Break the Ice

by Piper Rayne

  The two start talking in a language I don’t understand. Italian is my best guess.

  “Number forty-three,” the man—Mauro I guess—says, and places my sandwich on the counter in a black basket with wax paper made to look like a newspaper.

  Skylar’s next to Chelsea when I reach the table. She’s obviously decided to wait for her number to be called here instead of by the counter, which relieves me since I try to avoid being alone with Chelsea as much as possible.

  “Oh, it looks awesome.” Skylar stares at my sandwich much the same way she did the guy who came in moments ago.

  “Yeah, Chelsea had a good pick for once.” I push my straw through the lid on my cup.

  She shoots me an annoyed look that distorts her face unattractively. “As I was saying,” Chelsea pauses for dramatic flare. “He’s one of their sons. There’s three of them, and hand to God, each one is just as hot.”

  “And you haven’t snagged one of them up?” Skylar asks, twirling her number in her hand.

  Chelsea waves her hand and I look back over my shoulder to see the guy approaching our table.

  “They’re Italian, Sky. Old school possessive mama. Too much drama for me.” She rises from her chair and is enveloped in the guy’s arms.

  “Chels, how’d I miss you when I walked in?” His blue eyes spark when they land on Skylar.

  I thought Italians all had brown eyes?

  The douchebag needs to keep it moving. Maybe go visit his mama again.

  “You tell me,” Chelsea responds in a flirty voice.

  The two of them laugh and suddenly my sandwich nauseates me.

  “This is my cousin, Skylar Walsh, she just got back from the Classics.”

  His eyes widen.

  Yeah, yeah, yeah, we know, it’s amazing, you’re impressed, whatever.

  He holds his hand out to her.

  “Mauro Bianco,” he says, and the last name triggers my memory of the car accident. It can’t be a coincidence.

  “Nice to meet you.” Skylar’s voice is low and sultry as her body falls to the back of the chair like saying hello took all of her energy.

  I’d like to smack the smile off Mauro’s face because it’s not a ‘nice to meet you smile,’ it’s a ‘can I dip my hands down your pants and feel how wet I made you’ smile.

  “Hey,” he shifts his attention to me and nods.

  “Beckett.”

  “This is Skylar’s friend,” Chelsea adds.

  He scrutinizes me, his brows furrowing. “You look so familiar.”

  “Do you happen to be related to a cop and a paramedic?” I ask.

  Skylar glances over at me, shocked. Oh, that’s right, she was consumed with her conversation with Officer Mount Me during the entire exchange after the accident.

  Mauro snaps his fingers and points to me, recognition lighting his face.

  “Duh,” Chelsea says and points to the painted wall, split into three parts. One has the Chicago Police Department symbol with the chequered pattern on top and bottom in the middle. The firefighter symbol with flames on its left and the paramedic symbol on it’s right, equally loved with a painted ambulance.

  Mauro laughs. “What can I say, my parents are proud.” He shrugs, but the smile adorning his face says he’s happy about that. “You’re a snowboarder, right?”

  I nod.

  “My brother Luca showed his picture with you to the entire bar. You may be responsible for some little Bianco’s in about nine months.”

  I laugh.

  “Number forty-eight,” the young girl behind the counter calls out.

  Skylar moves to stand, but Mauro presses his hand on her shoulder. “I got it.”

  She falls back down into the chair, clutching her chest and heaving for a breath. Okay, maybe I’m exaggerating slightly, but she definitely likes him.

  A minute later, Skylar’s sandwich is placed in front of her. “Good choice on the cannoli. Homemade.” He winks and for fuck’s sake if she was an ice cream cone she’d be a puddle on the floor because she practically melts back into her seat.

  “Is it your day off?” Chelsea asks.

  “I’m on in a few hours.”

  “I’m guessing you’re the firefighter?” I ask, biting my sandwich.

  “What a brainiac you are,” Chelsea says, sparing me a glance.

  Mauro looks down at her, probably wondering why she’s so snarky to me, especially since I’ve tapered down my own reaction toward her. We’re in public after all.

  “Yeah. I’m the oldest so I think they followed in my footsteps, each thinking they could outdo me. Hello, I run into burning buildings.” You can tell he’s joking, that he’s really not full of himself and if it wasn’t for the way his gaze keeps shifting back toward Skylar, I’d probably like the guy, but not when he likes her.

  Mauro sits down at our table and I internally groan. “So, Skylar, my brother told me you went out with his partner?”

  Skylar sips her drink, her sandwich still untouched. “Yeah.” Her eyes flicker to me. “A few nights ago.”

  “How’d that go?” He leans back in his chair, his muscular arms crossing over his chest.

  “He was nice.” She shrugs and shifts in her seat.

  “Nice?” He raises his eyebrows. “That’s not the usual adjective someone would use to describe Michaels.”

  She giggles, her fingers knotting in her lap in front of her. “Well, I was trying to be polite.”

  Mauro sits up straighter, links his hands on top of the table, leaning over like Chelsea and I aren’t here. “No need. The guy is a tool.”

  She laughs some more and my insides churn watching this scene play out.

  “You know what?” Chelsea stands. “This sounds impromptu, but why don’t Beckett and I give you two some space.”

  Skylar doesn’t refuse and either does Mauro, their eyes still fixated on each other.

  Fucking Chelsea.

  But what am I supposed to do? I stand, collect my sandwich and drink, and I’m not even sitting at the other table before Mauro slides over into my seat beside Skylar.

  From three tables over, I watch the woman I’m just figuring out I love more than a friend, twist her hair and laugh at another man’s jokes. As usual in my life, I’ve been set aside.

  Chapter Twelve

  “You don’t mind, right Beckett?” Chelsea leans back in her chair, her legs crossed as she types away on her phone.

  “Don’t you have a job?”

  “What do you think I’m doing right now?” She flips her phone my way, but I don’t bother looking.

  I take a bite of my sandwich. I’ll fight through the rolling emotions inside making my stomach rumble with turmoil.

  “So, you don’t mind if Mauro and Skylar go out, right? Just think of the beautiful babies they’ll make together.”

  I don’t respond. I know she’s trying to get a rise out of me. Everything in me tells me to get up, grab Sky and kiss her until Mauro is lost in a sea of black behind me.

  “Cut it.” I push a perfectly mouth-watering sandwich aside, my eyes shifting between the sandwich and them.

  Chelsea’s conniving laugh is all I hear as I try to shift my attention away from Skylar and Mauro. His mom walks out from behind the counter, stopping in her tracks and then smiles, continuing forward. Then as she cleans up some of the tables, it’s me and her stealing looks at the happy couple.

  He’s perfect for Skylar. A firefighter, which means he thinks of others before himself. Seems to come from a big happy family just like hers. And the kicker, he lives in Chicago where she wants to go to grad school. As I stack up the comparisons, a small part of me withers and dies because he’s the perfect man for her. Far more perfect than me.

  A phone rings and everyone, including Skylar glances at his or her phones. Mauro’s mom walks fast toward the corded phone on the wall. She answers and that smiling face turns into a frown. Not even waiting until she’s off the phone, she plucks a cell phone out of the front pocket
of her apron. I laugh when I read the case that says ‘It’s not a party until my Italian meatballs come out’ written in red, white and green.

  She hangs up the phone, presses two buttons on her cell and her face turns redder the longer it takes. The person must answer because she starts rambling in Italian, mixing in a few English words.

  “Luca!” she scolds and I’m guessing that’s the same Luca I met after the accident—the paramedic.

  “Don’t ‘Mama me,’ stop giving out the deli number to your girls.” She pauses before her face softens a little.

  “Luca, Il diavolo fa le pentole ma non i coperchi!”

  She clicks the phone off.

  Mauro excuses himself and goes over to his mother where the two continue speaking in Italian. Mauro’s unable to hide his humor at his brother’s antics.

  His mom points to Skylar’s back, waggling her eyebrows. Mauro’s gaze shoots to me and I bury my head in my phone.

  A minute later, he and Skylar are standing at the edge of our table. The chair squeaks as I rise from my seat. Usually, I have some height on guys, but Mauro is eye to eye with me.

  “Your mom didn’t seem very happy.” I shake my head, amused at the woman.

  He chuckles. “My brother, Luca, the paramedic.” He waits for me to acknowledge. “He gives his one-night stands the deli number. She’s tired of it, says he’ll die alone.”

  “What did she say in Italian?” Chelsea asks.

  Mauro rolls his eyes. “The closest English translation would be what goes around comes around. That one day, a girl will do what he does to them. Luca is...well, let’s say he’s not ready to settle down yet.”

  “Might as well live it up while he can, right?” I say.

  Mauro says nothing. Apparently, I’m the only one of us four who doesn’t feel worthy of committing to one person. Maybe I should give Luca a call.

  “I gotta go. Nice meeting you.” I stick out my left hand and he takes it skeptically. I should’ve just shot him a head nod instead of this left-handed grip.

  “Sorry, for the godfather handshake, but as you can tell,” I lift my sling, “the dangers of being a silver medalist snowboarder have me as a bit of a gimp at the moment.”

  “Or those pesky well-placed ice patches,” Chelsea adds.

  I narrow my eyes and she smiles brightly up at me. I’d like to strap her to my board and send her down a mountain.

  “Costs of the job, right?” Mauro says.

  “Did I mention that Mauro is a firefighter for our fine city?” Chelsea’s smile shifts from sweet to sinister.

  No one says anything since that was established earlier.

  “Yeah, he runs into burning buildings and you ride a board down a hill. Definitely comparable on the danger level,” she continues.

  Again, I give her my best icy glare. I’d like to see her break fifteen bones in her body and get back up to do it again. I’m fairly sure taking a celebrity family to lunch and making bullshit calls for someone doesn’t get your adrenaline pumping.

  “Oh, Chels,” Mauro says. “I can’t imagine being a professional athlete. The schedule must be grueling.” He’s not looking to me when he says it though, his gaze is set on Skylar.

  She gives him that shy smile. The one that suggests she isn’t a firecracker under her delicate features.

  “Don’t you guys always have enormous meals or some shit at the firehouse? Sky and I live on plant life most of the time and lean proteins.”

  The Italian stallion smiles.

  “Right Sky? Remember that time we pigged out on take-out after the X Games?” I ask her.

  Skylar softens her smile for me and then looks up to Mauro, nodding. She acts like I’m her little sister and she’s tolerating me so she doesn’t get grounded, otherwise she can’t go to the party Saturday night.

  “You do learn how to cook if you’re a fireman,” Mauro agrees.

  “A man who saves lives and can cook. Do you clean, too? And how close are you to your mother?” Skylar elbows Chelsea, her cheeks growing redder the longer we stand here.

  “That might be my downfall. I have a housecleaner and I’m Italian, so the mother thing is self-explanatory.”

  All three of them laugh and I feel like the loser at a party who doesn’t get the inside joke. He just openly admitted he’s a momma’s boy. I bet his Italian mother still does his laundry and cuts up his meat for him. At least with me, Skylar wouldn’t have to deal with in-laws, I’m a party of one.

  “Housecleaners are good, too,” Chelsea says.

  Will she ever just shut up? She’s practically writing this guy’s want ad and trying to match him with Skylar. Who is she, the Match.com spokesperson?

  “I better get going. My shift starts at three,” Mauro says, rubbing the back of his neck with his hand.

  I search out a clock and like I assumed, there’s one perfectly placed on the wall over top of the deli counter. Two o’clock. This guy must’ve really wanted to stick around to talk to Skylar. Who wouldn’t?

  “I’ll walk you out,” Skylar says, and steps through our mini circle.

  “Nice to meet you.” He nods at me. “Chelsea,” he says, following Skylar. Probably checking her ass out.

  “Oh. My. God.” Chelsea clasps her heart, her hand squeezing the edge of the table for support.

  “Dramatic much?”

  She stands up straight, rolls her eyes. “He’s drop-dead gorgeous. Did you see his bicep muscles straining his shirt sleeves, or the corded muscles flexing in his forearm?”

  “Forearms? Seriously?”

  She slaps me on the back. “Forearms are sexy as fuck, Beck.”

  “A dick is sexy as fuck, Chelsea.”

  An older couple that just came in turns back to look at me and then to Chelsea. Shit.

  “Sorry,” I mumble to the couple. “Want some dessert? It’s on me.”

  The man smiles and shakes his head while the woman’s gaze concentrates on my crotch like she’s sizing me up. I oddly want to cover my junk with my hands. This is how women must feel when us men are being pigs.

  “You.” Chelsea points to me, bending her finger for me to follow her.

  Why? So, I can hear how fucking great, Marco, Maurice or whatever the fuck his name is?

  My gaze flickers outside. The two of them both have their phones out. Great, they’re exchanging numbers now. Chelsea will probably get a promotion at Match.com now for her set-up of the perfect couple.

  “Beckett.” This time Chelsea’s voice is sterner. It reminds me of one of my foster mom’s where if we still didn’t listen, all hell broke loose.

  I head in her direction of the cashier. Chelsea ordered a to-go tray of cannoli dip and broken rolls. Of course she did.

  She slaps me on the back. “Pay the woman.”

  I hand my credit card to the cashier and she rings me up and hands me the slip to sign without her earlier smile.

  I get Mauro looks like a model in a fitness magazine, but I’m not too shabby either. I have a killer career and that stubble/beard thing that all the women these days seem to like. I’m a catch, too, damn it.

  But like I have to keep reminding myself—I’m not Skylar’s to catch. I’m not anyone’s really.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Game night at the Walshes is no joke—running tallies, razzing and competitiveness that put me, Grady and Dax to shame. I’ve seen Zoe in tears, I’ve seen Skylar punch her brother in the shoulder. The Walshes are ruthless and as much as they laugh during these nights, they bicker, too. It fascinated me at first until I realized it’s survival of the fittest. I don’t cry, and her brother and I don’t fight, but Skylar didn’t talk to me for a week once. Long story.

  Skylar’s putting out the chips and her mom’s seven-layer taco dip, while I’ve made sure the fridge is stocked with beer. The door opens, and I wait to hear the thumping of little footsteps, but Zoe and Vin round the corner with a brown grocery bag and a case of beer.

  “What’s this?” Skyl
ar rears back from the table, surprise written all over her face.

  “We’re kid-free!” Zoe starts shaking her hips and then her and Vin start grinding with the bag between them.

  “Aw, I’d rented some kid’s movies and everything.” Skylar hurries over and takes the bag from her sister’s arms.

  “Vin’s parents wanted them for a night and who are we to deny them their wonderfully well-behaved grandchildren.” She cocks her eye to Vin who looks like he’s about a second from laughing.

  “They helped mold them,” he adds, raising the case of beer in his hand. Alpha Beer, the Greek beer he says grows thicker hair on your chest. Must work for your back, too, based on the time Vin and I hit the hot tub when they visited in Utah.

  Vin and I take a seat in the adjoining living room while Zoe and Skylar continue preparations in the kitchen. The two of them are laughing off and on and I can’t help but think how since she met Mauro, Skylar’s been in a good mood. I have no idea if they’ve talked or texted, and part of me wishes her phone would malfunction and lose just his number altogether.

  “Hello, hello!” Chelsea walks in with a bag full of liquor. “I heard a rumor.” She stops in the middle of the room, looking right and left. She holds her finger to her lips and we all play her little game of keeping quiet. “Adult night!” her hips slide from side to side as her knees bend and she moves down and twists back up. “It’s party time!”

  “Great,” I mumble, getting rewarded with a carrot thrown at my forehead. I pick it up and chomp down on it while looking at Zoe. “Who brought this nutritious crap into the house?”

  Zoe smirks and the front door opens again.

  Skylar’s brother, Mike waltzes in. Now here’s a guy I like. Carefree, just moved into downtown on his own. He brings a different girl to every game night that I’ve been to and although Skylar’s mom always acts like the random girl could be the one, everyone else is well aware she isn’t.

  “Mikey!” Vin and I yell in unison.

  He holds up a bottle of tequila in one hand, a bag of limes in the other. “I heard there’s a party here tonight?”

  We all look on, waiting for some shy girl to join him at his side, but no one comes.