“You gonna stare at it, or are you going to eat it?”
At his words, I meet his gaze, head across the room, and take a seat.
“Thank you,” I mumble, picking up my plate.
“You have nothing but junk food in your fridge. How the hell do you have that body?” he asks as I take a bite of toast.
I almost choke on it when I try to swallow.
“I’ve always been skinny. I have healthy food, too . . .”
“Where?” he counters.
I look at him and narrow my eyes. “There’s some canned veggies in the cupboard, and you found the eggs,” I point out.
“Right . . . canned veggies and eggs.” His lips twitch, and my stomach does that weird dip thing it’s been doing a lot lately.
“I work a lot. I don’t have time to cook three-course meals all the time, so I normally eat on the go,” I say by way of self-defense as I grab the remote and turn on the TV. I flip around to find a morning news show.
“Do you make good money doing makeup and hair?”
Even though the question is asked casually, it still makes me feel a little strange—like there is a deeper question hidden behind it.
“Can I ask you why you’re asking me that?”
“You told me the other day that the top you had on cost you two hundred dollars. I’m just curious if you bought it yourself or if someone got it for you.”
“If someone got it for me?” I repeat.
His eyes wander over me in a way I try to tell myself I don’t like all that much.
“Yeah. Did a man take you shopping, or did you buy it for yourself?”
“A man bought it for me,” I toss back at him, enjoying watching his eyes shutter and his jaw clench. “That man was my dad. It was my birthday gift last year from him,” I state, completely offended.
Suddenly I realize exactly what kind of girl he thinks I am. Dropping my half-eaten piece of toast on my plate and picking up my cup of coffee, I take both to the kitchen and drop them into the sink. I don’t even bother to scrape the eggs off into the garbage.
“Libby . . . ,” he calls, but I don’t look at him.
“If you’re done, I need to get to work.” I grab my coat off the arm of the couch and put it on, along with my scarf. Then I pick up my purse.
“I didn’t mean anything by my question.”
“You did,” I state, finally looking at him.
He flinches.
Whatever.
“I need to leave. Are you done?” I ask, seeing that he hasn’t moved from his spot on the couch.
“Lib—”
“Fine. Just lock up before you go.” I cut him off as I open the door and step out. I don’t slam the door behind me even though I want to, but I do stomp down the stairs.
“I thought he wasn’t going inside,” Miss Ina says, startling me.
I jump in place, grabbing my chest.
“Miss Ina, not now. Please.”
“I know, I know.” She waves a hand at me. “You don’t have time to talk because you need to get to work, but I expect you over for tea so we can talk about why you look ready to commit murder.”
“How do you feel about helping me hide a body?”
“I’m old, girl, but I still have a life to live. I can’t go to prison.”
“Right,” I sigh, defeated. My eyes widen when I hear my apartment door open and shut. “Crap,” I whisper.
I rush to Miss Ina and shuffle her back into her apartment. I follow her and close the door as quietly as I can while she asks loudly, “What on earth are you doing?”
Putting my finger to my mouth in a silent demand, I then get up on my toes to look through her peephole until I see Antonio walk past her door. Letting out a relieved breath, my shoulders sag.
“Seems you got it bad for that boy,” she murmurs.
I glare at her. “I hate him.”
“I bet you do.”
“No, seriously. I do. I hate him.”
“Okay.” Her lips twitch, and I fight the urge to stomp my foot to emphasize my point. “Is he gone?” she asks.
“Yes.”
“Well, then, what are you doing? Don’t you need to get to work?”
“What if he’s outside?”
“If he’s outside, then you know he’s got it bad for you, too,” she tells me.
“He hates me more than I hate him.”
“Sure he does,” she mutters, moving me out of the way and opening the door. “Now, go on.”
“Why did Mac insist on befriending you?” I question.
Her nose scrunches up. “I don’t know, but you need to go. I have things to do.”
“Fine.” I swallow, then peek out into the corridor. Seeing it empty, I step out and turn back to say thanks to her for letting me hide out in her apartment. Before I can, she slams the door and locks me out. “Grumpy old woman.”
“I heard that!” she shouts.
I mouth “I heard that,” then turn on my heel and open the front door to the house. Seeing Antonio standing on the sidewalk, I grit my teeth.
“Libby!” he calls, but I ignore him as I head to the edge of the sidewalk to catch a cab to work. “I’m sorry.”
“Good.”
“I shouldn’t have asked you that.”
“No, you shouldn’t have,” I agree, feeling him get close to where I’m standing.
“Can you look at me?”
“Don’t you need to be somewhere?” I snarl, pissed at him and at myself.
I’m angry at myself for liking him when I shouldn’t and angry at him for being a jerk one minute and sweet the next.
“Yes, but first I need to know that you forgive me for being a dick.”
“I forgive you,” I say immediately, hoping that will make him go away.
My eyes fly up to meet his when his fingers wrap around my chin.
“I’m really sorry,” he repeats.
I swallow over the sudden lump that has formed in my throat.
“Okay.”
“Do you forgive me?”
Looking into his eyes and seeing regret there, I pull in a deep breath and let it out while nodding.
“Can I hear you say it?” he asks softly.
“I forgive you,” I whisper.
His fingers touch my jaw while his thumb sweeps across my bottom lip so lightly that I wonder if I imagine it. He steps back.
“Have a good day at work, Princess.” He steps into the road and raises an arm. A cab pulls up and parks at the curb. He opens the door for me, and I slide into the back seat without looking at him again as he slams the door behind me.
“Where to?” the cab driver asks.
I give him the address to the salon as I turn to look over my shoulder at Antonio. He’s standing with his hands tucked into the front pockets of his jeans, his eyes on my cab.
Do you have plans tomorrow night?
Looking at the text from Palo as I stand in the office at Tony’s, I wonder exactly how I should answer his question. There are times he will have a client come in and ask if someone can do their hair or makeup for an event. So it could be that, but it could also be something else.
Maybe . . .
I type back and press “Send.”
I’m taking that as a no, which means you’re going out on a date tomorrow night. I think I met the perfect guy for you.
Fricking great.
Palo, do I really need to remind you of the last five dates you’ve set me up on?
No, and this guy is different.
How is he different?
He’s young, he has manners, and he’s RICH.
I sigh out loud as I type.
I don’t care about money, Palo.
Every woman cares about money, Libby.
He’s wrong. I don’t care about money. I never have. Yes, I like nice things like most women do, but I don’t need them. My parents were not rolling in it when I was growing up, but we were always happy. I grew up in a house full of laughter an
d love, which I know is way more important than material things.
Palo . . .
I leave just his name, thinking that says it all. It really does.
Please? For me? Just this one last time. If it doesn’t work out, I won’t ever set you up again.
Yeah, right. Like I believe that for one second.
Gahhhh! Fine.
I drop my cell phone into my purse, then turn and leave the office.
“What’s going on with you?” Peggy asks as soon as she sees me. I wonder if it’s that obvious that I’m annoyed.
“I have a date tomorrow night,” I tell her, sounding as annoyed as I feel about the idea.
She looks at me, then looks over my shoulder. I watch a knowing smile form on her lips. Wondering what that’s about, I look behind me. My lungs freeze when I realize that Antonio is standing close enough that he probably heard me say I have a date.
“A date! That’s nice. Who is the guy?” Peggy questions.
I look at her, wishing the ground would fall out from under me and swallow me whole.
“I . . . I . . . don’t know. It’s a blind date.”
“Oh, those are always fun. The mystery, the excitement . . . ,” she says wistfully.
Yes, I really wish the ground would swallow me whole.
“Anyway”—she claps her hands so loud that I almost jump out of my skin—“time to get back to work.”
“Right,” I whisper before I scurry though the half door into the back of the shop, then through the swinging door into the kitchen.
I need to get away from everyone. I start to busy myself with washing the overly large metal bowls, utensils, and pots that are all sitting in the sink. Since the pot is almost as big as I am, I leave it for last. I turn to look over my shoulder when I hear Antonio’s deep laughter behind me.
I can see him though the small crack in the door that leads to the front of the shop, standing at the counter. I watch a cute woman with short blonde hair lean across the counter toward him. My stomach drops, then sinks even lower when I see her grab a pen from the jar next to the register, take his hand, and write down what I’m guessing is her number on his open palm.
Turning away, I grit my teeth. It should not bother me that he just got a woman’s number. It shouldn’t bother me at all—but it still does. Finished with all the other dishes, I drop the pot in the sink and scrub it hard, until my arm hurts. I pull in one deep breath after another, trying to get my confused emotions under control. I wish I didn’t have a crush on Antonio, that I could hate him like I say I do. I wish I didn’t have to see his handsome face, didn’t have to hear his deep voice, and I especially wish I didn’t have to see him flirting with women. Okay, so I haven’t really seen him flirt with women, but I have definitely seen women flirt with him, which is just as annoying.
“What did you do for Christmas?” Peggy breaks into my thoughts.
I pull my eyes off the pot I’m scrubbing and look at her.
“I went to Long Island to spend time with my parents for a couple days. What about you?” I ask, trying to sound casual.
“Hector has a huge family, and they all came over to the house for dinner on Christmas Eve. Then, on Christmas Day, we all went to his parents’ house, opened gifts, and the kids and the guys all went to the park to play football while the wives cooked.”
“That sounds like fun.” I smile at her.
“It was.” She smiles back, wiping down counters that don’t really need to be wiped down. “I was an only child. Hector has three brothers and six sisters, so it’s always loud and crazy, but it’s nice.”
“It sounds nice,” I say.
Her eyes study me for a long time—so long that I start to feel awkward.
“Don’t let it get to you, honey,” she says softly. My heart thumps hard. “That was just his reaction to learning you have a date.”
“What?” I breathe.
She gets close to me and drops her voice.
“Men are sometimes complete idiots. Men see something they want, but they don’t go after it because they think it will always be there waiting for them until they’re finally ready to make a move. You just showed Antonio that you’re not waiting,” she says, freaking me the heck out.
“I think—” I start to tell her that she’s got it all wrong, but she doesn’t let me finish.
“Don’t.” She shakes her head. “You can lie to yourself all you want, but I see it. I see it when he looks at you. I see it when you look at him. One day one of you is going to break, and I imagine that day is going to be soon. He did not like hearing that you have plans with another man. I don’t know what his holdup is, but I imagine it has something to do with the woman that came before you.”
Okay, I was freaked out before, but now I’m totally freaked out.
Is she right? Does Antonio like me? Am I that transparent when it comes to my feelings for him?
“Go on your date. Have fun, flirt, and pray to god that that boy finally pulls his head out of his ass like his mama has been telling him to do for years now.”
Oh my god.
“Peggy, I hate to tell you this. As much as I love Martina and hate killing her dream, you both have to know that he can barely stand me. I actually think he might even hate me,” I tell her.
She starts laughing so hard she doubles over from the effort.
I stare at her. “This isn’t funny.”
“It is.” She sobers up and grabs hold of my arm. “Honey, that boy does not hate you.”
“He does.”
“He might wish he could, but he does not hate you any more than I hate ice cream with chocolate syrup, rainy days at home with my family, sunsets at the beach, and the man I love giving me everything I want.”
Heart pounding hard, I beg for oxygen to fill my lungs. The idea that she could be right is almost too much for me to handle.
“It will be okay. You just pulled the veil off, and he’s seeing clearly now. Sometimes men need a wake-up call. I think you just gave him his.”
“He’s a jerk, Peggy . . . ,” I tell her while reminding myself of that fact.
Okay, so he can be sweet on occasion . . . but for the most part, he’s been nothing but a jerk to me.
“I can see why you’d think that.”
I don’t think that—I know it, I think but don’t say.
“I can’t wait to see how this plays out. I’ve been reading romance novels for a long time. It will be nice to see a real-life one play out right in front of my eyes.”
Blinking at her, I wonder if she’s crazy. Actually, I don’t wonder—I know she must be.
“Now stop hiding in here. I need you out front with me. There’s too much testosterone in this place, and I don’t like being outnumbered.”
“I’m washing the dishes,” I point out, not ready to go back out there.
Not yet and maybe not ever again.
“Do not hide.” Her harshly spoken words make my back get tight. “Do not hide. You’ve done nothing wrong.”
“I . . . I’m not hiding, Peggy,” I lie. “I’m washing the dishes.”
Getting even closer—so close I have no choice but to move away—she turns the water on, grabs the sponge from my hand, rinses it, then sets the pot to dry.
“Now you’re done.”
Looking at her and then at the pot, I shake my head. I turn the water back on to wash my hands. Figuring Peggy will stay until I obey, I follow her out to the front of the shop. The cute blonde is gone, but unfortunately, Antonio is not. When his anger-filled eyes find me, I fight the urge to bite my lip.
“I gotta head to the station in about an hour. Do you mind helping Hector close again tonight?” he asks.
“That’s fine.”
“Tomorrow I’m gonna talk to Dad about hiring someone else to help out so you don’t gotta be here,” he says.
Nausea turns my stomach while tears start to burn the back of my eyes.
“Are you saying that you’re getting rid o
f me?”
I can’t believe him. Seriously, I cannot believe him. Here, I’m happy. I feel fulfilled. And it’s the kind of fulfillment that comes from hard work. I haven’t had that feeling in a long time, and he wants to take it from me. If Peggy’s right, he wants to take it from me because I have a date. A date that I don’t even want to go on.
“You don’t actually work here, Libby. You know that,” he states.
My stomach twists, and my throat clogs.
“I like being here,” I tell him, watching his jaw clench. “I know you don’t get that because you”—I point at him—“obviously don’t. But I”—I jerk my thumb at my chest—“I like being here. So, no. You’re not going to talk to your dad about finding someone else. He doesn’t need to worry about that right now, and neither does your mom. And if you don’t like that, then too bad. You need to get over it, because I’m not going anywhere, Antonio.”
“Libby—”
“Just stop,” I hiss, leaning toward him. “God . . . just stop being a jerk.”
I pull my eyes from his, feeling everyone else’s eyes on me. I ignore them and go to the counter where we make pizzas. I check all the supplies. Noticing that some things are low, I start to refill them; then I make a list of things that need to be ordered, which is something that Martina normally does. Eventually, I go back out to the front of the shop and wipe down tables and chairs.
“He’s gone, honey,” Peggy says.
I look up from another table that I’m cleaning and find her, Marco, and Hector all watching me closely, looking worried.
“Libby . . . ,” Marco calls. My eyes meet his. “We love having you here,” he says.
Those stupid tears I have been fighting suddenly fill my eyes.
“Chiquita,” Hector says. I look at him, seeing him blurrily through my tears. “Marco’s right. We love having you here.”
“Thanks, guys,” I say shakily while I wipe at my cheeks. I duck my head and get back to work, trying with all my might not to think about Antonio.
Chapter 4
BOILING OVER
LIBBY
After knocking on Martina and Tony’s front door, I peek through the side glass pane and smile when Martina’s eyes meet mine. She called me at Christmas to tell me that she and Tony were home, so I made plans to see her before my blind date this evening.
Tossed Into Love (Fluke My Life Book 3) Page 4