Breaking the Bachelor (Entangled Lovestruck) (Smart Cupid)

by Maggie Kelley

  Last year, when she’d showed up in the Caymans, Charlie had swallowed his pride and taken a real, grown-up shot at it, hopeful, right up until a pink, palm-tree emblazoned napkin reached up from beneath a liquor bottle to slap him in the face.

  Funny, he’d wanted to seduce Cupid with old memories, but right now, those memories were like the bouncer outside his bar on Saturday nights, kicking him to the curb—dangerous.

  A hard-packed snowball struck him square in the chest and he looked up to see Jane smiling, hands on her hips, head cocked to one side. “You forgot. I’ve got perfect aim.”

  “You’re going to pay for that.”

  He charged forward as she ran away, the sound of her mischievous laughter exploding into the quiet night. A second snowball whizzed by his right shoulder. He pitched one at her back and rushed toward her. Handfuls of powdery snow landed at his feet as she fled.

  Laughing, he fought his way through the snowball-created storm, grabbed a hold of her waist, and swung her body in a circle around him. Jane flung her head back in laughter and the warmth of her breath created frosty circles in the air between them. The laughter ebbed away slowly, turning quiet, until the only sound on the bridge was the sound of their breathing keeping time with the beating of their hearts.

  Carefully, he settled her onto the wooden planks of the pedestrian walkway and took in the sight of her, framed by the Gothic structure standing tall above the East River, outlined by the twinkling lights of faraway Manhattan. The skyline failed to compare to the most beautiful thing on the bridge. Cheeks pink with cold, she ran her tongue over the curves of her mouth. He wanted to kiss away the snowflakes clinging to her lips.

  “Nice view,” he said, without bothering to look away from her face.

  Emotion lit the amber depths of her eyes as she registered his gaze. She snuggled closer and turned to look past the bridge’s steel arches toward the city in the distance, at Lady Liberty raising her torch to light the way to a safe harbor, a safe haven. Charlie pulled her closer.

  “It’s beautiful,” she said, looking back at him.

  “You’re beautiful.” Impulse took over and his lips brushed hers in a tender kiss, tasting the chill of the snowflakes as they melted away.

  For a moment, Jane stood in the circle of his arms, quiet, so uncharacteristically quiet. But then, she moved away, tossed a smile over her shoulder and walked across the bridge, closer to Brooklyn, closer to home.

  And that’s when he heard the sound.

  The backfiring of his own heart.

  …

  Okay, score one for Charlie, Jane thought, stepping off the bridge into the postindustrial neighborhood Down Under the Manhattan Bridge Overpass, a place the locals called DUMBO. The area ranked as one of her favorite places in the world.

  Charlie took her hand to guide her onto Washington Street and toward the unmistakable red and green sign that lit up half the block. “Salvatore’s? We’re going to the pizza joint where I worked as a kid?”

  “Salvatore’s, angel, your home away from home.” He leaned close enough for her to feel his warm breath on her cheek. “I love this place, and don’t pretend you don’t love it, too.”

  Okay, double score. She loved it.

  Jane grinned over at him, his rough-and-tumble good looks a stark contrast to the easy romance of the cobblestone street, and damned if he wasn’t wearing the Levis. A roaming glance over his hard, angular body told the entire story. “I see you’re not exactly fighting fair.”

  “You mean taking a starving, overworked matchmaker out for midnight pizza? I figured we’ve put the rules to rest for the night, so, what the hell.”

  “We put the rules to rest?”

  “Just for tonight.” He brushed against her shoulder and a mischievous glint in those eyes whispered, Give me a second, and I’ll send your lacy panties up in flames.

  “Okay. Just for tonight.”

  Jane felt a blush bloom in her cheeks as her pulse skyrocketed and a deep, abiding heat took residence in her southern regions. Her body was going rogue. Even worse, she felt something else twist inside her. Something more than desire. His smartass look and his leather jacket made her heart race, and yes, she still wanted to rip off those Levis, but the emotions stirring inside her went deeper.

  Maybe it was the old neighborhood or feeling in touch with the carefree, follow-her-dreams girl she used to be, but she couldn’t feel the chill in the February air or hear the noise coming off the bridge. All she could hear was the blood rushing through her veins, clamoring in her mind, its heat infusing every inch of her body. Not wanting to analyze her feelings, she leaned into him as they crossed the exposed brick street into Salvatore’s, bracing against her fears.

  Once inside, the warmth of the restaurant enveloped her like a bear hug. The tangy scent of San Marzano tomatoes, fresh mozzarella, and sweet, yeasty dough sizzling in the coal-fired brick oven threw her back in time. Late-night crowds tended to be slim, so the place was emptier than usual, and it took less than a minute for the owner to spot Jane standing in the doorway, almost as if he’d been waiting for her. Salvatore approached with a sly grin and wide, open arms.

  “Janey, baby, come sta, che bella?”

  Jane tamped down the guilt she felt at staying away so long and smiled at the tough Brooklyn-Italian vibe radiating from Sal’s core.

  Some things never changed.

  “I’m doing great, Sally, grazie. How you doin’?” She tossed some standard-issue Brooklynese at the New York pizza maker, a man more like a father to her than her own had ever pretended to be.

  When her dad had bolted, Sal had been there to teach her how to work hard, dream big, and funnel her energy into something she loved. He helped her get into college. Kept her on the job even though waitressing fell low on the list of her God-given skills. He’d believed in her and suddenly, she felt ashamed not to have visited her old haunt for months. She loved this place. Loved Sal, and the wonderful old joint lived on exactly as she remembered.

  She drew back to look at Sal’s wide face, then hugged him again. Hard. “I missed you.”

  “Six months, bella? You stayed away too long.”

  She kissed his grizzled cheek. “Never again, Sal. Promise.”

  He nodded and leaned back. “Hey, Big Charlie, what’s up?” Salvatore slapped him hard on the back and Charlie smiled, ready to take what Sal gave and dish it right back.

  “Just trying to show your girl a good time,” he said. “You know, a little romance?”

  “No kiddin’?”

  In the process of shrugging off her coat, Jane scrambled to set the record straight, “Wait a second. There’s no romance—”

  Sal called toward the back of the joint, “Hey, Dominick. Charlie’s out with Janey!”

  A stout Italian man in a pristine white apron leaned across the marble counter and winked at her. “Janey? Who the hell is Janey? You talkin’ about The Mouth?”

  The Mouth. Some of the neighborhood folks had called her Mouthie because she never shut up, but Dom and Sally used the nickname because they’d never seen a girl under one hundred pounds pack away an eight slice pepperoni pizza and two Cokes.

  “Okay, boys, enough already,” Jane said, smiling, “I get the message. Just bring me a pepperoni and a beer, please. I don’t know what the hell Big Charlie wants.”

  “You got it, baby.” He winked at Charlie. “They don’t call her Mouthie for nothing.”

  Charlie took Jane’s coat and tossed it over his arm. “I’ll just take a beer and a slice of her pepperoni.”

  Jane looked over at him. “How do you manage to make everything sound so dirty?”

  Hiding a chuckle, Sal handed Charlie a couple of beers from behind the marble countertop. “You know the deal, compagno. No credit. No delivery. No slices.”

  She bit back her own smile and nodded toward the corner of the restaurant. “Can we take the Frankie table?”

  “Oh, mia bella, Frankie’s corner is always taken, yo
u know that.” He pinched her cheeks between his flour-covered fingers like she was still fifteen and hustling slices of pizza out the back door to Charlie and her brothers. Then, he shouted to one of the waiters near the back of the restaurant. “Hey, double-check the Sinatra table for Big Charlie.” He gave her a quick wink, loaded with implication. “Good thing your ragazzo knows how to make a reservation.”

  Heat rose high on her cheeks and she snuck a quick peek over at Charlie. Apparently, he didn’t mind being referred to as her boyfriend, a fact that made a small thrill race up her foolish spine. And he’d reserved the Frankie table, a gesture so damned romantic, she felt moonstruck. Damn Lucifer and all his temptations.

  Non disturbare l’ha coperto.

  Trouble didn’t cover it.

  Jane plastered her old boss with a couple of fast kisses. Nobody got the corner table at Salvatore’s without a reservation—nobody. And even then it could be weeks. Weaving through the cozy, built-for-romance style pizzeria, she felt like a mafia princess enjoying the good old family treatment. They passed several tables covered with bright red-and-white-checkered tablecloths to the one readied in the back. Candlelight. A straw-covered Chianti bottle. Sinatra in the background. Old world Italian la romanza. A collection of warning bells sounded off inside her head.

  “So, what do you think?” Charlie asked, holding out her chair. “Romantic?”

  She eyed him warily and sat down. She’d assumed tonight was supposed to be another post-date analysis to redefine his perfect match. As much as she loved Salvatore’s and the Frankie table, a romance question felt like a setup. “Depends on what kind of girl you’re dating.”

  “A Brooklyn girl.”

  Beer set firmly on the table, her fingertips tapped out a nervous version of That’s Amore against the checkered cloth. “Yes, for a Brooklyn girl, there’s nothing more romantic than Sal’s.”

  Charlie settled into the chair next to her chair. “Now you know why my last date didn’t fit the bill.”

  Just as she suspected. A setup. “What are you talking about? She was from Brooklyn.”

  Charlie nodded and tipped his beer in her direction. “But she refused to come.”

  Her head snapped in his direction. If he was melting another woman’s panties, the way he did hers…except it wasn’t her business. Not her business. “Spare me the details.”

  “To Brooklyn,” he said. “She refused to come to Brooklyn.”

  Jane stared at his wicked smile and tried to breathe away the rising tide of desire suddenly cresting through her body. She gripped the edge of the table to keep from diving into his lap. How did he freaking do that? No other man’s smile made her crave an all-out, lovin’ takedown on top of the corner table at Salvatore’s. Only Charlie.

  “As your matchmaker, I think you need to reconsider walking away from this match. Just because your date didn’t want pizza doesn’t mean she’s—”

  “Not perfect.” The quick shake of his head was clear and non-negotiable. “She refused to cross the bridge.”

  “And?”

  “I love Brooklyn.”

  “Exactly. Part of why she’s an excellent match.”

  “Not for me.”

  “Why?”

  He raked his hands through his hair looking like he’d rather strangle her with them. “Because a woman who snubs her hometown will eventually snub her man.”

  There was a short pause before the laughter bubbled up from her chest. She tried to stop it, but come on. “Is that some new kind of man philosophy?”

  “Yes,” he said, his tone clipped. “A legitimate one.”

  She knocked back a sip of her beer to keep more laughter from spilling over. “Charlie, you can’t honestly believe what you’re saying.”

  “I want a woman who embraces all of who she is—including her past.” He tossed his forearm over the back of the wooden chair and pointed the neck of the green glass bottle at the movie posters lining the far wall. “Besides, she had Red Bull and movie issues.”

  “Red Bull and movie issues?” She pulled up the newly-submitted Cupid Report on her Smartphone. “I don’t see any Red Bull issues, she’s an accountant.”

  “Worse, a Sagittarian accountant.”

  She ignored the comment. “She’s described as energetic and fun.”

  “A six-pack a day Red Bull habit can be all kinds of fun, unless you want to have an actual conversation.”

  “Loves movies and long walks in Central Park.”

  “Like I said earlier…movie issues.”

  “Movie issues? What kind of movie issues?”

  He sighed. “The woman hated Rocky.”

  “Rocky who?”

  He did a double take and leaned forward in his chair. “The movie. Rocky. She said it sucked.”

  Jane took a long, thoughtful pull from her beer. She needed to tread carefully here, because, honestly, what kind of a person hated Rocky? She drew in a breath and set down her beer on the exhale. “Okay, that is kind of a tough one, but logically speaking, I’m not sure Red Bull and movie issues are total deal breakers.”

  His look pinned her against the back of her chair. “You love Rocky.”

  “Oh my God, I do. I love Rocky.” She pressed both of her hands over her heart. “You know that I love Rocky.”

  Charlie’s palms banged off the table. “Of course you do. Everybody loves Rocky because it’s a great movie about grit and determination and triumph over adversity.”

  “And because it’s a love story.”

  “A freaking, fantastic love story.”

  She outlined a series of figures eights with the bottom of her bottle. “And the ice skating scene…so sweet and—”

  “How about after the fight, when he’s searching the crowd for her with his bloody eyes. “Adrian! Adrian!” Charlie indulged his time-honored and totally spot-on Stallone impersonation by shadowboxing with his beer.

  “And when she gets in the ring and Rocky asks where her hat is?” Jane reached back, pulled her hat from her coat pocket and waved it in the air between them.

  “Who doesn’t think that’s romantic?”

  A corner of her matchmaking heart broke a little bit right there at the table. She sighed. “Totally romantic.”

  “A deal breaker.”

  She let go a long sigh. “Definitely, a deal breaker.”

  Un-be-lieve-able. Of all the movies not to fall for, Charlie’s date had to go and spurn a romantic masterpiece. Hell. Double Hell.

  “Probably should have put that in my matrix. Must have thrown off the algorithms.” Charlie took a sip of his beer. “Ought to be in your matrix.”

  She sipped her beer and considered her response. Logically, he made sense. Maybe the matrix failed to predict everything about falling in love. Could a computer application understand all the intangibles, the gut reactions and emotions? As she worked through the problem, her old boss arrived at the edge of the table holding the best pepperoni pizza in the city in the palm of one hand and an oversized bottle of Chianti in the other. She eyed the wine with some suspicion. Maybe Chianti needed to be in her matrix.

  “You two talking about Rocky again?”

  “Sal, you like that movie, right?” Charlie asked.

  He set the extra-large pie and the wine on the table and wiped his massive hands on his apron. “Yeah, who doesn’t like Rocky? Greatest movie ever.”

  As the men talked cinema, the sweet, tangy scent of the pizza filled up her senses, but with her stomach churning, her normal appetite was gone. The Rocky conversation with its fun-filled, competitive banter reminded her how much she missed Charlie.

  Deeply and uncontrollably.

  Recklessly.

  She tucked a curl behind her ear, her fingers shaking. Could she be wrong about the matrix? Did her criteria lists fall short of chemistry in predicting love? Yes, she wanted to forget the rules tonight and fall for the undercurrent—hell, let’s face it, the overcurrent—of chemistry sizzling between her and Charlie.
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  But was chemistry…love?

  The idea rattled her to the core. If predicting love scientifically was a flawed theory—if she was wrong—she’d blown it. The bet. Her criteria…everything.

  Was love really all about the knockout kiss?

  Sally turned his smiling face toward her, chucked her under the chin, and ruffled her hair like she was a second-grader. “Difficoltà, che bella. Difficoltà.”

  Trouble.

  Her boss walked back toward the kitchen, and she traced another set of figure eights onto the bright, checkered tablecloth.

  No doubt about it, Sal.

  Definitely, definitely trouble.

  Chapter Twelve

  @smartCupid A relationship is a two-way street. Make sure you’re both driving in the same direction.

  “Ready to bowl?”

  “Bowl?” Jane looked up from her half-eaten slice. Never in her life had she let pizza go to waste, especially Sal’s. She took another sip of the Chianti and tried to ignore the import of the leftover pizza.

  “Bowling is on my list.” Charlie set his empty beer bottle on the table and slid the check and cash under the oversized shaker of Parmesan. “We are still working on my criteria list, right? Making the right adjustments? Date number three?” He snapped his fingers twice. “Earth to Jane.”

  She blinked her way back to the table. “Yes, of course, we’re still working on your criteria. Bowling is…good. I love bowling.”

  Charlie nodded. “I remember.”