by J. M. Adele
“A lobster roll.”
“Make that two.”
Her eyes flared “Mm, that sounds good.”
Grey’s lip curled in disgust. “It sounds good, but it’ll be shit. I can make a better lobster roll.”
She patted him on the chest. “Honey, you could make Brussels sprouts taste good. Let’s go.”
They weaved their way through the meager crowd in search of their supper.
“Is it just me, or does it seem a little empty for game night?”
“Numbers are down, for sure, due to the snowstorm. I’ve only been here once before, but that was to a Bruins game. There were way more people with less than an hour until start. Wanna bet on a baby boom in nine months?”
If he had the option to be home in bed with her, he’d take it.
Grey tucked his hand into her elbow, pulling her to a stop. “Hey, before we go in, I got you something.” He pulled a small box out of his back pocket, handing it to her. “Happy Valentine’s Day.”
She held it like it was a hot potato.
“Open it, Chelsea. It won’t bite.”
Popping the lid, she let out a snort when she saw the silver earrings depicting a naked witch riding sidesaddle on a broom. “Aw, thank you. You know, for someone so serious, you have a wicked sense of humor.”
“I thought you’d appreciate them. Did you think it would be an engagement ring?”
“No, don’t be silly.” She swatted a hand through the air.
“So, you wouldn’t freak out if I gave you the spare key to my apartment?”
A flicker of fear darkened her eyes before she hid it with a smile. “You got the apartment? That’s great.” Licking her lips, worry creased her forehead. “Are you asking me to move in with you?”
“No. I’m asking you to hold the spare key in case you ever want to drop by, or rescue me if I lock myself out. But, if you wanted to keep some stuff at my place, I wouldn’t complain.”
Sinking her teeth into her lip, she gave him a shy look from under her lashes. “I’d be happy to hold the key for you.”
The expression seemed so foreign on her face, like the sassy, confident woman had gone into hiding under a layer of doubt.
“When are you moving in?”
“In a couple of weeks.” Running the edge of his thumb down the side of her face, he touched his nose to hers. “Are you taking me shopping?”
“Mm hm.” She nuzzled his neck before pulling back, any doubt wiped away by the return of her mischievous streak. “I got something for you too, but it’s back at the house.”
“What is it?”
“Uh, uh. I’m not telling.” She placed a finger on her mouth in a provocative move that had him hankering to race her home and throw her back on the bed.
“You told me about my Christmas present before you gave it to me.” He took her finger and gave it a playful bite.
“My bad. I’m not spoiling this one.” She feathered her touch along his lip, dipping inside his mouth a little. “I’d rather show you.”
A bolt of lust shot to his balls. He put his lips up to her ear, drawing her body into his. “Does it involve getting naked?”
“Not entirely.”
“But, partially? That’s good enough for me. Let’s blow off the game and go back to your place.” He took a step towards the exit, taking her with him.
“Whoa there, cowboy.” She patted his ass and leaned away. “We’re here with friends.”
“Right. Damn it.” He grimaced. “Let’s go get the crapster rolls.”
“Don’t be a food snob. The fast food is a big part of the fun while watching live sports.”
“Whatever you say.”
_____
“Yes! We’re back, baby.” Jenna jumped out of her seat. “Pierce is smashing it after his comeback from injury.”
The half time buzzer sounded and the players cleared the court for the entertainment to take over.
“I had no idea you were such a fan.” Chelsea had never seen Jenna so fired up.
“Born and raised Bostonian. It doesn’t matter that my parents are Asian. Sport is in my blood.”
“Well, all right then.”
“This is going to put an end to their eighteen-game losing skid. I can feel the luck of the Irish. We’ll be seeing Gino tonight, ladies and gentleman.”
“Who’s Gino?” Grey asked.
“The sporting icon in Boston. You’ll see.” Jenna balanced her tail on the edge of her seat.
Hannah pushed her glasses up her nose, smirking at Jenna’s enthusiasm.
“Babe, you can’t call it when we’re only four points up and we’ve been behind for most of the first half.”
“I call it as I see it.” Her hand popped up to check her bun before she took her seat.
Grey rested an arm along the back of Chelsea’s chair as they watched the scantily clad dancers do their thing. Some guy in a leprechaun suit did a forward somersault off a mini trampoline, snatched a basketball from a player’s hands while upside down, and slam dunked it through the hoop.
Chelsea whooped and clapped. “That hat must be glued to his head.”
“Probably,” Hannah conceded.
The Jumbotron, suspended above the center of the court, captured footage of the crowd enjoying themselves and the shenanigans happening down below. Kiss Cam flashed up in large letters on the screen as the cameras searched the arena for possible lovers, framing them in a love heart. Grey grinned at the surprise on people’s faces when they realized they were in the spotlight, until his face appeared with Hannah’s in the frame. His jaw went slack, eyes widening. Hannah laughed beside him, turning to her other side to lay one on Jenna as the camera followed and the crowd cheered wildly.
Chelsea’s face filled his vision, blocking his view of the screen.
“You want to join them?”
He didn’t have time to reply before she pressed her lips to his, making him forget all about the damn cameras and the lobster roll that was sitting heavy in his gut. He wrapped his arms around her and dragged her half onto his lap, tongue probing between her lips for a taste.
“I like your style, cowboy.”
“I can’t resist your witch’s charms.” Cradling her head in his palm, his eyes traveled over her beauty.
“We’re gonna get in trouble if we take this any further. I think Dick wants to come out to play.”
Grey’s lips tipped up. “Heat seeking.”
“You do realize we can hear you.” Jenna’s face twisted in disgust.
“I thought we were whispering.” Chelsea climbed back in her seat, threading her fingers through Grey’s on his thigh. “Since when did you two happen?”
Hannah rested a hand on Jenna’s. “Since you went to get the lobster rolls.”
Grey smiled at the pair. “Happy Valentine’s Day, ladies.”
Things sure were different up here in Boston. Snow storms, and studio apartments. American Bandstand dancers wearing too tight shirts, and kiss cams. The world was opening up.
And he wanted to share it with her.
_____
Chelsea bounced into her room after a shower and searched her underwear drawer for her witch socks, wanting to surprise Grey. He was moving in to his apartment, and she was planning on helping him for a few hours after class. She turned over scraps of silk, lace and cotton in varying shades of color, but couldn’t see the blue and white stripes she was looking for.
Snapping the drawer shut with a frown, she went through all the drawers and the bottom of her closet, before rifling through the laundry basket.
Nowhere, damn it.
She knocked on Dakota’s door, hearing a faint, “Yeah?” on the other side.
“Hey Dee? Have you seen a ridiculous pair of blue and white striped socks anywhere?”
“No. I think I’d remember something like that. Sorry. Ask Ryan. He’s home.”
Calling out thanks, she traveled further down the hall and tapped on Ryan’s door. It was slightl
y ajar, creaking as it moved on its hinges.
“Ryan?”
No answer.
She pushed the door open enough to poke her head through, shocked to find it in immaculate condition. He’d even made his bed, the grey comforter pulled taut and crease-free. The desk under the window had a neat stack of books, and one notebook left open as a resting place for an abandoned pencil. Beside his bed, an end table held a novel with some sort of spaceship on the cover, and a lamp. That was it.
She didn’t realize he had it in him. She started to turn away before hesitating, eyes drawn to a hint of blue poking out from under his pillow.
Pushing the door open all the way, she went to investigate. As she tugged on the blue fabric, the striped socks emerged from their hiding place.
“Ryan, you sick bastard. What are you doing with my socks?”
She turned to leave just as he came in through the door.
“Hey. What are doing in my room? Did you need something?”
Remain calm. Remain calm.
She drew in a breath through her mouth and released it through her nose. “Why were my socks under your pillow?
“Fuck knows. Do you seriously own those? Ugly.” He shuddered and walked to his desk so he could dump his backpack on the chair.
“You’ve never seen these before?”
“Nope. I’d probably have thrown them out. They don’t belong in my space. My space is pristine.”
“Yes, I see that. Why are you so shit at cleaning up after yourself when you’ve been eating on the sofa?”
“Everybody else eats in the living room. Why should I care if I leave a few crumbs?”
“Ryan, you leave half-eaten packets of crisps all the time.” She shook her head. “Anyway, that’s not the point. The point is my socks.”
“Are butt ugly. Throw that shit out before I do it for you.”
Tucking the socks to her chest, she snarled at him. “Sometimes you are such a cock.”
“I am the cock, babe.”
Ugh. She turned away, shutting him in his room where he belonged, and went back to her room to get ready to leave. She had better things to do than worry about him being a nosy douche bag.
_____
“Just put it down against that wall, thanks fellas.” Chelsea directed the delivery men where to place Grey’s new bed in his tiny apartment.
His bedroom was in the corner, separated from the living space by a gauzy curtain and a stepped bookcase. It was kinda cozy in there behind the curtain. With the addition of books and pictures in the case, and maybe a rug on the floor, it’d be a great place to relax and unwind after a busy night at work. A small square table sat next to the kitchen, but other than that, the place was bare.
Grey tipped the delivery men, seeing them out the door before turning back to her with a wicked grin.
A frisson of excitement zipped through her veins, and her feet twitched, wanting to run so he could chase her. If she had anywhere to go she would, but he had her trapped.
Coming at her, he scooped her up in a fireman’s hold and threw her on the bare mattress, with her squealing all the way.
He slapped his hands on either side of her, grinning as he crouched over her on the bed like a lion with his prey.
“My first place.” His kiss was firm but fleeting.
“You’re on your way.”
“Yes, I am.” He dropped his body to the side, rolling on to his back and spreading his hands on his chest. Smiling at the ceiling, he looked like he’d landed in a dream.
“Do you ever miss ranch life?”
“I miss my family. Mostly. Seeing the new calves after they’re born, that’s something special I’d like to witness again. I miss seeing the land meet the sky for miles without obstruction.”
God, yes. She missed that too.
“I don’t miss the scratch of hay on my skin, or the stench of cow dung. And I sure don’t miss copping a lungful of dust.”
Bumping her arm to his, she joked, “Naw, exhaust fumes are so much better.”
Grey turned his eyes on her. “There aren’t any exhaust fumes in a kitchen.”
“Only grease, and steam.”
“Grease and steam I can handle.”
Propping up on an elbow, she placed a hand over his firm stomach, feeling it rise and fall as he breathed. “What does your family think of your career change?”
“My brother thinks I’m nuts. When Matteo left the ranch to come to the city, Nonno and Papà didn’t take it well. They lost respect for him because he abandoned the legacy Nonno was building. He thought his sons would build the ranch into a dynasty to rival our neighbors, the Carters.” Forming a pillow with his palms, he huffed. “My papà hasn’t spoken to Uncle Matteo since he left. Nonno disowned his eldest. Actually, Matteo wasn’t the first born. Nonna had a stillborn son before him. They named him Antonio, after my Nonno. My brother got the name passed down to him.”
“So, you have a brother. Younger or older?”
“Younger brother. And two younger sisters, Marianne and Sofia.”
“How come your younger brother got the family name and you ended up with a name like Greyson?”
His jaw did a shuffle before he answered. “My mama’s father was English. His middle name is Greyson. She liked it and fought Papà for naming rights.”
“What is your middle name?”
“I have two. Matteo and Lucca.”
“Greyson Matteo Lucca Agrioli. Good Lord, your wife will have a mouthful to say on your wedding day.” She loved the way it sounded on her tongue.
The ache she felt inside every time she thought of having to leave him reared its head, a snake coiled around her heart ready to strike. His name was her mouthful. She wanted to be the one to join him at the altar. And, yeah, she’d give up the uninterrupted horizon to suck down exhaust fumes, if it meant she got to have the real thing with him until they parted in death.
Sinking onto her back, she stared at the ceiling, eyes frozen wide.
Whoa. Where the hell had that come from?
_____
Grey was careful to maintain a poker face, but he was damn near suffocating with the need to punch something. She was so determined they were going to go their separate ways, when he’d known she was meant for him the minute he sat at the table in Abbiocco and recognized the woman from the little diner in Alabama. The good Lord wouldn’t put them across each other’s paths twice, from opposite ends of the country, without there being a fucking good reason.
He just had to have faith.
It would work itself out. It had to.
“What’s your middle name?”
“Rose. I keep dissing Mama that she should’ve picked Thorn instead.”
“I think Rose is perfect. A flower to be admired for its beauty and its many layers, but one that commands you to handle it with respect, or you’ll get pricked.”
“I’ve never thought of it that way.”
No, it seems she hadn’t seen herself clearly, at all. But maybe, with his help, she was starting to wipe the fog from the mirror.
“Are you hungry? I don’t have much kitchen stuff, but I bought some groceries to cook a basic dinner.”
“Starved.” She rolled off the bed, disappearing into the tiny kitchen on the other side of the room.
He followed, pulling out the necessary pot, pan, and kitchen utensils he’d bought, and the ingredients to make ravioli.
“There’s barely any bench space. Where are you going to work?”
He pointed to the table.
After cleaning the work surface, he roughly measured out the flour, scooping a well out of the middle with his hands so he could add the eggs and extra yolks. Chelsea took a seat, watching him whisk through the yellow goo with a fork, as he pushed the surrounding flour into the well with each swirl until the sticky dough was formed.
“They don’t do it like that in the restaurant. You look like you’ve done this a hundred times.”
“Probably several
hundred. Pasta was a regular on the menu at home. It’s much quicker with machines.”
“Did your mama teach you?”
“A little. It was Nonna who taught me how to make the best pasta. Mama likes cooking, but Nonna rules the kitchen back home. We were merely the assistants.”
“Did your brother and sisters learn too?”
“My sisters did. My brother wasn’t interested. He loved tinkering with the farm equipment. He can fix any machine.”
“He’d get along with my friend’s daddy. He and his brothers own an auto shop where they build cars from scratch. They restore old classics too.”
“Antonio would love to visit, I’m sure.” He scraped the sticky dough off his fingers, adding it to the ball taking shape. “This is going to take a while because the dough needs to rest for an hour or more before I can roll it out. And my sauce needs to simmer. Do you want to make garlic bread while I do the rest?”
“You want me to cook?” She sounded so incredulous he had to laugh.
“I don’t expect you to bake the bread from scratch. I bought a ciabatta loaf, you just have to crush some garlic, chop a few herbs, and mix it into the soft butter and olive oil.”
“Er. Okay. But don’t complain when it comes out burned and tasting like I threw in weeds from the garden instead of the good stuff.”
“Don’t be scared. Cooking takes patience, timing and love. It’s a pretty easy recipe. Use the timer and your nose, and you should be all right.”
He talked her through how much of each ingredient she needed, and how to chop and crush as he kneaded the dough, wrapping it tightly in plastic to rest. Joining her in the kitchen, he started on the sauce and the stuffing for the ravioli.
She spread her finished butter mixture onto the halved ciabatta loaf and slid it into the pre-heated oven, wearing the widest grin on her beautiful face.
“I did it.”
“Let’s put the timer on so we don’t end up with charcoal.”
“Oh, right. How long?” She crouched down, fiddling with the timer dial, exposing the top of her ass in yoga pants.
“Fifteen minutes should be enough. We’ll put them under the broiler for a minute or two, to finish them off before we eat.”
“My mouth is watering already.”