by Black, Jaid
“Too late. Someone else already did,” Robyn admitted.
Jake’s eyebrows shot up.
“Let’s just say there were a lot of people around here who didn’t like him. But no, my family had nothing to do with it. Not that Nicky didn’t do a little damage. But my brother’s baseball bat was the least of Paulie’s problems.”
Jake inclined his head. “Got you.”
The conversation turned to various topics, some serious, some humorous. The more time Robyn spent with Jake, the more she didn’t want their afternoon together to end. She didn’t know where this was going, if anywhere, but she certainly was enjoying the journey toward figuring it out.
Jake Chamberlin. Broodingly handsome, powerfully built and filled with surprises. Just when she discovered a new layer to his personality, he surprised her with yet another one.
Robyn inwardly sighed. If she didn’t watch herself, she could easily fall for this man.
Jake had never felt so comfortable with a woman in his life. He still got a painful hard-on every time Robyn smiled, or bent over, or breathed for that matter, but he also genuinely enjoyed her company. He actually liked talking to her. Talking! Conversation had never been his strong suit, especially with women, but it seemed to come naturally with her.
And he was starting to pick up on something else too. Judging by the way other men kept staring at Robyn, he realized he wasn’t the only man who preferred a fleshy body to skin stretched over bones. He just wished they’d stare at any woman but her. Still, all the local men who walked into Cha Chas with women on their arms seemed to share his preference for females who were ripe all over.
Maybe his fetish wasn’t a fetish after all. Maybe he was actually normal. Hell, he’d only ever lived in society’s two extremes—trailer park and ridiculous wealth. Both of those extremes held up emaciated women as the end-all, be-all of beauty—and both were Whitey McWhite town.
After thirty-seven years, Jake was finally starting to understand what “it’s a cultural thing” meant. And he finally felt as if he’d found the culture he belonged in. He was an Italian trapped in Trailer Park Bob’s life.
It was time to sell the hunting rifle and trailer hitch; at long last, Jake had found his way home.
* * * * *
Robyn looked at herself from all angles in the full-length mirror. She smoothed out her dress and then played with her hair. Should she wear it up or down? She frowned, trying to decide what would look best with her little red dress and matching heels. In the end, she opted to loosely pin her hair up and let a few tendrils of curls fall to frame her face.
She smiled into the mirror. She looked pretty good, if she did say so herself.
“He’s gonna love you, sis. You look gorgeous.”
Wide-eyed, Robyn whirled around. “Nicky! I didn’t hear you come in.” She affectionately bopped him on the head. “You scared the piss out of me.”
“I don’t see nothing runnin’ down your legs.”
She frowned. “That’s gross.”
He grinned. “Grossing you out is my brotherly duty.”
“Pfft! Not tonight. My nerves are already on edge.”
Her brother’s expression grew serious. His conversation flipped into Italian. “What’s going on? You change your mind about Jake? I can make up an excuse for you if you want me to.”
She waved that away. “No, no, I haven’t changed my mind about him. It’s…you know…our family.” She sighed. “They can be so embarrassing.”
Nicky chuckled, his speech reverting back to English. “Yeah but they are our family. Better to rip that Band-Aid off now on your first date and get it over with.”
“Second date. We met for coffee at Cha Chas already.”
“Oh yeah. How’d that go?”
She sighed, recalling it as if it were yesterday. Then again, it had been yesterday. “Wonderful,” she breathed out, probably sounding too nostalgic. “We talked for hours. I’ve never had that instant connection with anyone before, not even with Paulie. It’s a little scary,” Robyn admitted.
“I’d say that’s a good thing, seeing as how Paulie turned out to be a piece of shit.”
Robyn snorted at that as she took a seat on the edge of her bed. “You got me there. Still,” she sighed, “Jake will probably run for the hills after he meets the family, Nicky.” She grinned. “I know I would.”
Nicky winked. “I don’t know. Uncle Vito can be pretty funny.”
Robyn snorted at that. “If you call making farting sounds under your armpit after you’ve had one too many bottles of Chianti ‘funny’, then yeah, he’s a real riot.”
* * * * *
Robyn buried her face in her hands while Uncle Vito farted out the national anthem under his armpit. She should have known better than to let Jake meet her family this soon. Armpit farting aside, a man accustomed to a family of two probably found their sheer numbers overwhelming.
Every time the DiMarcos had a family get-together, they locked down their entire building on Mulberry Street, left the doors to everybody’s apartments wide open and made their way from one family member’s place to the next, eating, drinking, laughing and dancing. Ordinarily Robyn lived for these nights, but then, ordinarily she wasn’t hoping to impress a non-Italian man who didn’t have his own version of Uncle Vito back at home.
“Eat something, Robby,” her mother chided. “Your Jake is enjoying himself. Don’t worry so much.”
“Maaaa,” Robyn whined, raising her head. “Can you please ask your brother to behave?”
“Bah!” Maria DiMarco waved that away. “Vito is harmless. Besides, he’s like a Band-Aid. Better to rip it off now than—”
“Nicky already gave me the Band-Aid speech.”
“There you go. Besides, it looks like your Jake is laughing.”
Her Jake. She wanted him to be her Jake. She just hoped tonight didn’t irreparably damage her chances.
Robyn sighed and decided to make the best of the situation. She was hungry and there was no turning back now. Besides, she thought, bemused as her gaze zeroed in on Jake, he really was laughing. She shook her head. The appreciation of rude noises was apparently a source of male amusement regardless of their roots.
“Your father is really taking to him,” Maria whispered. “I was a little worried he wouldn’t when you told us he wasn’t Italian.”
“So was I,” Robyn confided. “I guess being the former quarterback of Pop’s precious Bloods was close enough to Italian for him.”
Maria chuckled. “It would seem so.” She affectionately grabbed Robyn’s chin, forcing her to look up. “Come, baby. Enjoy yourself! I made all your favorite foods and I’d like to see you eat them.”
Robyn smiled. “I love you, Ma.”
“I love you too, bambina. Now have some fun!”
Robyn nodded. Taking a deep breath, she stood up and decided to behave like her usual, gregarious self. Jake would either love it or hate it. She decided it would be his loss if he hated it.
Jake watched, mesmerized, as Robyn danced to traditional Italian music with her father and cousins. Nicky had explained that the dance was called Tarantellaÿ Napoletana and that it originated in Naples, the birthplace of the DiMarco family. It was beautiful—she was beautiful, and breathtaking.
He had fallen in lust at first sight with Robyn. He hadn’t expected something deeper to come from carnal attraction, but he’d be a damn liar if he said his thoughts hadn’t already strayed that way a time or ten. He loved everything about her. Her smile, her laughter, her conversation and her family. And then there was the small matter of her not exactly small body…
Fuck! There goes my dick again.
“My sister has always been a good dancer,” Nicky said with pride.
Jake shifted in his seat. He’d been so lost in thoughts of Robyn that he’d forgotten her brother was seated right next to him. “Yeah,” he hoarsely agreed. “She’s amazing.”
Jake cleared his throat and looked away from Robyn. H
e was pretty sure a change in scenery was the only thing that would help his dick go down. “Something ironic,” Jake said, glancing at Nicky. “She has the same name as my favorite suspense writer.”
Nicky grinned. “You want to know something more ironic?”
“What’s that?”
“My sister is your favorite suspense writer.”
It took a lot to startle Jake. Dominic DiMarco had managed to do just that. “Robyn is…she’s that Robyn?!”
“The one and only.”
“I thought those books were written by a dude!”
Nicky shrugged. “She never lets her picture get put on the jacket covers. Sexism, she says.”
“Sexism?”
“She told me female suspense writers aren’t backed by their publishers as seriously as male ones, so if they don’t have ambiguous names they usually take male pseudonyms. Robyn happened to have a name that could go either way.”
“Why don’t they back them?”
“Don’t know. Maybe they think suspense fans won’t read a woman’s work. Kinda like how romance fans probably won’t read a novel written by Bob Jones.”
“But she’s famous enough now that it wouldn’t matter.”
Nicky winked. “True. Robby doesn’t try to conceal it so much these days, but she does like her anonymity.”
Jake understood that particular desire all too well. Now that he was retired he wanted to fall off society’s radar and lead a normal life. Get married, have kids—that kind of stuff. He hoped the transition from football hero to average Joe wouldn’t be long in coming. It wasn’t like he was a movie star or rock singer.
Nicky continued talking, but his voice was drowned out by the music and Jake’s thoughts. Now Jake understood why Robyn had been inordinately fascinated yesterday by what he’d had to say about his favorite writer’s books—they were her books! He should have been angry that she’d semi-deceived him, but he wasn’t. She’d wanted him to like the real her, not the writer her. The same as he’d wanted Robyn to like the real him.
Jesus. In her own right, the woman was as famous as Jake. Had he thought being a quarterback would impress her? It hadn’t. She undoubtedly knew some of the same people he knew…she’d just chosen not to join their superficial circles. And now that Jake had gotten a taste of her world, he didn’t blame her.
Hell, he envied her.
Chapter Four
The last month had been pure bliss for Robyn. She and Jake had been all but inseparable. When she wasn’t working and he didn’t have to put in an appearance at some event he was still bound by contract to attend, they’d been together. In another month he wouldn’t have any contractual obligations remaining, and he’d already told her that he hoped that meant they’d be spending even more time enjoying each other’s company.
Robyn smiled to herself. She had always been the type who enjoyed dating, but she’d never wanted a guy around all the time. Jake, it seemed, was changing her mind.
But there was one rather serious problem…
Robyn blew out a breath as she stood on the balcony of Jake’s apartment. Inside, Jake was throwing a very belated Super Bowl party for his teammates and their significant others. Robyn was enjoying herself for the most part, but she didn’t have very much in common with any of the other female guests. They were the type of Manhattanites she’d spent her entire life avoiding—superficial, pompous and consumed with self-importance.
She’d always found “the trendies”, as she liked to call them, something of a conundrum. They were all about appearing classy, yet oblivious to the fact that their lack of tact and inclusiveness actually made them classless.
Besides, she had been raised on Mulberry Street. In Little Italy, people stuck together whether rich or poor, famous or unknown. Everything was about “the family” and “the family” included the entire community. Her world was so different from the Upper East Side, where “the family” included Me, Myself and I.
A chilly evening wind swept the balcony, causing Robyn to shiver. She took a few steps back into an alcove to hide her bare arms and legs from the elements. She knew she couldn’t stay out here much longer without appearing rude, but she’d really needed the mental break the solitude of the balcony provided. Just a few more preciously wanted alone minutes and she’d rejoin Jake inside.
The doors to the balcony swung open, catching Robyn off guard. She instinctively took a big step backward, farther into the alcove.
A gaggle of blonde women—fashion models, if she remembered correctly—walked out onto the balcony with champagne flutes in their hands. They were quickly joined by four men who still played for the Bloods. Robyn wondered if she should clear her throat so they’d know she was out here too, but the next words she heard caused her to decide against that.
“What the hell is Jake doing with that cow?” one of the blondes asked.
Another blonde giggled. “He’s parading her around like he actually thinks she’s pretty! Did he lose a bet?”
“Oh come on,” a burly redheaded guy said, “she’s the ultimate catch.”
“The ultimate catch?” the first blonde repeated. Her tone was pompously amused. “How so?”
“She’s the ultimate catch if you’re a fisherman,” the redhead explained. He grinned. “The bigger the catch, the bigger the trophy!”
Laughter broke out on the balcony. Robyn’s eyes widened and her shoulders tensed.
“Jake caught himself a whale! Would that be first prize for a Podunk fisherman?”
“Absolutely.”
“Hey now,” an African-American man cut in. “This ain’t cool.” He shook his head as if disgusted, immediately endearing himself to Robyn. “Y’all can think what you want, but it don’t mean you got the right to say it. And I happen to think his girl is damn hot!”
A single tear tracked down Robyn’s cheek. She was grateful to Jake’s friend for defending her to the others, especially since the feisty Robyn she’d been all her life was reacting more like a frozen statue than an angry she-warrior. But then, she had never thought of herself as fat before—their entire conversation had thrown her off-kilter. Where she came from, she’d always been considered attractive and desirable, yet everyone here except Tyrone apparently saw her as quite the opposite.
“Tyrone, please,” one of the models returned. “That’s a nice speech, but Jake is embarrassing himself by being seen with that cow. Besides,” she pointed out by waving a hand, “I don’t see you escorting Moby Dick to any Bloods parties.”
“You don’t see me escorting nobody to a Bloods party because girls from Harlem got no interest in being around mean, skinny bitches like y’all.” His ebony face crinkled in disgust. “Go inside and eat something you’ll puke up later. Roger, Tony, Jeff—get these bitches out of my fuckin’ sight.”
“Calm down, bro,” the redhead said, holding up his hands. “You don’t need to be rude to—”
“Apparently I do. Get the fuck out of my sight!”
The blondes stared open-mouthed at Tyrone even as the other three football players whisked them off the balcony and closed the door behind them. Robyn stood there in the shadows shivering. She felt frozen, unable to move. The only warmth she could feel was around her eyes, where tears she refused to let spill battled to get out.
Please don’t see me, Tyrone. Thank you for your kindness, but please don’t see me like this.
Too late. Robyn knew she’d been spotted the second Tyrone glanced toward the alcove. His eyes widened in recognition. And still she couldn’t move.
“Robyn,” Tyrone said quietly, walking toward her, “I’m sorry you heard all that.” He stopped in front of her and placed his hands on her shivering shoulders. She found herself grateful for the much-needed warmth and gentle human contact. His kindness caused another one of those damn tears to trickle down. “They just a bunch of stank-ass, meth-addict bitches.” He raised one giant hand to her face and softly swiped at the rogue tear. “And they jealous because you, gir
l, managed to get Jake while all them done tried and failed.”
Robyn found her first smile. It was small, but it was still a smile.
“They think I’m fat and ugly,” Robyn quietly stated. “I’ve never heard anybody talk about me so meanly before.”
“That’s because it ain’t true!” Tyrone vehemently assured her. “Girl, I got wood the second I saw you.” He flashed a grin that showed off perfect teeth. “Don’t be tellin’ Jake that though.”
She searched his handsome face. He was truly a gracious, big-hearted gentleman. “Thank you. For everything.”
He nodded in understanding. “Anything else I can do to help?”
Robyn pondered that question for a moment. “Actually there is.”
“What’s that?”
“Can you get me out of here unseen by anyone?” she whispered. “Even Jake?” She shook her head faintly. “I don’t want him to see me like this.”
Tyrone slowly nodded. “Done.”
Chapter Five
Robyn should have taken a cab back to Mulberry Street, but that would have involved talking to the driver, however briefly, and she wasn’t ready to speak to anyone. Lost in thought, she opted to walk instead.
The rain started hammering down not even ten minutes into her journey home and continued all the way into the streets of Little Italy. She was drenched from head to toe, but couldn’t find the energy to care. All she could think about was what she’d heard on the balcony.
Jake is embarrassing himself by being seen with that cow…
Was he embarrassing himself? They lived in two totally separate worlds and apparently in his world, beauty was much different than it was in hers.
In Robyn’s experience, outward beauty required fleshy thighs, heavy breasts, wide hips and a noticeable tummy. To the men on Mulberry Street, this was the embodiment of desirability and equated to fertility and healthiness in their minds.