TOO HOT TO HANDLE

by Robin Kaye

  After moving away from home, she skipped church more often than not. Once Chip got sick, Mass had kept her sane. She prayed constantly he would survive, and when she was sure he wouldn't, she prayed for a pain-free passing. God hadn't granted either.

  She hobbled to the bench outside and lowered herself onto the concrete seat. She shaded her eyes from the sun and squinted at Richie, who looked like he wore a halo. Obviously a trick of the sun. As much as she loved him, Richie was no angel. "Where did you get reservations?"

  Rich sat beside her and held her crutches upright. "At an old friend's restaurant. He was able to squeeze me in at the last minute."

  "Is the food good?"

  "Yeah. I haven't been there in years, but it used to be. I'm sure it still is."

  "If not, I'm not protecting you from Mama's wrath. You're on your own."

  "Gee, thanks."

  The rest of the family exited the church after shaking the Father's hand.

  Rich rose and hauled her off the bench. "Are you up for walking a few blocks?"

  "You don't have your car?"

  "Why would I drive? Everything is within a five-block radius."

  "Gee, I don't know. Maybe because I fell off a ladder, tore all the tendons in my ankle, and walking on crutches means I'm effectively walking on my hands!" She held her hands out and showed him Band-Aid-covered blisters.

  "Want a piggyback ride?"

  "No. I want a cab ride."

  "Aw, come on, buck up. It's just a block and a half."

  "Sure. Okay. No problem." She took her crutch and aimed for Richie's foot, crushing a toe under the rubber-tipped crutch and scarring the Italian brown leather. It felt good to know that she wouldn't be the only one bucking up because she was in pain.

  Mike loved his mother. He really did. Heck, he even loved Vinny and Mona DiNicola. After all, they were practically family. When you had as few family members as Mike, you appreciated the ones you had. Right now, he was ready to strangle all three of them.

  When he'd arrived at the specified time, Mother's Day gift in hand, he'd been stunned to see Rita, Mona's second cousin, sitting with his mother. Rita was beautiful, tall, bleached blonde, twentysomething, and single. Before Nick's engagement, she'd gone after him with a single-minded determination that could only be described as scary. Now she seemed to be targeting Mike. Clue number one was when she muscled her grandmother out of the seat next to Mike. The second and third clues were her leaning into him with both her breasts in his face and whispering in his ear.

  Talk about an awkward situation with the potential to turn volatile. The worst part about it was he had no idea how to avoid disaster. Guilt had already invaded his consciousness, and he'd done nothing to deserve it, which made the situation even more egregious, if that was possible. Mike figured that if he was going to feel guilty, he should have at least had the opportunity to do something worthy of guilt. Guilt for something he hadn't done was just wrong.

  Rita drew the attention of every man in the room because she wore what had to be a Frederick's of Hollywood skintight dress with a plunging neckline that ended in the vicinity of her navel. Vinny stared at her with a glazed look in his eyes. Most of the men did, but it wasn't the men who mattered. The back dining room was reserved for "family" members, so every woman who saw Mike and Rita together was directly related to someone in "the family" and had known him since he was in high school. In woman-speak, Mike having a date—even the illusion of a date—at a family affair like this meant he was in a serious relationship, which also meant he was seriously fucked.

  Annabelle's hair stuck to the back of her neck, her ankle throbbed, and her parents' cold silence covered everyone around them like a cloud of dry ice fog in a bad production of Macbeth. She kept her head down and hobbled along behind the family. She didn't pay attention to where they were going, focusing instead on the sidewalk. Annabelle learned from experience that sidewalk bulges from tree-root growth don't mix well with crutches and should have warning signs.

  She didn't think Mother's Day could get any worse until she followed the family through thick wooden doors into the bustling restaurant. She raised her head and was greeted by a hostess. "Welcome to DiNicola's."

  "DiNicola's?" Annabelle had thought her humiliation was over when she hobbled out of church. But no. "Richie, you never told me you made reservations at DiNicola's."

  "Hey, you called and told me I had to make reservations for Mother's Day, remember? Do you have any idea how hard it is to get reservations for brunch on Mother's Day? Let me tell you. It's easier to get tickets to a Springsteen concert at the Garden. With Springsteen at least the scalpers are out. You pay through the nose, but you can get tickets. Nobody scalps reservations. It's a good thing I saw Vinny at Rosalie's wedding."

  "Yeah, great."

  She had a bad feeling about this. She knew Mike planned to take his mother to brunch, so it wasn't a big stretch to think they'd dine at DiNicola's. After all, the way he talked about Vinny, you'd think they were related. Annabelle would look like a stalker. Worse, she'd look as if she'd arranged this to meet Mike's mother. Something she really didn't want to do—ever. She was oh for two in the impress-the-mother game. Chip's mother had hated her with a bleeding passion, and Johnny's mother had tolerated her only because she'd agreed to marry the two-faced, cheating slimeball.

  The thought of meeting Mike's mother had Annabelle's stomach preparing for a future meltdown. All systems were a go for the production of acid because one never knew when one might need to burn a hole or two or three in the lining of one's stomach.

  The hostess smiled. "We'll walk through the bar into the back dining room. Please follow me."

  Like a lemming, Annabelle took up the rear and made her way into the crowded bar. When the family stopped, she quit paying attention to the inordinate number of chair legs to trip over and looked to see what the holdup was.

  Ben was the holdup. Ben decked out in a suit. She'd never seen him in a suit. Ever. "What are you doing here?"

  He handed Mama a bouquet of flowers and kissed her powdered cheek. "Thanks for inviting me, Mrs. Ronaldi."

  "You invited him?" Mama had the audacity to look proud of herself. She smiled as if expecting a compliment. She should have been worried about how much damage a crutch could do.

  "Ben has no family here. Of course, I invited him. When I called for you one day, he answered. I asked if he was going home to spend the holiday with his mother, and he told me both his parents died when he was a little boy. I told him he should come with us."

  Annabelle speared Ben with a look that had him taking a step back. Damn him and that devilish smirk.

  Richie looked from Ben to her and back again. She gave Rich a shake of the head and received a shrug for her trouble. As if he didn't believe there was nothing between her and Ben. Hell, she couldn't blame him. Even she questioned it.

  She waited until the rest of the family moved on before turning on Ben. "Do you mind telling me what the hell is going on here?"

  "What do you mean? Your mother called for you and invited me to join your family for Mother's Day."

  "Yes, I understand that, but what in the name of God made you accept such a blatant invitation from my mother? You knew she planned to throw us together." She poked him with her pointer finger for emphasis. "My mother has had one thing on her mind since I hit puberty—marrying me off." Poke. "Why would you knowingly submit yourself to my mother's patented form of torture?" Poke. "And why, if you knew you were coming to dinner, didn't you mention it yesterday when we closed the gallery together?" Poke. "You had plenty of opportunity. Heck, you could have told me over lunch."

  Ben took her hand before she could poke him again. "Maybe I wanted to spend time with you outside the gallery and didn't want it to have anything to do with work."

  "Don't you think this might be something you should consult me about?" She pulled her hand from his.

  Ben smiled as if he wasn't speaking to someone who wanted him dead. "
No, not especially."

  The acid from Annabelle's stomach made its way to the back of her throat. She swallowed in time to keep it from doing more damage than burning the lining of her esophagus. She resisted the urge to smack him. After all, they were in a public place. Had they been at the gallery, she'd have picked up her crutch and popped him one. Then, after he came to, she'd tell him what she thought of him.

  "You smug, arrogant—"

  Ben put his hand on the small of Annabelle's back and steered her through the bar and into the back dining room.

  Annabelle stepped into the room, scanned it for her family, but the first person she noticed was Mike. A woman practically sat on his lap. A strange metallic sound drowned out all others, like a constant gong or a cymbal on steroids. She blinked her eyes and hoped she was seeing things, but even her fertile mind couldn't make up anything like this. She didn't have that good of an imagination for horror. If she did, she'd be the next Stephen King.

  She turned to Ben as if she'd never seen Mike and smiled. "Our table is over there." She nodded in the direction and held her head high as Ben, with his hand firmly on her back, led her to the table.

  "Richie Ronaldi." She turned in the direction of the rich baritone and saw a rotund balding man with one eyebrow and a big smile pushing his way through the melee of the crowded restaurant. Rich stood next to their table and shook the man's hand. "Vinny, you remember my mother, Maria, my aunt Rose, my little sister, Annabelle, and that's her … friend Ben Walsh, and my father, Paul."

  Vinny DiNicola nodded at everyone in turn and gave Annabelle a funny look.

  Annabelle smiled her way through the introductions, Ben put his arm around her waist, and she decided to hit him with her crutch just as soon as she could figure out how to make it look like an accident.

  The look Mike had given her when she and Ben arrived had nothing in common with the one he gave her when they parted company outside her apartment less than two hours ago. The worst part about it was the guilt written all over Mike's face.

  She'd been sweating a minute ago, and now she'd entered a deep freeze. The gong in her head increased in volume, and her scalp got that weird prickly pins and needles feeling. She probably should have eaten something that morning. At least then, she'd have something to throw up when the time came.

  She smiled her most pleasant smile as Ben pulled the chair out for her and took her crutches before helping her onto the chair.

  Ben leaned over her shoulder and whispered, "That's your doctor friend wearing the blonde, isn't it?"

  Annabelle jerked the napkin off the table and wrung it between her hands on her lap, wishing it were Ben's neck. "Yes."

  He pushed her chair in. "Don't you think it was rude that he didn't at least say hello?"

  His breath washed over her ear as he whispered. She turned her face to him and found herself close enough for a kiss … or bite. The look on her face must have forecasted the latter since he straightened and took a big step back. "My relationship with Mike is none of your business. Now why don't you go and sit with my mother since it's her invitation you accepted."

  He nodded and left her sitting with a very clear view of Mike and his puttana.

  Mike needed to get his temper under control. He was a doctor for crying out loud. He couldn't pummel everyone who touched his girlfriend, especially since he had Rita practically dripping off him. It's hard to act holier-than-thou when you don't have a leg to stand on.

  There were at least two members of the DiNicola family watching the disaster unfold. Any reaction on his part would be served right along with the antipasti to the entire room.

  Mike ignored Rita and caught his mother's eye. He widened his eyes and gave a slight shake of his head while tilting it toward Rita. It's a good thing Rita was known for her bra size, not her intellect.

  Mike's mother took the hint. "Excuse me. I'm going to the ladies' room to check my lipstick. Rita, would you mind showing me the way?"

  "Sure, I'd be happy to." Rita giggled and squeezed Mike's bicep.

  Mike stood and disentangled himself from Rita. After watching them leave, he wove his way through the tables and stopped at Annabelle's side. "May I speak to you in private?" He didn't wait for her response, but simply grabbed her crutches and pulled her chair out before helping her up. He tucked her to his side, turned, and considered taking her to the wine cellar, but if the tension running through her was anger, breakage could be a problem. No need to arm an angry Italian woman, he'd seen enough of them to know when to play it safe.

  Mike led her into Vinny's office, closed and locked the door, and offered her a chair in front of the scarred metal desk. He went around to the other side, opened a bottom drawer, and removed a bottle of Jack Daniel's. He held it up. "Can I get you a drink?"

  She shook her head even though she looked as if she could use a good belt. Mike grabbed a coffee cup that had been left on the desk, poured the contents into the trash can, and filled it with four fingers of Jack. He raised the glass in silent toast and sent a quick prayer for protection to both his ego and his heart before draining it.

  Annabelle wrung the napkin she still held in her hands because Mike hadn't given her time to put it down before he'd practically forced her away from the table. She could only imagine what the family thought. She wasn't sure if upon her return she'd be congratulated or condemned.

  Mike swallowed what had to be a hell of an after-burn. She wasn't much of a drinker, as evidenced by the wedding, but she had done shots once. After the first of many shots she remembered feeling as if she could light a cigarette with her breath, and after the last, she didn't remember anything.

  Mike rounded the desk and leaned against the front of it, keeping the bottle and mug close at hand.

  She had to tilt her head to see his face. "What was it you needed to talk to me about that was so important you felt the need to remove me from my—"

  "Date?"

  "Not that it's any of your business, but I didn't invite Ben to join the family dinner. I didn't even know he would be here. My mother arranged it."

  "Not without Ben's help."

  "So?" She let go of everything—she stuck the memory of Mike and the puttana someplace in a lockbox in the back of her mind to deal with at a later date … or not.

  "What are we going to do about it?"

  "We?"

  "Yes, you and me."

  "Why do we have to do anything? We can just go back and pretend we never saw each other." Mike didn't seem to like that idea if the grimace on his face was anything to go by. "Okay, how 'bout you do something. You, being a doctor, can tell my mother I felt ill. She'll have to believe you. I'll grab a cab home, and then you can do whatever you want to do with your own date."

  "Oh no, you don't. There's no way I'm going to let you stick me with having to deal with everyone alone."

  "Unless I'm mistaken, you were hardly alone, and you seemed to be handling her just fine."

  "Her name is Rita. She was after Nick for a long time. Since he got married, it looks as if she's made me her latest target."

  "Okay."

  "Okay? That's all you have to say? She's a beautiful woman, and she's interested in me…"

  Mike was attractive and nice, and any woman in her right mind would be falling all over herself to get to him. It didn't mean she wanted to hear about it. "I know you can get any girl you want."

  "Obviously not. Since the only girl I want is you. And for some reason, you're making this whole 'getting' thing not only difficult but frustrating." He moved forward and put his hands on the arms of her chair so that they were practically nose to nose. "What's it gonna be, Annabelle. Me or Ben?"

  "Very funny." Her eyes stung, and she could swear that vein in her forehead was popping out. Yeah, it was the only thing she and Julia Roberts had in common—a vein that popped out when they were really mad or about to cry. Right now, she wasn't sure if she was mad or if she was about to cry. Maybe both.

  "You think this is a
joke?" His voice seemed deeper than usual. He was so close, his heat warmed through her cotton sweater.

  "Isn't it? Like I'm the only girl you want. Right. Why don't you leave me alone, and go back to your date?"

  "You're serious? That's just great." He stood and stepped away from her. "I'm either totally inept, or you're incredibly difficult. Here I am trying to tell you that I'm hung up on you in a big way, and you're telling me to get lost."

  Annabelle pushed her chair back and rose. She couldn't stand being still, and if she was going to fight with him, she was going to do it standing. "What?"

  "You're going to make me repeat it, aren't you? You are difficult."

  She stepped into his personal space. "Hey, if I'm so difficult, why are you bothering?"

  "I think I love you."

  Luckily, he didn't give her time to say anything before he kissed her. He'd probably bust something if she told him he thought wrong. She was pretty sure he'd come to his senses eventually and come to that conclusion on his own. After all, he was the smart one. She might as well have been one of Pavlov's dogs. Mike only had to be near her for her mind to shut down and her body to take over. Maybe her hormones were to blame. Whatever it was that caused it, the effect was spontaneous heat. More heat than she'd ever experienced with anyone before. Before she knew it, her mouth opened beneath his, her tongue fought for control of the kiss, her chest heaved, and warmth flooded her abdomen and all parts south. As for all parts north—they felt as if her skin had shrunk like a favorite sweater in a heavy-duty washer on hot. Real hot. Too hot to handle.

  She opened her eyes and found Mike had his eyes opened too. Like he was making sure she wouldn't disappear, like he wanted to watch her reaction to him, like he was nervous about it.

  The nervousness didn't last long, because when he pulled away, he wore a smug smile. "Maybe Rita did me a favor after all. Now, at least, I know you care about me enough to be jealous—"

  She slammed her hands against Mike's chest and pushed him away. "I am not jealous—"

  He caught her hands and held them behind her back, which pushed her front against his. "You're arrogant."