.”

  “That’s dumb. I’m not even gonna know when too deep happens. If it happens. You know that.”

  “That’s what scares me, Manny. Your heart is a tender thing. What happens if he hurts you? What happens if that makes you lose ground you worked so hard for?”

  “You and Dottie did a lot of talking tonight.”

  “We did. You knew we would. Your mother and me, we talk about everything.”

  “I’m tired of being a social retard, Dad. I want to be normal. I’m almost thirty. I don’t want to be Little Miss Psycho for the rest of my life.”

  “Normal, my girl, is fucking overrated. You are unique. You are wonderful. And you’re not psycho. You just see and feel the world in ways other people don’t understand.” He tipped his mug back and drank all his hot cocoa. “I best get to sleep. I hear I’m gonna be dragging behind you two at the Flea tomorrow.” He rinsed out his mug and set it in the sink. Then he stood behind Manny’s chair. “You get some sleep, too. I love you, princess.”

  He left her alone in the kitchen. Manny sat in the pale halo of light from the range hood and sipped at her cocoa, trying to sort her thoughts.

  She needed new cubbies.

  ~ 7 ~

  Luca brought a combination and then bounced back for a kick. The force of the kick made Hugh, holding the heavy bag, take a couple of steps back.

  “Fuck, Luc. You workin’ something out?”

  With a grin, Luca pulled up and dropped his hands. “No more’n
usual. You getting frail in your old age?”

  “Blow me, pup. You want a spar, say the word.”

  “Not today, my man. I got an appointment with the Lord our God this morning. But I’m happy to dance some other time.”

  “Yeah, you with your glass knee and me with my bum neck. We can do an Invalids Fight Night.”

  Luca went to the bench against the wall and grabbed his towel and water bottle. He squirted a stream of cool into his mouth, tossed his head back, and let it ooze down his throat.

  He had learned to fight right here at The Cove Corner—not the kind of gym that soccer moms and suits had their memberships at. It was dingy, smelly, and loud, and normally populated by grumpy, ugly guys. But it was one of the finest fighting clubs in New England. Some big names in the sport had gotten their start in this musty old place.

  There was a martial arts studio across the street. At first, before the rise of MMA as both sport and entertainment, there had been a pretty hostile rivalry between the club and the dojo. Luca had been among the first in town to cross over, and now the businesses had all but formed a partnership.

  Usually, Luca worked out in the afternoons, after work. His day started too early to get a workout in before. But on Sundays, he found that an hour or two of sweat got him prepared for the Pagano command performance at Christ the King Catholic Church.

  “You still miss it?”

  Swallowing, Luca brought his head up and looked at his old friend. “The fight? Yeah, of course. I like walking better, though.” He chuckled. “Some days, that’s just a thing I tell myself, I guess.”

  “Yeah. Me, too.”

  “Hey, Luca?”

  Luca turned to see a young guy, early twenties if that, grinning at him. He had no idea who he was. “Yeah?”

  The kid held out his hand. “I’m Anthony. Anthony Naldi. My Uncle Fred said I should introduce myself.”

  Fred Naldi was Luca’s uncles’ consigliere. Uncle Ben and Uncle Lorrie ran Pagano Brothers Shipping. And also one of the largest ‘families’ in New England. He shook the kid’s hand. “Yeah? Good to meet you, Anthony.”

  “You, too. Uncle Fred said if I wanted to get into fighting, you were the guy to talk to.”

  Hugh snickered.

  Luca looked the kid over. “He did, did he?” The kid wasn’t big, maybe five-eight, one-fifty. And he was too damn pretty for the ring. But he was standing there shirtless, in grey sweatpants, and he looked like he was put together okay, knew how to work his body right. “You ever fought?”

  “We had a Fight Club at school.” He smirked proudly. “It was underground.”

  Now Hugh muttered, “Fuck. I’m out. I’ll see ya, Luc.”

  “Yeah, Hugh.” Hugh stalked off, and Luca turned his attention back to the kid. “That’s not boxing or MMA, kid. That’s not really fighting at all. That’s just brawling. Nothing wrong with it. It’s a wicked good time. But it don’t get you ready for this.”

  “But you could?”

  He laughed. “Uh, no. Sorry. Training’s a full time job, and I got one of them.” The kid looked crestfallen, and Luca relented a little. “Look. I could see what you got, maybe recommend somebody.”

  “That’d be awesome. Now?”

  “Whoa, Beav. No. I got Mass in half an hour.” He cocked his eyebrow at him. If he was Fred’s nephew and in town, he should have the same appointment Luca had. “Don’t you?”

  “Nah. Church gives me hives.”

  Luca wasn’t much of a fan, either. He found it pompous and political and not much at all about faith. But for all the boundaries he pushed with his father, for all the fights and rebellions, bailing on Sunday Mass was a bridge even he wouldn’t cross.

  “Okay. Well, I got a date. Meet me here tomorrow at four. We’ll see what you got.”

  Young Anthony held his hand out again, grinning like he’d won the lottery. “Wicked! Thanks, man!”

  Chuckling to himself, Luca shook with Anthony and then headed to the locker room.

  oOo

  As usual, he was late and barely made it into the pew before Father Michael and his entourage made their processional. The whole family filled the crowded pew—his father, with Mrs. D.; his eldest brother, Carlo Jr.; his little nephew, Trey; his sister-in-law, Sabina; his baby sister, Rosa, and his elder sister, Carmen; his younger brothers, Joey and John. Since the addition of Sabina and Mrs. D., they’d filled the pew. If anybody else hooked up, they’d have to start taking over the pew behind.

  Carlo Sr., as usual, turned and glowered as Luca sat down with his helmet at his side. He made a show of the helmet, bringing it in.

  Everybody thought he was a rebel. He fucking thought of himself as a rebel. But here he was, sitting on the family pew, wearing his helmet, staving off fights with his old man. He’d learned to pick his battles, and the Mass and helmet battles weren’t worth fighting. But he loved the sour look the old man gave him when that big thing thumped down on the pew.

  He’d had to readjust the strap, because Manny had been the last person to wear it.

  Manny. Fuck.

  As the Mass progressed, Luca did the Catholic calisthenics—sit, kneel, stand, kneel, sit, stand—and responses by rote and let his mind go where it lately always wanted. To the problem of little Manny.

  Something about that little bit of a girl really had him twisted up. He couldn’t figure it. He’d even bailed on fucking Lynne the morning before, after their surf, and after he had her out of her suit. He’d tried, but his heart had not been in it, and neither had his body—as if he was still spent from the night before with Manny. And they’d only fucked once. And she’d sent him on his way before he’d gone fully soft.

  Lynne had been pissy about it, too. Fuck. Rhiannon was pissed at him, now Lynne was pissed. He hadn’t seen Heather in almost a month. Maybe his life with women was more complicated than he’d realized. Maybe women were just fucking complicated, period.

  He liked his life the way it was. Clean. Uncomplicated. Watching Carlo and Sabina struggle through all their shit over the last year was evidence enough that he was not built for serious relationships. It had been hard enough to be Carlo’s wingman and Sabina’s strong shoulder through all that bullshit—her abusive husband, his insane ex-wife, getting entangled with the Uncles, Joey getting hurt, almost losing Trey, detectives becoming regular visitors at the house on Caravel Road. What a fucking mess.

  And Manny? She was the very definition of ‘fucking mess.’ He had a protective thing going on for her which could not be healthy. Her story was a horror, and she was mentally fucked and younger than her years because of it. Too young to know what she was getting into with a guy like him.

  She barely even let him touch her. Luca was a physical guy. Keeping his hands to himself was wicked hard work.

  It had been fucking hot, though, in fact. Letting her have her way, holding himself back like that. A first for him, not taking any kind of control. But watching her move on him, feeling her loosen and begin to trust him a little—damn. Just damn.

  And then she’d wrapped his arms around her and relaxed in his hold, her arms and hands over his, as if she had been holding herself with his body. It had been nothing more than a hug. Cuddling, which he fucking hated. And all he’d been able to think about was how good she felt, at ease with him, even in this little way.

  And he ragged on Carlo for always wanting to be a hero. In the middle of the Apostle’s Creed, he chuckled. John, standing next to him, gave him a look, and he momentarily focused on the liturgy.

  He wanted to see her again. He wanted her to let him hold her. He wanted her to want him to hold her. He wanted her to trust him enough to want his comfort.

  Was it just the challenge? Was he that much of an asshole? If he was, he needed to figure that out and get gone, because it was obvious that he could really fuck her up if he kept up with her only for a win.

  It felt like something else, though. It felt like it was her he wanted. She was brave and fierce, and something
deep inside him responded hard to that.

  What the holy fuck.

  oOo

  After Mass, as the family was standing on the walk outside of the church, mingling with parishioners and doing their face time with Father Michael, Uncle Lorrie came over and put his hand on Luca’s back.

  “Come talk to us a minute, Luca.”

  Luca’s spine tightened, but he nodded. With a quick glance at Carlo, who was watching, he followed Uncle Lorrie across the grounds to where Uncle Ben, Cousin Nick, and Fred Naldi stood. Their women were clustered at a distance, speaking with some of the other church ladies.