Last Words (Morelli Family, #7)

by Sam Mariano

  I wince at the ray of light sneaking through my window. I have those awesome blackout curtains, but the corner of one got folded back somehow. I feel like a fucking vampire, avoiding the light so I don’t perish.

  “Vince,” Carly singsongs. “We are going to knock on this door for the rest of our lives if you don’t open it.”

  There it is again. We. Who the fuck is with her? Gus? Gus doesn’t visit. They chat outside, but unlike Carly, he respects the neighborly boundaries and keeps to his own damn apartment.

  “Vince middle-name-I-don’t-know Morelli!”

  Jesus Christ.

  I drag my ass out of bed, snatch up a T-shirt from off the floor, and pull it on as I head for the door.

  When I open it, instead of one pain in the ass, there are two. A blonde and a brunette version. Carly grins at me, unabashed, while the long-haired brunette is more sheepish about her obviously unwelcome appearance on my doorstep.

  “What?” I ask.

  “Good afternoon.” Carly leans in and kisses my cheek, then breezes right past me. “Laurel, this is my boyfriend, Vince.”

  I turn on a dime. “Whoa. Wait a minute.”

  Carly ignores me. “Vince, this is my lovely little sister, Laurel. She likes Smallville, so she has better taste than you.”

  “I think we need to revisit that first thing you just said.”

  Carly looks back at me and cocks her head in question. “The middle name thing? I agree. What kind of girlfriend am I that I don’t know your middle name? Also, is the Vince for Vincent, or something else? I know you’re Italian, but I don’t know how traditionally Italian your family is with the names. Or anything else, actually, what with your no holiday policy.”

  “I adopted that myself. My family celebrates all the traditional holidays.”

  “Where is your kitchen?” Laurel asks me, holding up a white shopping bag with plastic handles.

  “Uh…” I frown, pointing in the direction of my kitchen.

  She flashes me a grateful smile. “Thanks. You want hot chocolate?”

  My gaze bounces from Laurel’s shopping bag, to Carly, then back to Laurel. “What is happening right now?”

  Laurel shrugs unhelpfully and heads for my kitchen, presumably to make hot chocolate.

  “I told you Laurel was visiting for winter break,” Carly reminds me, as she unloads a shit load of shopping bags on my couch. “Is the Vince short for Vincent?”

  “Yes. I am not your boyfriend and I did not agree to whatever this is.”

  “Yes, you are. Yes, you did.” She turns, gesturing around my living room. “I still want to put a tree in here, but we’re going to take you with us to pick that out. Partially so you can have a say in which tree, but mostly because we’re gonna need you to carry it.” Now she turns back to the couch and pulls out a gold tree skirt with glitter snowflakes all over it. “How cute is this? I got you ornaments, too. Your tree is going to put all the other trees to shame.”

  “I told you, I don’t want a tree. And once more, I am not your boyfriend.”

  Carly grimaces. “You are, though. Sorry. Anyway, being my boyfriend means your house will be decorated for Christmas, whether you want to be a Grinch or not. Plus, this is the first time you’re meeting Laurel. Don’t you want to make a good impression?”

  I sigh, scrubbing my hands over my face. “I need a shower.”

  “Go ahead,” she says. “We’ll make some lunch. We’re going to make cookies, too. I bought all the stuff to make the ones you liked, plus I’m going to make some cute little wreath cookies. Oh! I got a wreath for your door.” She lights up and digs through another bag. “I got one for Gus, too. He appreciated his much more than I expect you to, but I’m going to put it on your door anyway. It’s more for me than for you. Christmas is my favorite. I can’t accept this Grinchy behavior.”

  I glance back in the kitchen where Laurel is opening cabinets, trying to find things in a foreign kitchen. “You didn’t even tell me you were going to bring her here.”

  “Well, I tried, but you’ve been avoiding me again. Now that you’re my boyfriend, that’s behind us and we can carry on being happy. Who has two thumbs and doesn’t hold a grudge?” She gives me a big, exaggerated grin and points to herself.

  There she goes with that boyfriend shit again. “What part of me clearly telling you I didn’t want to do this the other night led you to believe you could show up at my apartment with your sister and decorate my place in Christmas decorations I told you I didn’t want?”

  She looks up at me, dropping her shopping bag, and closes the distance between us. My body responds to the sultry look in her eyes and she hasn’t even touched me. Then she does, placing a hand on my chest, letting it drift down my abdomen, and finally drops between my legs. She gropes me, then rubs my cock. It springs to life under her capable caress. Her free hand moves around my neck and she pulls me down to her height so she can kiss me.

  I’m not made of fucking steel, so I kiss her back.

  “Most of it,” she finally answers, softly, as she draws back. “But feeling how hard you get for me is my favorite part of your invalid argument.”

  God, she kills me. She continues to rub me through the stiff fabric. It’s getting increasingly less comfortable. “I already told you, just because I want to fuck you doesn’t mean…”

  She gives me a minute to finish that lie, and when I don’t, she nods. “Yeah, you like me. Don’t even try it. I know you have you commitment issues, but guess what? I came up with a foolproof way to combat them. Maybe I can’t clear the demons out of your head all at once, but I can threaten you with a new one to keep you on track until we can work through them together.”

  I can’t help cracking a little smile of amusement at her sass. “You think you can threaten me?”

  “Mmhmm,” she murmurs, nodding her head. “You need incentive. You need consequences.”

  If she keeps rubbing my dick like that, I’m gonna haul her ass in my bedroom and show her little ass some consequences.

  At least, that’s where my thoughts are at until she fills me in on the rest of her idea. “So, here’s what we’re going to do. I’m obviously your girlfriend now. That’s already decided. And I’m going to be a really, really good girlfriend.” She unbuttons my jeans and drags the zipper down. Then, to further prove her point, she pushes her hand inside so she can get a better hold on my dick.

  My head lolls back as she strokes me. Fuck, that feels good.

  “And in return, you’re going to be a solid boyfriend who doesn’t play games and avoid me for days and act like a total douche. Good, loyal boyfriend begets good, loyal girlfriend. Makes sense, right?”

  “Makes a lot of sense,” I murmur. “Except for the part—”

  The hand she doesn’t have down my pants comes up to cover my mouth. “No, handsome, I wasn’t done talking.” Her fingers play along my length like it’s their fucking job. “But, here’s where the incentive kicks in. If you start pulling this game-playing, awful boyfriend shit again, I’m not going to sit on my couch eating ice cream and being sad about it. I’m not going to laze in bed, touching my own pussy, pining for your mouth instead. You know what I’m going to do?”

  I swallow down the anger that wars with the arousal as my mind follows the fucking breadcrumbs and gets to her threat before she utters it.

  “I’ll invite over someone else who will. There’s this guy who used to chase me when I worked at the restaurant—you’ve probably seen him at the gym. He clearly spends a lot of time there. All inked up. He’s hot for me. And if my sexy boyfriend would rather play the avoidance game than satisfy me, would rather drink alone at his apartment than get his dick worshipped by his adoring girlfriend, guess what? There are a lot of guys who feel very differently, and I’ll go find one.”

  Rage vibrates through me, but she’s still rubbing my cock. How can she be pleasing me and pissing me off in such equal measures? “The fuck you will,” I return, lowly.

  �
�I don’t want to,” she assures me. “I only want you. But I’m not bluffing. Disappear on me again and I’ll invite him over. I’ll lock the door this time, and by the time you get the locks picked and burst into my apartment to vent your rage, Mr. Ink Muscles will already be buried balls-deep inside the pussy that should be yours.”

  I feel my lips curl up, feel the rage pulse through me. I grab a fistful of her sweater and yank her close. She gasps in surprise, but her hand doesn’t stop working me. “You fucking invite Mr. Ink Muscles over to your house, you better fuck him real good, because it’s the last pussy he’ll ever get. I’ll fucking kill him. Don’t test me.”

  Instead of the caution I expect to see reflected back after such a heartfelt fucking threat, Carly’s eyes warm with arousal and she smiles faintly. “God, that’s hot.”

  Fuck, this woman.

  I need to fuck this woman.

  Fuck.

  I growl low in my throat and grab her hair, fisting my hand and pulling her in for a bruising kiss. I’m tempted to push her in the floor and give her my cock right now, but I’m dimly aware of her sister in the kitchen.

  Carly seems to understand she’s won this round, so she extracts her hand from my pants, leaving me in fucking agony, and steps back away from me. “Now, you go get your sexy ass in the shower while we make you lunch. We have a lot of decorating to do today.”

  ---

  There are Christmas lights all over my apartment. There’s a tree lit with white lights and red and green ornaments. Garland hangs from my fucking fireplace, along with three stockings. Why there are stockings for Carly and her sister at my place, I could not tell you, but that’s where we are.

  Now, as we walk through town toward the local movie theater, Carly loops her arm through mine and hugs my arm. “What a fun day. Wasn’t today fun?”

  “I’m thinking of scrapbooking about it,” I tell her.

  She rolls her eyes at me. “Whatever. You had fun.”

  “He definitely had fun,” Laurel agrees. “You know what would make life even more fun?”

  “A light dusting of snow?” suggests Carly. “Seriously, I’m disappointed in the lore of New England winter right now. It’s like 55 degrees. Where is the snow?”

  Laurel nods her agreement. “Connecticut is failing you. You should move back to Chicago.”

  “I can’t, unfortunately. Luckily I’ve found plenty to like about Connecticut.”

  “I thought you said you could come back after the internship was over,” Laurel questions.

  Carly pauses. “I did.” Now she glances at me. It’s the kind of look that makes me think I’m supposed to silently communicate something to her, but I have no idea what.

  Laurel skips right over the weirdness. “Anyway, like I was saying, after the movie we should stop for milkshakes. I really want a milkshake.”

  “Ooh, I like that idea,” Carly agrees. “See?” she says, nudging me. “My sister is brilliant.”

  “Or hungry,” I suggest.

  “No, she’s brilliant,” Carly decides. “You haven’t spent enough time with her to know, but Laurel is a total egghead.”

  “Right, because you weren’t valedictorian of your graduating class,” Laurel says, rolling her eyes.

  My eyebrows rise and I do a double take, looking at the bold blonde who promoted herself to girlfriend. “You were the valedictorian of your graduating class?”

  Carly rolls her eyes dismissively. “It’s not a big deal. Way to have a big mouth, Laurel.”

  Laurel leans forward to peer over at me. “She made a big speech and everything.”

  “Stop,” Carly says, groaning.

  “Does he not know you’re smart?” Laurel asks, appearing puzzled.

  “We’re all smart,” Carly replies. Her tone is light, but she’s clearly getting annoyed. “Anyway, where should we go for milkshakes after the movie?”

  Laurel frowns, but drops it. “I don’t know. I don’t live here.”

  “We should totally change that,” Carly tells her. “I was telling Vince how you should totally move here.”

  “Yes, I would love to leave the bustling big city to settle down in a town with a one-screen movie theater.”

  “There’s a real movie theater in Plainville,” I tell her. “It’s not far from here. But, you know, since it’s a real movie theater, they’re not showing a Christmas movie that’s been out for years.”

  “I like our little one screen theater,” Carly says. “The popcorn is cheap and they load it up with butter.”

  “Carly thinks with her stomach,” Laurel advises me.

  She does like food. I don’t understand how she’s so tiny. Mia was tiny, but she was never a big food enthusiast. “When she’s not using her massive brain,” I toss back, since it seems to annoy Carly.

  It really does. She gives me a side-eye like she’s not impressed. What a weird thing to want to hide. Does she think I wouldn’t like a smart girl?

  And how fucking smart can she be? She tried to get murdered by that Marine asshole.

  Maybe she’s book smart, just lacking in common sense.

  Though, she does seem to have common sense in other areas.

  Before I can delve too deeply into Carly’s intellect, we get to the movie theater. There’s a small, quirky theater in town that’s usually only open on weekends, but they’re open tonight for a special screening of The Grinch. Carly, being a Christmas enthusiast, had to go.

  The girls flank me once we get inside. We actually have to stand in line, which I did not expect. Why are people flooding the theater so they can pay to watch a movie they could buy for $10 and watch at home? This Christmas spirit bullshit is just nonsensical.

  A pimple-faced kid with greasy hair and glasses sits behind the counter, selling tickets. He looks up as we approach.

  “Three for The Grinch, please,” Carly says, brightly.

  His gaze moves from Carly to Laurel, then to me in the middle. “Wow, you’re a lucky guy, aren’t you? Two beautiful dates.”

  I can’t help smiling as I shake my head and extract my wallet. “What can I say? Family tradition.”

  “Aw, we’re a family already,” Carly teases.

  “Not what I meant. The ex that left me for my cousin? Didn’t even leave to be exclusive. Left me to be one of two girlfriends. They share him. Forgot to mention that.”

  Carly blinks in surprise and Pimple Face just stares at me, in awe, like he’s trying to figure out what majestic land I hail from. I shake my head, drawing out a twenty and tossing it on the counter. “Tickets?”

  He finally gets his shit together and rings up three movie tickets, taking my money and counting out change.

  “Your cousin is polyamorous?” Laurel asks, clearly not understanding how sore this subject is. “That’s fascinating. Tell me more.”

  “No,” Carly says quickly, shaking her head. “Nope, nope, nope.”

  “But I have questions.”

  Carly shakes her head. “Nope.”

  “But—”

  “Are we getting snacks?” Carly asks me, looping her arm through mine and hauling me to the next counter, where they sell concessions.

  “You already told me the answer to this one. Yes.” I look at Laurel. “Can you just tell me what you want, or do I have to read your mind, too?”

  “Oh, I’m okay,” she tells me.

  I look back at Carly for verification. “Get her a bottled water,” Carly advises.

  Laurel rolls her eyes but doesn’t argue, so I buy her the water.

  Chapter Twelve

  Vince

  The waitress stands at our table, tapping her foot impatiently as Carly ponders the milkshake choices like her life depends on it.

  “You can do this,” Laurel coaches her, hunched over her own menu. “We have it narrowed down to three. You’ve been training for this your whole life.”

  “I feel like I should get candy cane. Am I a bad person if I don’t get candy cane? I mean, it’s almost Chr
istmas.”

  Laurel nods, like this is a reasonable question. “It is the only one of the choices available for a limited time. That might make the most sense.”

  Carly nods solemnly, turning her attention to the waitress. “I think we’ll go with the candy cane milkshake.”

  The waitress jots it down on her order pad. “And for you?” she asks me.

  “I’m good with the water,” I tell her, indicating the water she already delivered. She nods her head and walks away, looking more annoyed than I would expect, even given Carly’s milkshake debate.

  Carly grabs her water, sipping it through the straw and looking over at Laurel. “She hated me when I worked here. Really wish we had a different waitress.”

  I lean forward on the table, peering across at Carly. “This is the restaurant you worked at?”

  “Yep, this is the place.”

  Laurel shakes her head, stirring the ice in her cup with her straw. “I can’t believe they fired you. Their loss.”

  “Totally their loss,” Carly agrees, nodding. “I mean, I was late like four times, so I may have fired me, too. But still.”

  Laurel thrusts a fist in the air. “Damn the man.”

  “The owner is actually pretty nice,” Carly says, fairly.

  “Um, not if they fired my sister. Anyone who fires my sister is a stupid numbskull who needs a stern talking to about the value of their employees. Let me at ‘em, I say.”

  “I didn’t even like the job that much,” Carly states.

  “That’s not the point. Give me fifteen minutes with the person who fired you. I can either talk them out of their wrong decision, or just use a bunch of words they won’t understand until they think they’ve changed their mind. Either way, you get your job back.”

  Carly wrinkles up her nose and pokes at her ice. “I really don’t want it back. Vince works a weird schedule, so if I had to work a different schedule I would have much less time to pester him.”

  Laurel rolls her eyes. “Oh, my lord. Aren’t you the one who always tells me I’m not allowed to even consider men when making life decisions?”