by Chelle Bliss
Tilly beams. “I’m okay with that.”
“Me too.” My heart’s racing, so I’d say a part of me is more alive than I have been in years. “I think we should be friends, and if something more comes of it, so be it. We can’t rush these things, especially with our history, no matter how badly our friends and family want us to.”
“So, is this officially a date?” She looks at me with so much hope in her eyes.
“Yes,” I tell her because, for the first time in forever, I can say the words without the knot forming in my stomach. “It’s a date.”
“Pepperoni well done,” the waitress says as she stands beside our table with the pie in her hand.
I don’t look up or pull away.
I don’t want to.
“Oh, sorry.” Tilly slides her hand back, breaking our contact. “Smell that,” she says as the waitress sets the pizza in the middle of the table. “That’s what you call heaven.”
While I love my pizza, I could think of so many other things that would top my list of heavenly smells. Tilly’s scent would be one of them. Marissa always wore Chanel No 5, but Tilly smells like the sweetest confection.
“I would’ve thought cupcakes were your favorite food.”
She shakes her head as she pulls the first slice onto her plate. “Nope. I love them, but I’m all about the pizza.”
I like a chick who can wear five-inch heels, a little black dress that leaves little to the imagination, and downs cheap beer and piping hot slices of pepperoni.
“You’re different than I expected.” I watch as she takes a giant bite without giving two shits about burning her mouth.
She opens her mouth, waving her hand frantically in front of her face. “Oh fuck.” Tears start to form in her eyes, and she grabs her beer, chugging half the glass.
“Are you okay?”
“Who needs all that skin on the roof of your mouth anyway? Hell, taste buds are overrated too.” She laughs, wiping the tears from her eyes.
I push my glass of ice water across the table. “Drink,” I tell her.
She doesn’t hesitate in taking the glass and downing the entire thing in a few gulps. “Christ. Okay. Maybe it’s not that bad.” She laughs again.
“Do you want to go?”
“No. I’m going to make this pizza pay for burning my mouth.”
It’s my turn to laugh. She has the best attitude about everything. I can’t imagine her being down a day in her life. Knowing what she went through, losing her husband, I know there’s still hope for me.
“Don’t hold back on my account. I love a woman who can eat.”
“Well, Ang, you’re about to see me demolish the hell out of this bad boy.” She takes a smaller bite this time, careful not to have a repeat performance. “Eat fast or risk starvation,” she tells me.
I only take a few slices, putting them on my plate for safekeeping. I really want to see how much this little redhead can put away. She’s great at shit-talking, but I need to know if she can back it up. I’m giving her free rein over the remaining two-thirds of the pizza.
“Do your damage,” I tell her, loving the little noises she makes with each bite.
My cock seems to like it too. Each moan causes the fucker to twitch, telling me I better get my shit together. Three years is a long time to go without being inside a woman, vows or no vows. I said the words, not my cock and balls, and they’re starting to revolt.
I’m slow to eat my pizza, staring at Tilly in amazement as she puts away each slice like she’s an NFL linebacker and not a Southern lady who wouldn’t be caught dead in a pair of blue jeans. In under thirty minutes, she polishes off every slice of pizza on the tray and half a pitcher of beer.
“I’m stuffed.” She dabs her lips with the napkin.
I stare at her in amazement and shake my head. “I don’t know where you put it.”
She drops the napkin to the plate and grips her stomach. “You can’t lay down a challenge and not expect me to follow through. I’m as competitive as they come.”
“I can see that.” I can’t wipe the dopey smile off my face. “You want more to drink?”
She shakes her head. “I seriously can’t fit another thing inside me, or I’ll look more like a sausage roll in this dress than an actual human.”
“Don’t be silly. You’re a knockout.”
“It’s been a long time since a man has flirted with me.” She touches the base of her throat, drawing my eyes away from her face. “I could get used to this.”
“I highly doubt I’m the first. Maybe you just weren’t listening. If a man has a pulse, he’s at least thinking what I’m saying.”
She blushes again. “I’m sure all the ladies are after you.”
I shake my head and laugh. “A single father isn’t really most-eligible-bachelor material.”
“A handsome man with two children whom he loves and cherishes is most definitely a head-turner.”
“Well, my attitude sometimes has a way of putting women off.”
“You’re intense, but that shows you’re passionate.”
“I’ll remember that the next time my sister tells me to stop being an asshole. I’ll just tell her I’m passionate.”
Tilly laughs loudly. “That one may not go over so well.”
“She’ll probably smack me,” I say, laughing with her.
Tilly sobers. “She loves you, though. You don’t know how lucky you are to have three siblings. I have no one except me.”
“I can’t imagine. I’m sorry.”
The thought of being an only child is so foreign to me. Yeah, the house would’ve been quieter growing up, but there would’ve been so much boredom in the silence.
She waves me off. “Don’t be sorry. I don’t really know what it’s like to have a brother or sister.”
“Loud.”
She laughs again. “I could get used to a little noise.”
“Roger seems to care about you,” I tell her, prying into their relationship.
He didn’t seem to be happy when he found me in the kitchen at her shop. Roger was overprotective, almost like he was sweet on her.
She sighs. “When his brother died, he made it his mission to make sure I was okay. He cares too much sometimes, but he’s not in love with me, if that’s what you’re hinting at.”
“I wasn’t.”
But I was.
No man sticks around that long and is that fierce about someone unless they love them.
She smirks, probably not buying my statement. “Mitchell was his only sibling. I guess Roger adopted me in a way so he wouldn’t be as lonely too. Besides—” she leans forward with her chin resting against her fingers “—he’d more likely be into you than me.”
“Oh.” I laugh, feeling like a complete tool for thinking I was going to have to worry about Roger.
“Yeah. He’s a good guy, though.”
“You want to get out of here?”
“I’m sure you need to get home to the kids.”
“They’re sleeping by now. I don’t live too far from here. Maybe we can swing by and check on them before we head back downtown.”
“I’d love that,” she says and grabs her purse off the table, standing as I do.
While I do want to check on the kids, I really want to be alone with Tilly. I’d like nothing more than to kick up our feet and talk until the wee hours of the morning instead of sitting in a pizza shop on the far South Side. I’m not ready for the evening to be over. Not quite yet.
She walks in front of me as we walk outside. The wind kicks up, and her vanilla scent surrounds me. There’s a peacefulness to the smell. Comfort. I place my hand on the small of her back, guiding her toward my car.
“Are you sure it’s okay?” I ask because the last thing I want to do is make her feel uncomfortable.
She turns her face toward me. “Your hand or your house?”
“Both.”
“They’re more than okay, Angelo.”
In this mo
ment, standing in the parking lot and touching her, it’s the first time I’ve wanted to kiss someone other than my wife.
11
Tilly
Angelo was just going to run in and check on the kids, but I asked him if I could come in, being more forward than I ever have been.
I wasn’t ready to call it a night. Spending time with him was no hardship. He made me feel good about myself and more like the old me. The one before Mitchell died.
His house is charming and warm. Everything I’d expect inside a house filled with little kids. Toys are everywhere. But walking across wood floors covered in Legos isn’t easy in five-inch heels. I sit on the edge of the couch, watching him as he pays the babysitter before she rushes out of the house.
“You’re really okay with this?” Angelo asks as he sits next to me.
“How could I not be? This is perfect.” I ease back into the most comfortable couch I’ve ever sat on. “I’ll grab a taxi later. That’s the best part of living in the city.”
“At least the kids are asleep. Take off your shoes and put your feet up. Relax a little.” Angelo stares at my feet and grimaces. “I don’t know how you wear those things.”
I pry the leather shoes from my feet and drop them between the table and the couch. “I’m ridiculously short without them.”
Even with me wearing the heels, Angelo towers over me. Most people do. The extra height makes me more confident. They’re like my battle armor. I feel invincible as soon as I gain a few inches. It’s weird. I know. But you’d have to walk a mile with my short-ass legs to understand.
“How short?” He raises one eyebrow.
“I probably wouldn’t even come up to your chin.” I giggle.
He stands and holds out his hands, wiggling his fingers. “Let me see.”
I slide my fingers across his, gripping his hands tightly. I almost squeal when he pulls me to my feet like I weigh nothing. The power in his arms is so freaking hot, but somehow, I maintain my dignity. “See.” I peer up at him as we stand only a few inches apart.
He tightens his grip, and the air shifts. “I like you shorter.”
My stomach flips. “Well, I…” I go suddenly stupid because the man’s looking at me like I’m one of those cupcakes I have in my display. “I feel so small compared to you.”
Angelo’s not only tall, he’s built like a beast. Wide shoulders and bulging muscles everywhere. “You are.” He tucks a strand of hair behind my ear that has fallen free from my updo.
The gesture’s so sweet, I practically melt into a pile of goo right before his eyes. When his fingers slide down and he cups my face in his hand, I damn near lose it.
“Do you feel that?” he asks in a sexy, deep voice that would make any lady weak in the knees.
“Yeah,” I whisper, unable to take my eyes off his.
He doesn’t have to explain what he’s talking about. I feel everything, and there’s no denying the attraction. Maybe our souls are drawn to each other. Kindred spirits bound by our grief, and they can only find reprieve and comfort in the other. Kismet built of misery.
We stare at each other with one hand still locked together and his other hand still on my face. My skin breaks out in goose bumps, loving the feel of his thumb grazing my cheek.
I want to kiss him so badly. More than I’ve wanted to kiss someone in years. My body craves his touch.
“I want to kiss you,” he says like he’s unsure and maybe asking permission.
“I want you to kiss me too.”
He leans forward, gazing at me with nothing short of pure fire. His eyes search my face, and I feel the full heat of his stare. He moves his hand, releasing his grip on my fingers, and slides it around my back. There’s a moment that passes between us as our breathing picks up and I swear I can hear the pounding of his heart. It matches my own.
The closer he gets, the faster my heart beats. It’s been so long since I’ve kissed anyone on the lips. I almost wonder if I even know how to kiss properly anymore or if I’ll fail miserably. All the doubt I felt as an awkward teenager comes rushing back, and my body shakes.
“Are you okay?” he asks with his lips only inches from mine.
“Do it,” I reply, unable to take my eyes off him. “Kiss me.”
I need his lips against mine more than I need the air in my lungs. The past doesn’t exist. The future is unknown. All we have is this moment. This kiss.
His fingers tighten behind my neck, pulling my face to his. The heat I saw earlier in his eyes has turned into a raging inferno.
I lean into him, waiting for his mouth, and close my eyes. I’m practically begging for the kiss, and my body’s vibrating with anticipation. A kiss shouldn’t be this monumental, but this one is.
At first, he kisses me so gently, I almost don’t feel his lips against mine. My skin tingles, and my heart’s beating wildly out of control because I know there’s no turning back now. I wouldn’t want to either. In five years, no man has even turned my head, but Angelo’s not only hot, he understands me.
My front presses against his chest, loving the hardness of him as he wraps one arm around my back and eliminates all the space between us. We stand there, kissing softly, bodies pressed together, and nothing else seems to matter.
Live in the present. I remind myself of the mantra I promised to follow for the last two years. There is nothing more present than Angelo and the way he’s holding me in his arms. His smell, spicy and full man, surrounds me and roots me in the moment.
He pulls away and stares down at me. “Do you want to stop?” he whispers.
“No.” I slide my hands up his arms and lock my fingers behind his neck. “Kiss me like we only have tonight.”
His eyes search mine for a moment, then his mouth is on mine. This time, a little harder than before, but he’s still holding back. I slide my fingers up the back of his neck, tethering myself to him and pulling his face closer.
He has me weak in the knees the moment he turns his head and his teeth tug at my bottom lip. I moan my appreciation, wanting more, needing to taste him. I could stay like this forever. The rest of the world be damned.
I haven’t felt this much pure joy and sheer pleasure in five long years. There’s nothing like the touch of another person or the lips of a hot man, reminding me I’m alive and there’s more than just sadness left in my body.
I want him. I want his kiss. I want his arms. I want everything he has to give.
He walks me backward, easing me onto the couch and covering me with his body. But his hands stay at my sides, careful not to go further. I can appreciate that. I could lose myself in this man, but I’m not sure either of us is ready for more than the way we’re kissing each other.
His weight is delicious on top of me. I feel so small underneath his massive frame. Protected and cocooned. My body’s on fire, getting ahead of my mind.
Then it happens. Angelo sweeps his tongue inside my mouth, giving me the first taste of his sweetness. My hands roam his back as our tongues tangle together, speaking to each other without saying a word. I dig my fingernails into his shoulders, wanting more—and needing it just as much too.
12
Angelo
“Daddy.”
I grunt as Tate pulls on my arm.
“Daddy,” she whispers and tugs harder.
“Baby, let Daddy sleep.” I don’t open my eyes.
“Why’s Tilly here?” Tate asks.
Every muscle in my body tenses as my eyes fly open.
Fuck.
I’m about to get the Shittiest Father of the Year award. The one thing I promised myself was that I wouldn’t subject my kids to someone I was dating until I was pretty damn serious about where our future was heading.
I’m not quite sure where Tilly and I are going. Last night, kissing her made me feel alive again. It made me want more of her. I’d been so busy with the kids and the bar, I’d put the loneliness I felt completely out of my mind.
Everything about us felt righ
t. She got me. She didn’t judge me on my sadness or guilt. Tilly had walked in my shoes, losing the person she thought she’d spend eternity with.
“We fell asleep watching a movie, baby.” I glance down at Tilly, who’s still sleeping peacefully at my side. Thank God shit didn’t get out of hand and we are both fully clothed. That would’ve been a complete nightmare.
This is bad.
Tate’s on the coffee table, staring at the two of us. Her tiny legs are kicking back and forth against the wood, and I know she probably has a million questions. She pushes her unruly hair backward and yawns before rubbing the sleep from her eyes. “Are you going to make us breakfast?”
She doesn’t seem bothered or even shocked that Tilly’s in our home and spent the night, but the guilt in my gut is clear as day. As a father, it’s my duty to protect Tate, even if it’s from me.
“I don’t know. Tilly probably has to go,” I tell her.
Tilly starts to stir in the crook of my arm. It’s like I’m frozen. I don’t know if I should push Tilly away, putting space between us for Tate. But I also don’t want to be an asshole to Tilly and have her wake up in the middle of me shoving her off my shoulder.
Tate scrunches her little nose. “Why?”
“Well…”
“Oh my God,” Tilly whispers at my side and tenses just like I did.
Tate giggles. “Morning, Tilly.”
If the kid’s traumatized by Tilly’s presence, she’s not letting on. Tate seems excited there’s another woman in the house, and it doesn’t hurt that Tilly’s always giving her cupcakes.
“I’m sorry.” Tilly pushes herself upright while glancing up at me with nothing but fear in her eyes.
“Don’t be sorry,” Tate answers for me. “Daddy was just going to make us breakfast.”