TOO HOT TO HANDLE

by Robin Kaye

  Mike lingered on the kiss while he gave Dave a shove. Dave grunted, rolled off the high bed onto the floor, and stood staring at them with his big blockhead resting comfortably on the mattress. Mike ran his hand up her naked body, and Dave stuck his nose in a very private place.

  Annabelle shot up in bed. "Stop it." She pointed to Dave. "You keep your cold, wet nose to yourself." Mike laughed.

  "What are you laughing about? You're as bad as he is."

  He was still laughing. "What? I didn't goose you."

  "Not yet." She smacked the hand that slid up her thigh.

  "I forgot. You're not much of a morning person."

  She grumbled, pulled the sheet off the bed, and stomped into the bathroom.

  "Come on, Dave. Let's go brew up some of those magic beans to see if we can change her back into my sweet girlfriend."

  "I heard that."

  Chapter 14

  Mike pretended to read a medical journal while surreptitiously watching Annabelle polish her toenails. He'd never seen it done before. Either that or he'd never paid attention, which might be the case. No one had ever captured his attention so completely. She sat with her foot on the coffee table, cotton balls stuck in between each of her toes, and her hair tied in a ponytail on the top of her head so it fell like a fountain of corkscrew curls. She wore his old Columbia sweatshirt with the collar cut out, which slipped enticingly off her bare shoulder, making her look like an '80s Flashdance fantasy.

  The weather had turned cold and rainy, which gave him an excuse to build a fire and cuddle up with her until she pulled out her smelly nail polish and shoved him away. Until the smell went away or the stuff dried, he had to be content to watch from a distance.

  "Would you stop?"

  Mike looked over the journal he'd been hiding behind. "Stop what?"

  "Not you. Dave."

  She put the cap on the bottle of polish and elbowed Dave. "He won't stop breathing on me. He needs his teeth brushed. I saw on a commercial that you're supposed to brush a dog's teeth. It's weird, but it might make his nasty doggy breath smell better."

  "I guess. I never had a dog. I wouldn't mind having Dave, though—he's a guy's dog."

  "No, he's a girl's dog. He's Rosalie's."

  "That's not what I mean. He's not one of those stupid-looking girly dogs women carry around in their pocketbooks, or like an Afghan, who look like they spent their lives being styled. Dave's a no-nonsense, ride-in-the-back-of-your-pick-up-truck type of dog."

  "I think he's more of a 'mess-with-me-and-my-dog-will-eat-you' kind of dog. Dave likes riding inside the car."

  "I meant that a guy isn't going to want to die of embarrassment when he takes Dave for a walk. You're going to miss him when Nick and Rosalie come back. Are you going to get a dog of your own?"

  "Maybe. No offense to Dave here, but I've always wanted a dog to run with. Not only for safety reasons, but for company. It sure would make getting out the door easier if you have to take a dog out anyway. Plus, it just looks cool. Maybe I'll rescue a greyhound."

  "I hear they make great pets. Do you want to look into it when we get back home?"

  "Sure."

  Annabelle got up and walked away from him on her heels so as not to mess up her nails. Dave trailed behind her, whining like he was commiserating for some unknown reason.

  Every time Mike mentioned doing anything together in the future, she shut down. Either something was wrong, or the thought of them leaving was as depressing to her as it was to him. This had been the best weekend of his life. They had great food, great laughs, great sex, and plenty of sleep.

  He could get used to having her around. Hell, who was he kidding? He had gotten used to having her around. Not that they spent every moment together, but he took her into consideration when he made decisions. He worried about her, missed her when they weren't together, and thought about his future with her in it. Maybe she was worried that if he got the job, he'd leave her.

  He hoped if he was offered the position at EHS, Annabelle would want to move to Pennsylvania with him. Move in with him? Man, he wasn't sure how he felt about living together. Sure, he stayed over at her place, but that wasn't the same as living together. The good Catholic boy in him thought Annabelle deserved more—better. Besides, her parents didn't seem like the type to look the other way while their daughter lived in sin.

  It was either get two places and be close to one another, or get married.

  He'd expected to feel blinding terror at the thought of being tied to one person for the rest of his life, but for some reason all he felt was a sense of rightness.

  He and Annabelle were going to have to do some serious talking, but it might be better if he waited until after her hormones and emotions were back to normal, and maybe after he bought her an engagement ring.

  The thought of buying a diamond shot a short blast of fear through him, but he attributed it to going further in debt than he already was. He'd get over it. He didn't have much of a choice. The thought of sleeping with Annabelle every night, waking up with her every morning, someday having kids who looked just like her, was too good to pass up. Even if it meant going into hock up to his eyeballs.

  Annabelle was a wuss. She should tell him. Every time he mentioned the future, it felt as if he were twisting the knife already rammed through her heart. Part of her wanted to believe Becca. Mike wasn't Chip … but no matter how she looked at it, one blaring fact remained the same, Mike and Chip had the same father, and Christopher Larsen would never change his impression of her. Not only did she refuse to stand between Mike and his family—a family she knew he'd always wanted—but she refused to let anyone treat her that badly ever again. Not even for Mike.

  He might say he didn't want anything to do with his dad, but once he learned the truth, he'll change his mind.

  Annabelle phoned Becca.

  She picked up first ring. "Are you okay? Did you tell him yet?"

  "Yes and no."

  "What?"

  "Yes, I'm okay, and no, I didn't tell him."

  "Aw, honey, you sound as if you just lost your best friend."

  "I have … or I will."

  "Annabelle, you'll never lose me."

  "I was talking about Mike."

  Becca was silent.

  "He keeps talking about the future, buying a gas grill for the apartment, a dog of our own"—tears slid down her cheeks, and she swallowed a sob—"I don't know how to tell him, Bec. What if he hates me?"

  "It's impossible to hate you, but you need to tell him and tell him soon. Just make sure you tell him that you love him before you drop the bomb."

  "I did … well, I told him once. That's enough, right?"

  "No, guys like to be reminded a lot."

  "But I just don't go around telling people I love them. It's difficult."

  "You tell me."

  "Well, yeah, but you're not a man. I love you like a sister, not in a let's run to California before they change the same-sex marriage law way. That makes saying I love you difficult."

  "So you're thinking of marrying Mike?"

  "WHAT?"

  "You said marriage."

  "I didn't mean marriage, marriage—"

  "You did too. I've seen you through two engagements, and you have the rings to prove it. You love this guy more than you loved the other two put together."

  "I never loved Johnny."

  "No, but you loved Chip. From what I hear from you, you love Mike differently. It's a mature love. Like a fine wine that's perfectly aged."

  The bedroom door squeaked. Annabelle ran the water in the bathroom sink and splashed her face.

  Mike pushed the bathroom door open. "Annabelle, are you okay?"

  "Yeah, fine." She held up one finger. "Becca, Mike just walked in. I have to go."

  "Tell my big brother I said hi, okay?"

  "Sure. You're really pushing your luck, Bec."

  "Yeah, but you still love me, just not the same way you love my brother. Tell him. Everything w
ill work out. You'll see."

  "I'll call you soon. Bye."

  Annabelle ended the call. "I needed to check in with Becca."

  "You've been crying again."

  She wrapped her arms around his waist and buried her face in his neck. "I love you, Mike. Always."

  "Babe, I love you too, but you're starting to scare me. Are you sure you're okay?"

  "I am as long as you're with me."

  He stepped back, raised her chin with his finger, and stared deep into her eyes. "I'm not going anywhere without you. I promise."

  She knew he meant it, now. She just wished his promise would last longer than the weekend.

  Mike placed the last suitcase in the trunk and went back to the house to hurry Annabelle along. She'd insisted on washing the sheets. He tried to tell her that Nick always had a cleaning service come before he or anyone else visited and after they left, but she wouldn't hear of anyone cleaning up after them.

  While he appreciated the thought, he'd already cleaned up. Cleaning was what he did. He was a self-proclaimed neat freak, though he tried to downplay that tendency.

  In her attempt to clean, she only succeeded in doing the opposite. He'd spent half the day trailing along behind her and cleaning the messes she made.

  It was obvious to him that she didn't want to leave, but they had a three-hour ride home, and he had an interview to prepare for in between work and engagement ring shopping.

  Vinny had friends in the diamond district and could probably get Mike a good deal. The only catch was that he'd have to talk to Vinny. Oh man, he'd have to go ask Annabelle's dad for permission too, wouldn't he? Did people still do that? Again, Vin would know. Then there was his mother. He'd have to tell her … or maybe he and Annabelle could tell her together—if Annabelle said yes. Man, he hadn't thought about that. What if she didn't want to get married? No, he wasn't going to go there. He didn't have much to offer her now, but after he paid off his student loans, they would be comfortable. He'd probably never be wealthy, but they'd be happy and comfortable.

  "Mike, why are you staring into space?"

  "What?"

  "You're a million miles away." She wrapped her arms around him, her body molded to his as he rested his chin on the top of her head. "You're not thinking about work are you? You had a frown on your face."

  "No, I was just thinking that it's time to leave."

  Dave stuffed his big blockhead in between their bodies.

  "Maybe we can stay one more night and take off early in the morning."

  "I have rounds at seven a.m."

  "Oh."

  He kissed her temple. She smelled so good, he was tempted to pick her up and give the other couch a spin before they left. "I'm sorry, babe. We'd better go. We're going to hit traffic on the way back as it is. I promise we'll come back soon without the family. Just you and me again, okay?"

  "Sure." She let go of him and headed for the front door.

  He was really starting to hate that word.

  Annabelle really didn't want to leave, ever. Their time together was the closest thing to perfect she'd ever had. Except for the time she spent worrying about Mike's reaction. She fell deeper in love with him, and losing him was going to gut her.

  Not one prone to melodrama, she knew she'd survive. She imagined telling him a million ways, but every scenario ended with disaster. His reactions ranged from rage to hurt, both of which she expected and yet had no idea how to handle.

  When she'd awoken in the middle of the night, slipped out to the deck, and called Becca without a second thought to the hour, Annabelle had begged her to meet them in Brooklyn. Becca refused because she knew Annabelle too well. She explained in that no-nonsense way of hers that Annabelle would try to turn the news into a reunion instead of the end of a relationship. Becca was still under the misconception that Annabelle and Mike could work it out. What Becca didn't understand, and what Annabelle was just beginning to figure out herself, was that she wouldn't allow herself to be mistreated by his father, and she loved Mike too much to allow him to choose her over his family and have him resent her for it five years down the road. No, she wouldn't let that happen.

  Nothing was more depressing than the drive home from a vacation, especially when your companion was eerily quiet. Mike tried several times to start a conversation. Planning their next trip to the Hamptons only seemed to make matters worse, and discussing the week ahead met with the same fate. Annabelle set her iPod in the cradle and played a depressing jazz mix as he traversed through holiday traffic on the Sunrise Highway, which he was sure could rival the Long Island Expressway as the world's largest parking lot.

  By the time he double-parked in front of Annabelle's brownstone apartment, the tension in the car was almost unbearable. He slid out of the driver's seat, and by the time he finished stretching, Henry and Wayne were waiting beside the car, greeting Dave and Annabelle and carrying her bags in. He'd been counting on privacy to ferret out whatever the heck was bothering her.

  "What time will you be finished with work tomorrow?"

  She was actually talking to him? "I'm not sure. I have some errands to run. How about a late dinner?"

  She turned to Wayne and Henry. "Would you mind taking Dave out to the garden? I'll be right up."

  Mike watched them leave as he pulled Annabelle to him. "We need to talk about whatever it is that's bothering you."

  Annabelle nodded. "We'll talk tomorrow."

  Mike tamped down the ominous feeling he had and chose to figure out how the heck to propose to Annabelle. He walked her into the apartment and, ignoring the domestic duo, gave her a kiss good-bye to remember.

  Mike drove right from Annabelle's to DiNicola's, parked in the alley behind the restaurant, and entered through the kitchen door. Vinny took one look at him, passed his orders to his assistant chef, and without a word walked to his office. Mike followed and sat in front of the desk while Vinny poured them both Jack Daniel's.

  "Are you gonna tell me what the problem is? Or, are you gonna stare at me until I guess?"

  "I need help."

  "Shit, I knew that the moment you walked into my kitchen."

  "I'm going to ask Annabelle to marry me."

  Mike should have let the man swallow before blurting it out. Vin had just taken a sip of Jack, which he spit all over his desk.

  Mike reached for a stack of napkins and handed them to Vinny one at a time while he cursed and dried off all the orders he'd soaked in his shock.

  "What the fuck is it with those Ronaldi girls? And what's the rush? You take her out for a weekend of hot sex, and you decide you can't live without her? You didn't knock her up, did you?"

  "No. I love her. And you're right, I don't want to live without her. I have this interview coming up, and I want to know if I end up moving away, she'll be with me."

  "Hold up, where you movin' to? You tell your mother about this yet?"

  "Outside of Philadelphia. And Vin, if I do get the job, I'm gonna have to take it. It's one of the best practices on the East Coast. But no matter what happens, I have to get out of the nightmare practice I'm in. If I don't get this job, I'm going to have to find another. I can't stay where I am."

  "Okay. You need another job. I get that. But do you have to get engaged before you even have the interview? Why not wait and see how it shakes out?"

  "I love her. That's not going to change. Ever."

  "Well, at least you're not being a putz like Nick was, but shit. I gotta worry about the timing here. You two been together, what, a month?"

  "How long were you and Mona together before you knew she was made for you?"

  "Me and Mona are not the subject here."

  "No, the subject is how long it took you to propose to her. Oh, and did you have to ask her father for her hand in marriage?"

  "Three weeks, and yeah, I did talk to her father, but that was after we … well, you know. Things were different back then. Mona was a nice girl, and unless you put a ring on her finger, there was no …
anyway. I talked to her old man, and after meeting Mr. Ronaldi, I'd advise you to do the same. Especially with Annabelle being the baby of the family and all. That's if I can't talk you out of this."

  "I love her."

  "Yeah, I hear ya, but do you have to marry her now? Maybe we should call Nick. I got his number somewhere." He started searching through the pile of Jack-splattered papers on his desk.

  "I don't need Nick's permission to get married. And I already know what he's going to say, so don't bother."

  "He thinks this whole thing is wonky too, doesn't he?"

  "Let's just say he mentioned some reservations, but he doesn't know Annabelle and neither do you." Mike took a sip of Jack and stared down Vinny. The man was hard to stare down, but this was important, and even though Mike was on the receiving end of the Brooklyn stare, he had to stand tough. Vin looked away first.

  "Okay, so, you're gonna ask her. What do you need from me? I know you didn't come to listen to reason."

  "I need you to hook me up with one of your friends in the diamond district. I need to get her a nice ring without going bankrupt in the process."

  Vinny flipped through an old-fashioned Rolodex wheel, picked up his phone, and dialed. "Ira, it's Vinny DiNicola. How you doin'?"

  Mike sat back and listened to Vinny set up an appointment. Ira would meet Mike in Vinny's office at lunchtime the next day with a sample of his wares.

  Vinny and Ira talked for a while, and when Vinny dropped the phone onto the cradle, Mike knew there was another lecture coming.

  "Now, Mikey, just because you get a ring on her finger doesn't mean you need to marry the girl right away. You two should plan a nice long engagement—like a year or two. Get to know each other better. Make sure this isn't just your Johnson talkin', if you know what I mean."

  "Vinny, I love her, man."

  "I know that's what your thinkin' now with all the great sex your havin'. But once the great sex cools down, and believe me, my friend, it will, you gotta like livin' with the chick. You hear what I'm sayin'? You gotta love her even when you don't feel like it. Love is a decision, not a feelin', because believe me, you won't be feelin' the love a whole lot of the time."