by Black, Jaid
Jake shifted in his seat. He blew out a slow, measured breath and counted to ten. He wished that he’d masturbated before he’d left his apartment because if his cock got any harder, it was conceivable that it might explode.
Fuck! I need to rub one out before I fucking die.
And then she smiled at him and his dick situation became unbearable. She had dimples, for fuck’s sake. Everything he’d ever fantasized about in a woman and she had dimples to boot.
Jake tried to smile back but, judging by the expression on her face, he doubted he’d succeeded. She gave him the same look he’d seen other women give to those crazy, unbathed dudes with ZZ Top beards who walked around Times Square talking to themselves and shouting at passersby to repent because the end of times was near.
Jake’s mystery woman quickly averted her gaze and sipped from her cup of Italian coffee. She glanced everywhere but at him, apparently trying to stave off any possibility that he might engage her in conversation that involved telling her to repent.
Great! Why didn’t I masturbate before I left this morning?!
Pissed off at himself, his dick and the universe in general, Jake decided it was time to pull out the mental big guns. He thought back on Dr. Jordan and his belief that all men wanted to fuck their mothers. Jake forced himself to consider what his own mom might look like naked—Jesus H Christ!—and the very image was, thank the Lord above, enough to make his cock deflate faster than a popped balloon.
Jake whimpered, the image in his mind’s eye more painful than his previous erection. The woman of his fevered fantasies gave him an almost imperceptible sideways glance. Clearing her throat, she stood up and moved to a different table.
Fuck! Fuck! Fuuuuuuck!
Robyn had thought the guy sitting in front of her was the epitome of handsome, but she quickly surmised that his looks were only part of the package—and she certainly didn’t want what came with them. When she smiled at him, his face turned red and a pained expression crossed his face. She wasn’t certain if he was insane or if he needed to use the toilet—either way, no good.
Too bad, too. He really was good-looking with his dark hair and eyes, strong jaw and Roman nose. And his body…
She sighed. No words could do that hard gladiator’s body a lick of justice. And wasn’t it her luck that the first guy who’d managed to snag her attention in months was either crazy, constipated or both. Could this day get any more annoying? She frowned, doubting it.
Glancing away, Robyn pretended to be inordinately fascinated by her cup of caffè con panna. She didn’t want to embarrass the man or make him feel inferior in any way. He couldn’t help that he was different, after all.
Poor man. Now that she thought about it, he was probably one of those idiot savants like on Rainman. Dustin Hoffman had deserved that Oscar, she decided. His portrayal of Raymond had been hauntingly reminiscent of the man sitting before her. The coincidence tugged at her heartstrings.
The man whimpered, garnering her attention. He squeezed his eyes closed real tight and started mumbling to himself.
Robyn’s jaw dropped. She quickly decided that her heartstrings could go to hell.
This guy was no idiot savant. He was just plain crazy. While the former produced empathy, the latter invoked nothing but good old-fashioned fear.
She stood up, praying to God the man was too absorbed in his own delirious thoughts to notice. Feeling his dark gaze following her, she inwardly cursed then motioned to Marco to hurry up with her brother’s cannoli.
Robyn plopped down on a chair at a different table while she waited. It was official. This was definitely the most aggravating day of her life.
Chapter Two
He was following her. She hadn’t visually confirmed the hunch yet, but she knew he was. All of her senses screamed that she was being tailed. The situation was alarming. All Robyn had wanted was a damn cup of coffee and now she was being hunted by Conan the Crazy, Constipated Barbarian.
Fine, she thought, with grim satisfaction. He could go ahead and follow her home. Nicky would be there. Her brother would take a baseball bat to his head before turning him over to the police. Or worse for the loony tune, the Mulberry Street version of the police.
Robyn picked up her pace. There was something familiar about the guy and she couldn’t pinpoint precisely what it was. Had he followed her before and she simply hadn’t noticed? The dramatic writer in her sternly weighed that possibility.
Bah! It didn’t matter. Now that she’d worked out in her mind how this scenario would play out, she was very eager to get home. She might not even tease Nicky with the chocolate chip cannoli before giving him the box of plain ones. She’d never been more desirous of her brother’s presence in her life. It was amazing how Nicky’d gone from being an annoying little shit to the hero of her heart in the blink of an eye.
Still, she needed to know if her hunch was correct. Maybe the stranger wasn’t tracking her. Perhaps her writer’s imagination had taken over, causing her to feel unnecessary alarm.
Robyn came to an abrupt halt in the middle of Mulberry Street. A bag of coffees and two boxes of cannoli in her hands, she whirled around like a waitressing pro, spilling nothing. Her heart rate picked up as she scanned the crowd for her nemesis. Little Italy was jammed with tourists as usual, making the task somewhat challenging.
Her breath caught. There he was.
Eyes wide as saucers, Robyn spun back around and ran like hell.
She was grateful Marco had wrapped the coffee tightly because the last thing she needed was scorching liquid burning the hell out of her. Never mind the fact that her frazzled brain was going to need one of the cups as soon as she reached the safety of her home.
Robyn could hear her crazed stalker muttering something as he closed in on her from behind. Holy shit! Nicky better be within shouting distance!
She was almost to her building. Another few steps and—
Two large, maniacal hands seized Robyn from behind. She gasped, her heart falling into the pit of her stomach. Half a dozen scenarios about how to escape flooded her mind, including throwing her precious, hot coffee right in her attacker’s face. Uncertain what to do—and really wanting her damn coffee unscathed—Robyn did the only other thing she could think of. She screamed.
“Nickyyyyyyyyy!”
Jake had never felt like a bigger moron. He should have caught up to her long ago and tried to explain himself—minus the erection part—but he’d been too busy ogling her round, sexy ass to think straight. And now she was screaming for some damn Nicky person. He just hoped Nicky was another woman and not her boyfriend. After all this, she’d better not be spoken for!
“Hey, hey, calm down,” Jake urged, easing up on her shoulders. “I’m not going to hurt you. Iya…” He tried to think of a plausible explanation for following her. Preferably one that didn’t make him come across as the stalker he was behaving like. “You forgot something at Cha Chas and I was trying to catch up so I could give it to you.”
Her screeching came to an abrupt halt. He let go of her shoulders altogether so she could turn around and face him.
Fuck! The woman was too beautiful, too sexy. His damn dick started stiffening again, which was the last thing he needed to happen at this point. Mom naked…mom naked…mom naked…
“Are you okay?” the woman asked, sounding unsure of the situation. She spoke to him in a slow, loud, overly patient tone. The same tone people tended to use when speaking to foreigners. Or unstable nutjobs. “Do you need me to get you some help?”
Jake frowned. “Lady, I’m not a psychopath.”
“I’m sure you’re not.”
That same damn tone of voice. Jake sighed. “I know I was acting like one,” he muttered. “It’s just…” Tell the truth, but not the whole truth or you’ll appear even weirder than you already do. “I— It’s been a very long day already.”
She said nothing to that. Hopefully that was progress.
Fuck! He’d never felt so inept aro
und a woman in his life. He tended to come across as arrogant and a little too sure of himself. But around her? He might as well be drooling in a cup or frothing at the mouth. One more fuck-up and he’d be wearing the “village idiot” sign around his neck.
“Look, I’m sorry,” Jake said sincerely. “I could tell I frightened you back at the bistro and I just wanted to apologize.”
Her expression was still wary, but softening. Her shoulders even looked like they were unclenching a bit.
“I was…uh…I was in a lot of physical pain.” That’s true at least. “And I think that physical pain got lost in translation,” he admitted. He ran a hand over his jaw. “When I saw your expression, I realized I probably looked crazy.”
She chuckled softly. Definite progress. He tried to grin back, but Jake had never been much of a smiler. Hopefully that wouldn’t count against him and his half-grin would suffice.
“Well, a little crazy,” she confessed. Those sexy dimples popped out again. “At first I thought you were…you know…special.”
“Special?”
“Like Rainman.”
“Shit.”
She laughed. Jesus, she had the best laugh.
“And then when you started mumbling to yourself, I admit I thought that you might be…uh…”
“Eleven eggs short of a dozen?”
“Yeah,” she chuckled, her green eyes amused. “Something like that.”
He found the situation amusing too, but he still didn’t want her to think of him like that. It wasn’t the world’s best position for asking a lady out. “I’m Jake,” he said. He gave her a sheepish look. “AKA ‘Simple Simon’.”
She laughed again, a warm, welcoming sound that made her seem impossibly more beautiful to him than she already did. Now if he could manage not to fuck things up again they might make progress of the dating kind.
“I’m Robyn,” she said, smiling. “It’s nice to meet you. I’d shake your hand, but, uh…”
Jake’s eyes darted down to the bag and two boxes in her hands. “Let me help you with that,” he offered. “I mean—if you’re okay with that.”
She started to say something—but just then a big Italian dude came flying out the door of the building Robyn had tried to get into before Jake had stopped her. The guy had a baseball bat in his hand and a lot of attitude written across his face.
This had to be Nicky. Jake’s jaw tightened. Definitely not a woman.
“Yo! Who the fuck are you? Why the fuck are you messing with my little sis—”
Robyn was his sister. Just his sister!
“Yo, Jake Chamberlin! Pisan!” The baseball bat was quickly tossed aside. Nicky pounded Jake on the back, smiling from ear to ear. Jake shook his hand and nodded back.
Robyn’s eyes widened. “You know him, Nicky?”
“What? You don’t?” Nicky sighed like a martyr. He looked at Jake. “My sister…she don’t watch sports, bro.”
Jake had figured that out long ago. Most women would have been thrilled to find themselves sitting next to Jake Chamberlin back at the bistro. Robyn had been anything but thrilled. Not only had she failed to recognize him, she’d thought he was batshit crazy.
“Yeah,” Jake muttered. “I had that feeling.”
“Robyn, this is Jake-fuckin-Chamberlin!” Nicky went on. “The quarterback of the New York Bloods!”
“Former quarterback,” Jake cut in. “I retired after the Super Bowl.”
“The Super Bowl winner! And hometown hero, pisan.”
Once upon a time Jake had enjoyed his status as a sports icon. In this moment, he found himself wishing Nicky hadn’t enlightened her. He wanted Robyn to get to know him—the real him—not the guy who’d taken the New York Bloods to Super Bowl victory.
“Nicky, here,” Robyn said, loading him down with everything in her hands. “Would you put these in my apartment for me? Your cannoli is in one of the boxes and make sure you leave me one of the coffees.”
“But—”
“Dominic—please…?”
He sighed. “All right.” He nodded at Jake. “Good to meet you, bro. Congrats on the ring.”
“Thank you,” Jake said. He gave Nicky a firm pat on the back. “Good to meet you too.”
Robyn watched her brother disappear into the building before turning to face Jake. “I’m sorry about my brother. He lives and breathes sports.” She rolled her eyes good-naturedly. “I’ve never seen him make all over another man like that. It was creeping me out, to tell you the truth.”
Jake chuckled. Jesus, the woman could even make him laugh. “I’m used to it. No biggie.”
A thoughtful look crossed Robyn’s face, as if she were trying to figure out a puzzle. “You looked familiar to me back at Cha Chas and I guess that’s why. I’ve probably seen you on TV or something before.” She shrugged. “Who knows. Anyway, a quarterback, huh? That means you play…uh…don’t tell me…give me a second… Baseball? No! Football! Football, right?”
Jake felt like a deer caught in headlights. He supposed he didn’t have to worry about her wanting to get to know the quarterback rather than the real him. She hadn’t even guessed the right sport the first time. He didn’t know whether to be offended, humored or relieved. He chose the latter two.
“Football,” Jake murmured.
She nodded. “It’s good you retired. Too violent in my opinion.”
“You’re telling me. I sustained three knee injuries during my career.”
Her expression softened. “That explains the pain you were in.”
“Huh?”
“The pain you were in at Cha Chas.”
“Yeahhh,” Jake drawled, thinking quickly. “It was my knee.” My wie-knee but never mind. “Very painful.”
“I’m sorry.” Her smile was sympathetic. “Look,” Robyn said, “I think I’ve taken up enough of your time. It was very sweet of you to come explain yourself. But I’m sure you have other things to do and I need to get to work.”
I just want to be near you. “Yeah, sorry if I made you late to work.”
She waved that away. “I work from home so it’s no inconvenience.” She smiled, the twinkle back in her gorgeous eyes. She held out her hand to shake his. “It was nice to meet you, Jake Chamberlin. I’m Robyn DiMarco. The guy with the baseball bat was my brother, Dominic DiMarco. We call him Nicky.”
So she wasn’t married. And if she had been in the past, she now loathed the guy enough to ditch his last name and take back her original one. Good.
“Robyn DiMarco. A beautiful name for a beautiful lady.” Jake took her hand, but rather than shake it, he held it to his lips for a soft kiss. “The pleasure is all mine.”
She visibly gulped. Was that good or was that bad?
“Yes, well…” She blinked and shook her head a little. “If you’re ever in our neighborhood again…” She grinned, regaining her composure. “I won’t run from you screaming next time.”
Jake smiled. Well, a three-quarter smile. It was a first for him, but then he could barely remember his own name around this woman. “Sounds good.”
Robyn started to walk away. He wanted to go with her in the worst way, but he knew it would be too much too soon.
“Oh!” Robyn said, spinning around to face him. “You said I forgot something at Cha Chas?”
“Yeah, you did,” Jake murmured.
“What was it?”
“My number.”
Chapter Three
They met for coffee at Cha Chas three days later. Robyn couldn’t remember the last time she’d laughed so much and so hard. Jake wasn’t prone toward smiling and probably came off as overly serious to most people, but she’d quickly figured him out. He was amusing as hell once you understood his dry wit and facial expressions. His lips didn’t curve up very much, but his dark eyes lit up and danced in a playful manner quite frequently.
“I thought you were Italian when we first met,” Robyn admitted. “You definitely look it. But your last name is Chamberlin…what is you
r heritage?”
“Trailer park.”
Robyn grinned. “I’m serious.”
“Unfortunately so am I,” Jake returned. He shrugged. “I have no idea where my people came from. I got my mom and that’s it. My dad left when I was a kid.”
“No brothers or sisters?”
“Nope.”
“Cousins?”
“Not that I know of.”
Robyn’s heart wrenched for him. She couldn’t imagine growing up like that. She had been surrounded by people who loved her. She only had one sibling, true, but her family as a whole was huge. “I’m sorry.”
As to Jake’s heritage, she’d never before met somebody who didn’t know where they came from, but then, she had lived her entire life on Mulberry Street. In Little Italy, you grew up not only knowing you were Italian, but you also knew the exact village your people heralded from. And every last one of her friends and acquaintances still had relatives back in those villages in the Old Country.
“No need to be sorry. My mom and I are real close. I’m just glad I was able to get her out of that trailer park and into a nice apartment near me.”
Robyn smiled. His family consisted of only two, but he was loyal to it. A good sign, to her way of thinking.
“So you’re divorced,” Jake said, switching topics. “How long?”
“A long time,” Robyn answered. She blew out a breath as she tried to remember. “At least ten years.”
“Can I ask what went wrong?”
“We didn’t see eye to eye.” Robyn shrugged. “Paulie—that was his name—he thought it was okay to get jealous of other men and beat me up for it. I disagreed.”
Jake’s eyes narrowed. “I’ll kill him.”
Something in that simple, protective statement made her heart flutter in a way it never had before. She had quickly surmised that Jake was the jealous type—he’d already stared down three men just for looking at her—but he’d never hurt her. Robyn knew the difference. Jake was territorial and protective, just like Nicky, but he wasn’t abusive.