Tossed Into Love (Fluke My Life Book 3)

by Aurora Rose Reynolds

  “I didn’t ask you to come.”

  Seriously?

  I wonder how much time you get for committing murder if you’ve actually spent time plotting someone’s death beforehand.

  “You’re right. You didn’t ask for my help,” I agree. “But I’m here because I like this place and I love your parents.” I lock eyes with his and tip my head to the side. “Why are you so miserable all the time?”

  “I’m not.” He crosses his arms over his chest.

  I try not to notice how his muscles flex or how his shirt gets snug against his pecs and abs when they do.

  Annoyed with myself for finding him attractive when he’s such a jerk, I shake my head. “You are.”

  “I’m not miserable.” He scowls.

  I roll my eyes and move to another table. “Sure you’re not.” I let out a sarcastic laugh. “Even now, you’re scowling.” I look down and start cleaning another table.

  “I don’t scowl,” he denies.

  I look up at him and roll my eyes again when I see that he is indeed still scowling.

  “Sure you don’t.”

  “I don’t.”

  “Whatever. This conversation is completely pointless,” I say, looking away from him. “Don’t you have something to do?”

  I look up when he doesn’t leave. When my eyes meet his, the air around us seems to shift. I see something in his gaze that makes my stomach muscles clench and unclench.

  I don’t know how long we stare at each other, but it feels like forever before he clears his throat and finally looks away.

  “I’m gonna finish shutting everything down.”

  “Right.”

  I watch him go, wondering what the hell that was about. I finish cleaning the tables, then do a quick sweep of the floors. Around eleven, I walk back to the office. A few seconds later, he comes in behind me. Deciding not to bother with changing back into the shirt I wore here, I fold it neatly and put it in my purse. Then I put on my coat, hat, and gloves. When I turn around, I see he’s put on a black down jacket and a beanie. I don’t want to think he looks good wearing a beanie, but he does. It makes his already-strong cheekbones seem stronger, his eyes seem darker, and him seem overall more mysterious. Pushing those stupid thoughts away, I leave him in the office and head for the front door.

  As I walk away, I hear him coming up behind me.

  “Have a good night,” I murmur without looking back.

  I stop when I feel his hand wrap around my wrist, between my coat sleeve and glove. A shot of what can only be described as electricity shoots through my system at his touch, charging every cell in my body. It startles me.

  “I’m gonna walk you home,” he says.

  I turn to look up at him. “I’m fine walking alone.” I attempt to pull away from his grasp, but his fingers only seem to tighten.

  “I’m gonna walk you home,” he repeats more firmly.

  I fight back a sigh of frustration. If he wasn’t such a jerk, I would think his worrying about me making it home safely was sweet. Unfortunately, he’s proved to be mostly a jerk.

  “I’m really okay to walk alone. It’s not even two blocks,” I say, trying once more to tug my wrist from his fingers.

  He doesn’t let me go or reply. Instead, he opens the door, shuffles me outside, then shuts and locks it. Scooting me farther to the side, he uses his key to open a metal box there, puts the key in, and turns the dial on it. The metal shutters that cover the glass windows slide down.

  “Now, like I said, I’m walking you home,” he tells me once he’s locked the box back up.

  I barely resist the urge to kick him in the shin. He finally releases his hold on my wrist, and I grit my teeth as I turn away from him and head for my block. I try not to look like I’m stomping, but that’s exactly what I’m doing. When I finally reach my place, I head up the steps and open the front door to the town house.

  “Thanks for all your help tonight, Libby,” he says.

  I turn around, knowing my mouth is probably hanging open.

  “I appreciate it, and I know Mom and Dad appreciate it, too. You really did do an awesome job.”

  “Are you . . . are you being nice to me?” I point at myself.

  I swear I see his lips twitch, but I know it has to be a figment of my imagination—just like I must have imagined him thanking me.

  “Go on in.” He lifts his chin to indicate the door behind me. “Flicker the lights once you’re upstairs so I know you’re good.”

  “Flicker the lights . . . ?” I repeat, feeling my stomach warm.

  “Yeah.”

  “I’m good. You can go.”

  “Lib, go in and flick the lights,” he repeats, sounding like a jerk once again.

  I sigh.

  “That didn’t last long,” I mutter under my breath as I turn on my heel and head inside.

  I swear I hear him chuckle as I shut the door behind me. I figure it won’t kill him to wait a few minutes, so I stop and collect all the mail. I shove it under my arm before I head up to the second floor and use my key to enter the apartment.

  Without knowing exactly why I do it, I leave the light off and walk across the apartment to look out the window. I wonder if Antonio actually cares enough to have waited to see that I’ve gotten in okay. When I peek out and see him standing on the sidewalk, looking up at the windows to my apartment, my stomach drops. I rush quickly back across the room, almost falling on my face to get to the light switch. After flickering the lights, I head back to the window and peek out again. I watch him walk down the sidewalk with his hands tucked into the pockets of his jacket. I shake my head, not sure how to deal with the fact that I now know he has the ability to be sweet.

  Chapter 3

  MOSTLY A JERK

  LIBBY

  I’m lying on my couch in a pair of old, ratty cutoff sweats, a tank top, and a baggy man’s flannel shirt. My hair is in a bun on top of my head. There’s a half-empty carton of lo mein on the coffee table in front of me, along with an open bag of chips and the candy from the Christmas stocking my mom gave me. I stare at the TV, watching a woman attempt to get away from a ghost—the same ghost that has tried to kill her at least three times since the movie started.

  “Don’t go in there,” I whisper to the TV as the woman puts her hand on the door handle of the room the ghost is currently in.

  I’m so engrossed in the movie that I jump when someone knocks on my apartment door. I sit up quickly, causing tiny, empty, silver chocolate wrappers to fly out around me. Looking at the door, my heart races.

  “Libby?”

  Hearing Antonio’s familiar voice, I stare at the door in disbelief.

  “Libby?” he calls as I get up off the couch.

  I glance at the clock to see that it’s just after eight o’clock. I got home from my parents’ house on Long Island this morning after spending Christmas and a few days with them. It was nice to get away, but I’m happy to be home.

  I look out the peephole when I get to the door. Sure enough, Antonio is standing on the other side. Shaking my head, I unlock the dead bolt and pull open the door.

  “Antonio, wh—”

  “I’ve been calling you.” He cuts me off as he pushes his way into my apartment.

  “What?” My eyes go from the hallway to him.

  “I’ve called you at least a dozen times, if not more,” he says.

  I blink at him.

  “What . . . ? Why?”

  “You need to work tonight.”

  “Pardon?” I hiss, not saying what I really want to say. That would be that I don’t actually work at Tony’s, and that if I go in to help out, I do it as a favor to his parents and him. Yes, I might be getting paid for the time I’m there, but I still don’t officially work at the pizzeria.

  “They need me at the station. One of the guys called in, so they’re down a man. This normally wouldn’t be a big deal, but Marco’s off tonight, Peggy just went home to be with Valeria, and Hector can’t close the sh
op alone.”

  “So you need my help?”

  “Yes.”

  “You could have just asked nicely,” I tell him.

  He shoves his hands into the front pockets of his jeans, looking uncomfortable.

  “Can you please help me out?”

  “Yes.”

  “Really?” he asks, surprised.

  “Yes.” I roll my eyes, then head for my closet. “I just need to get ready.”

  “I’ll wait and walk with you.”

  “I can find my own way after I finish getting ready,” I point out. “Don’t you need to head to the station?”

  “I’ll wait,” he repeats, going over to my couch and taking a seat.

  Trying to ignore the fact that there’s an extremely handsome man in my apartment, I grab a pair of jeans from my wardrobe, along with the T-shirt he gave me with the Tony’s logo on the front. I take everything with me into my bedroom and shut the door. I change quickly, then head into the bathroom to brush my teeth and my hair. Once I’m done, I go back into the living room and grab a pair of socks out of my drawer. I pick up my boots, then take a seat on the couch next to him to put them on.

  “This is a lot of junk food . . . ,” he says, sounding slightly horrified.

  I notice that he’s picked up all the wrappers from the candy I’ve eaten tonight and wadded them into a ball in his hand.

  “No, it’s not,” I lie, looking at him.

  His head tips to the side.

  “I’ve never seen you without makeup,” he says suddenly.

  I expect him to add something that will make me want to kick him, so I brace myself.

  “You don’t need it.”

  Okay, I didn’t expect him to say that.

  Hearing a scream come from the TV, we both look at it.

  “Scary movie?”

  “Yes.” I grab the remote and flip off the television, then pick up my half-eaten container of lo mein and put it away in the fridge so I can eat it later.

  “You don’t seem like the kind of girl who watches scary movies alone,” he states as he stands up from the couch and watches me put on my coat, hat, and gloves.

  “And exactly what kind of movies would you think I might watch?”

  “Ones with lots of romance,” he answers.

  My nose scrunches up in disgust. “I hate romance movies. They are always so cliché. Guy and girl meet, guy is a jerk, girl is an idiot for him even when he’s a jerk. Still, the girl always falls in love with him, forgetting that he was a jerk to begin with, and in the end that comes back to bite her in the ass when he’s an even bigger jerk. She cries, usually a lot. He realizes at some point what he lost and then finally he begs her for forgiveness. Always—but always—she takes him back, even when she shouldn’t.”

  “You really don’t like romance movies.” His lips twitch, and I roll my eyes again. “I’m learning a lot about you tonight, Princess.” He chuckles, and I glare at him.

  “Don’t annoy me, Antonio.”

  I open the door to my apartment and sweep my hand outward, indicating he should leave ahead of me.

  “Even annoyed, you’re still pretty,” he says, stopping to look down at me.

  My stomach dips, then knots in a way that it never has before.

  “Definitely pretty,” he mutters as he walks out the door.

  With a shake of my head, I step out after him and lock up behind me. Following him down to the first floor, my stomach still in knots, I stare at his back. I wonder what the hell is going on with him. When we reach the sidewalk, we walk side by side—so close that our arms brush.

  “Here.” He hands me a key, and I take it. “Hector’s going to stay with you tonight, but he doesn’t have his key with him. So you’ll have to use mine. In the morning, I’ll pick it up from you.”

  “I have work tomorrow.”

  “What time?”

  “I have to leave by seven thirty.”

  “I’ll be by before that.”

  Figuring it’s pointless to argue about this, I sigh. “Okay.”

  “I’ll have my cell on if you need anything,” he says as we stop outside the door to Tony’s.

  I look up at him when he dips his head down toward me.

  “It will be okay,” I say quietly, seeing that he looks worried.

  “I know it will.” His eyes scan my face, making me shift uncomfortably. “Call me when you get home tonight.”

  “I’m not going to call you,” I mutter.

  His lips twitch into a smile before he shakes his head and walks away down the sidewalk.

  “You coming in, chiquita?” Hector asks, startling me.

  I spin around to face him, feeling my cheeks get warm at the knowledge that I was just standing on the sidewalk like an idiot female lead in a romance movie watching the jerk she’s lusting after walk away.

  “Come on.” Hector tugs my hand and drags me inside.

  I follow him in, drop my stuff in the office, and get to work.

  Hearing my cell phone ring, I reach out with my eyes still closed and pat the top of my bedside table until my hand lands on it. Picking it up, I squint one eye open, slide my finger across the screen, and then put it to my ear.

  “Yeah?” I answer, half-asleep.

  “You didn’t call,” Antonio says, his voice sounding rough. Like he just woke up.

  “I told you I wasn’t going to call.”

  “You get home okay?” he asks, ignoring my comment.

  I sigh. “Yes . . .”

  “Everything go okay tonight?”

  “Yes.”

  “All right, babe. Go back to sleep.”

  He hangs up, and I pull my phone from my ear and stare at it.

  “Babe? Now what the hell is that about?” I whisper my question into the dark, but of course get no answer in return. I drop my cell back to my bedside table, but it takes me forever to get back to sleep. The replay of Antonio’s deep voice calling me “babe” is on a continuous loop in my mind.

  Hearing a knock on my apartment door early the next morning, I rush across to it, tying my robe as I go. I lift up on my tiptoes to check the peephole, then feel my heart start to beat a funny rhythm in my chest when I see Antonio standing outside. His head is turned to the left and tipped down like he’s looking at something. Glancing at myself in the mirror hanging next to the door, I cringe. My hair is a mess because I went to bed last night with it wet. There are bags under my eyes from not sleeping much. I look toward my bedroom, wondering in vain if I have time to put on some under-eye concealer or brush my hair.

  “Libby?” he calls through the door, knocking again.

  I jump. With no other choice, I open the door a crack and look out.

  “Hey . . . ,” I say, hating myself a little for sounding as breathy as I do.

  “Libby Reed, what is that man doing coming to see you this time of the morning?”

  I wince, then poke my head out the door and look down the stairs. It’s Miss Ina, the old woman who lives on the first floor. She’s standing at the bottom of the steps dressed in a robe, her white hair flat on one side like she just woke up.

  “Miss Ina, it’s okay. It’s just Antonio. You can go back to bed.”

  “Go back to bed?” She plants her hands on her hips, and I sigh.

  Until a few days ago, I’d never shared more than a handful of words with the woman—honestly, she scared the crap out of me. Then Mac befriended her and invited her to our parents’ house for Christmas dinner. It was during the drive to Long Island that I learned she’s actually kind of nice in a grumpy-old-woman sort of way. I’m also starting to figure out that she’s nosy. Okay, I already knew that she was nosy, but now that we’ve started to talk, she’s become even more nosy.

  “I can’t go back to bed now that I know you’re going to be alone in your apartment with a man while you’re wearing nothing but a dressing gown.”

  “Miss Ina, he’s just picking up a key. My virtue is safe,” I mutter.

&nb
sp; Her eyes go to Antonio and narrow.

  I peek up at him to see him fighting back a smile.

  “This isn’t funny.”

  “It’s a little funny, Princess,” he says, looking at me.

  Rolling my eyes, I look down the stairs at Miss Ina. “He’s not even coming inside. You can go back to bed.”

  “Fine, but I’ll be calling your mother about this later,” she says.

  I don’t reply, just watch her hobble away with her walker.

  Once she’s out of sight, I look at Antonio. “I’ll be right back.” I leave the door open a crack and go to my bedroom. I find his key in the jeans I had on last night. I grab it and head back to the living room, then stop dead when I find Antonio in my kitchen and the door to the fridge open.

  “What are you doing?”

  “I didn’t have a chance to have breakfast,” he tells me.

  I blink at him.

  “You didn’t have breakfast?”

  “It’s only six. Nothing was open.” He shrugs, then looks into the fridge once more.

  “Okay . . . so pick something up when you leave,” I suggest.

  His eyes move back to me. “Why? I’m here now.”

  “Antonio—”

  “Have you eaten yet?” he asks, cutting me off.

  I feel my head twitch. “No . . .”

  “So I’ll make us breakfast while you get ready for work,” he states.

  I stare at him, wondering if he’s been abducted by aliens. First he tells me I’m pretty, then calls me “babe,” and now he’s offering to make me breakfast?

  “Babe, you might want to get a move on. You need to get ready to leave,” he says.

  I look from him to the clock, then feel my eyes widen when I see that he’s right. I don’t have a lot of time before I need to leave for work. It’s going to take me forever to sort out my hair. With no time to deal with whatever is going on with him, I drop his key to the restaurant in the kitchen and grab an outfit from my wardrobe. I go into my bedroom and shut the door behind me. On autopilot, I shower, do my hair and makeup, and get dressed. I’ve chosen a pair of black slacks and a black scoop-neck sweater with a bow that ties behind my neck—its cream ribbon matches my boots. When I’m done, I open the bedroom door and find that Antonio is no longer in the kitchen. He’s sitting on my couch with two plates of scrambled eggs and toast in front of him on the coffee table, along with two cups of coffee.