Wild Steamy Hook-Up

by Piper Rayne

  I’m curious now. Someone is tracking the Mancinis? I get that our little borough can seem small, but there’re a lot of Italian men who are available, come on.

  “Yeah, thank goodness. There’s always been something about Dom. He seems like that quiet, commanding type. At least outside of the bedroom.” The woman practically howls with laughter.

  “You do like that type.”

  A part of me wants to rip the annulment papers out of my bag and say he’s mine. But I’ve held on to Dom way longer than I should have.

  “Good morning,” he says, dropping his gym bag on the concrete. He slides into the wrought-iron chair across from me. He’s freshly showered and dressed in track shorts and a T-shirt because it’s Sunday and he usually plays basketball with his brothers on Sunday mornings. Except he’s been picking up games with some old buddies because his brothers have limited their games to once a month now that they’re involved. I shouldn’t know, but I do.

  “Hey,” I say, peeking over at the women.

  They’re so busy eating up Dom, they don’t even notice me.

  “You have something on your face,” I say, referring to his newly grown beard.

  He rubs it with his palm. “You like?”

  I crinkle my nose. “Not especially.”

  Lie. That’s a total lie. Dom with a beard is a whole new level of sexy.

  The waitress comes over, and Dom orders a black coffee. I glance at my chocolate croissant and feel guilty. I didn’t work out this morning. I woke up late because Ryder is with Max, then I laid in bed until I had just enough time to get ready and come here. Meanwhile Dom has already sprinted across a basketball court a million times and now he’s going to just have coffee.

  “Feed me a bite, wifey?” His eyes zero in on the croissant. He knows exactly where my mind was. Sometimes it’s scary and sometimes it’s nice how well he can read me. Right now, it’s nice, because I need all the humor I can get.

  I pretend to look around the bottom of my chair. “Where’s my ball and chain?”

  He exaggerates his stare from my sandals, past my shorts, and up my T-shirt. “Damn, I knew I forgot something.”

  I slide over the papers before I get distracted by our usual banter. “Here’s the annulment, but…” I glance at the women who were talking about him, but they’re not staring. “Keep it on the down-low, because the women over there know you.”

  He glances over.

  “Don’t look,” I whisper-shout.

  He shrugs, turning back. “I don’t know them.”

  “Well, they know you. Or of you.”

  “Sweet. You telling me I’m a celebrity around here?”

  “Only in Carroll Gardens. Don’t think too highly of yourself.”

  The waitress brings over his coffee, and he twirls the cup so he can pick it up with his left hand. When he brings it to his lips, his smirk is so wide, my heart hurts. It’s too rare that I see it on his handsome face.

  He shrugs. “Still counts.”

  “Ironically, they were discussing how you’re the last Mancini to settle down.” I lean back, sipping my coffee with milk and sugar.

  “Save the best for last.”

  There’s that grin again. My stomach flutters like hummingbird wings. I cross my legs before I focus on the ache between my thighs.

  He places his coffee down and leans over to read the papers. “So we sign and then it’s done?”

  “Yes, my lawyer will file them and that’s it. He doesn’t anticipate any issues, given the situation.”

  “You’ll no longer be Valentina Daniella Mancini.”

  I shouldn’t look for a sign that he wants me to remain his wife, but I am. I’m dissecting everything about this entire conversation. Still, I give him the sass he expects. “You know I wouldn’t take your name.”

  He laughs, his eyes on the paper. Then he meets my gaze, and the papers drop from his hand. “If you were mine, you wouldn’t be a Sommerland, I can tell you that much.”

  I kept my ex-husband’s name because by the time we divorced, I’d already made my name in my business as Valentina Sommerland—my dance studios, my reputation as a dancer—plus Ryder was a Sommerland and I wasn’t interested in explaining my marital status at every PTA meeting or sporting event. It’s obviously still a sore spot with Dom.

  “I guess that’s one fight we get to avoid then.” I eye the paper.

  He picks it back up. “Did you tell Ryder?”

  I sit back in the chair, crossing my legs. My knee aches from an old dance injury, and I rub it. “There’s no reason for him to know.”

  He nods, his smile dying. “Gonna rain today?” He nods toward my hand rubbing my knee.

  “I think it’s going to be a wicked storm.” My lips spread into a smile as he slides his chair toward me. He taps his lap with his hands. “Dom…”

  “My last husband duty,” he says, patting his legs again.

  I’d usually say no way, but if it’s the last time Dom’s hands will be on me, I don’t have it in me to refuse. So I set my leg on his lap, and his large hands wrap around my knee. My head falls back until I hear a gasp. I circle around to find the two women staring at us with their mouths open. I turn my attention back to Dom, who’s staring right at me.

  “If you’re looking for a quickie before Sunday dinner, I think a threesome might be an option.” I nod in the women’s direction.

  He smiles but says nothing, his fingers digging in where I need them the most. I’ve missed this over the months of separation and I’m going to miss this again.

  “How’s Ryder doing?” He distracts me from thinking about how maybe we should give ourselves a fifteenth chance.

  “He’s good. With Max.”

  “I figured.”

  “He turns sixteen in the fall. Can you believe it? I feel so old.” I pick up my coffee and take a sip.

  “Is he playing in the fall?”

  I’m slightly miffed that he doesn’t refute me about my age, but that’s Dom. He doesn’t like it when I say anything negative about myself, so he ignores it instead of saying, “You’re not old,” or “You’re beautiful, stop saying you’re not.”

  “Running back.”

  “That’s great. If he ever wants any help running drills, let me know. I’m sure Enzo and Carm would help too.”

  “Thanks.” His words are a reminder that under his hard exterior is a really good man.

  He winks and pats my knee. “Better?”

  “Yeah. Thank you.”

  “You’re welcome.”

  I drop my leg, and he allows it to slide through his palms as though he doesn’t want to pull away first. When my foot lands on the concrete again, he studies the paper and picks up the pen.

  “It’s been great being your husband, though I would’ve liked more benefits.” One corner of his lips tip up as he poises the pen over the paper.

  “Wait!” I say, panic flaring up and out my throat before I can stop myself. He looks up, forehead wrinkled, and I tear off a piece of my croissant and hold it up in front of his mouth. “My last wifely duty.”

  His lips open, and I place the flaky pastry into his mouth. He chews and swallows while his eyes devour me. I place my hands in my lap and wait until he’s finished. I’d like to seal this annulment with a kiss, but that’s not a good route to go. It’ll end up being a quickie before Sunday dinner.

  “I always do love the sweets,” he says. “Thanks.”

  I shrug as though it’s the least I could do. Then the pen meets the paper and all the fluttering in my stomach stops.

  He signs and slides the papers over to me. “There you go. You’re a free woman.”

  I take the pen and sign my name before I can do anything stupid, then I shove the papers into my purse.

  “I better go.” Dom stands, grabs a twenty from his pocket as though he knew he’d want a fast getaway, and throws it on the table. “Bye, Valentina.”

  Before I can say anything, he crosses the street. I wa
tch as he disappears around the corner toward his parents’ house. And just like that, Dominic Mancini is out of my life again.

  “Ma!” I announce myself as I step into my parents’ house.

  She peeks out of the kitchen. “Don’t take off your shoes.”

  “I brought the bread.” I slide out of my sandals and place the bread on the dining room table.

  My parents’ apartment never changes—the plethora of Italian flags, the cross above the front door, the pictures of my grandparents and ancestors filling the wall. And of course, a shrine to their only daughter.

  “Why you take your shoes off?” Ma walks out and kisses me on either cheek. Her apron is off and she’s putting on her shoes. I’m not sure what’s going on.

  “Where’s Dad?”

  She waves me off. “We have to pick some food up that I ordered.”

  She “ordered?” I stand in place, not understanding. Ma doesn’t order food.

  “Why would you order?” I ask.

  She shrugs on a jacket because the woman is five-two, thin as a rail, and feels cold in ninety-degree weather.

  “You don’t need a coat,” I say.

  “Air-conditioning.” She practically jogs over to the table to grab her purse.

  “Ma?”

  She stops and looks over her shoulder at me. “What? Come. You were late.”

  I glance at our, you guessed it, Italian clock. I took the long way here because I needed a minute to digest the fact that I had annulment papers in my purse. I always thought if Dom and I did marry, he’d be my forever. Even so, the clock tells me I’m still not late. What has Ma so rattled?

  “Where’s everyone? Dad? I don’t smell food.”

  “I told you, I order.” She opens the front door and waves for me to go through.

  “I’m not leaving until you explain what’s happening.”

  Her shoulders slump and she puts on that look. The one she’s going to use to guilt me into going wherever it is she’s headed. I should just agree now, but I wait.

  “I woke up not feeling good. So I order food for dinner and now we’re late. We need to go now.”

  “What’s wrong?” I approach her to feel her forehead like I do for Ryder, but she shoos me away. “Where did you order from?”

  “Anna Mancini. Come.”

  You’ve got to be shitting me.

  Before I can argue, she’s out the door and down the steps. Since she’s not feeling well, I decide to be a good Italian daughter.

  All we have to do is pick up the food and leave. What’s the harm in that? Maybe I won’t even see Dom.

  Chapter Seven

  Dominic

  * * *

  I grab a fork, poke a meatball, and put the entire thing in my mouth. I barely made it here without stopping at a bar. The dissolution of my marriage with Val was never something I imagined.

  “Stop eating and wait for everyone.” Ma smacks my hand and the fork falls from my grip.

  She’s lucky I’m still upright and not passed out. I’m starved after my basketball game.

  “Where is everyone?” I ask.

  My other family members should be here by now. After leaving the café, I stopped by my old high school and stared at it, letting memories of Val run through my head like some sick movie reel of the good ol’ times. Why I chose to torment myself, I don’t know.

  “How am I supposed to know?” Ma stirs the sauce then pulls a tray of chicken from the oven.

  Something seems amiss, but she’s still making enough food to feed an army, so everyone must just be later than me.

  “Where’s Dad?” I ask.

  “Out.”

  “No shit.”

  She stops, places her spoon on the holder beside the stove, and smacks me on the back of the head. “Disrespectful. I am your mama.”

  She’s really in a mood. Usually she’s brimming with happiness every Sunday, what with two of her boys bringing their significant others over.

  I pull out my phone and go sit on the couch.

  She pokes her head out of the kitchen. “You should change. Something nice. You’re dressed like you’re a teenager.”

  Not going to happen. I pull up the group text between my siblings and me and type out a message.

  Me: Where the hell are you guys?

  Enzo: In bed.

  Carm: On the kitchen counter.

  Blanca: In A bed… not mine.

  I shake my head at Blanca.

  Me: Why the hell am I the only one here for dinner? Ma’s acting strange.

  Enzo: She told Annie yesterday that there was no dinner today.

  Blanca: I got the same text.

  Carm: Me three.

  Me: She’s preparing food, so there’s a dinner.

  Carm: What the hell? I’m on my way.

  Blanca: I’ll bring my new guy over. NOT.

  Enzo: Spare us the info about your boy toy, Blanc.

  Blanca: That’s funny. It wasn’t too long ago you three were all up in my business.

  Carm: Not anymore. I can’t stand to hear about your sexual adventures. They nauseate me.

  Blanca: I had to listen to yours for years. Get used to it. I’m out.

  Enzo: Have fun with Ma to yourself. Annie needs some help in the shower.

  Something’s going on. I tap the phone on my thigh. It vibrates, and I see that Carm’s messaged me in a thread with just him and Bella.

  Carm: Dude I told Bella. I’m sorry. But we don’t keep secrets.

  Me: Seriously!?

  Bella: Don’t be mad. My lips are sealed, I swear. I don’t think it’s a coincidence though.

  Me: What do you mean?

  Carm: Listen to her. She’s a chick.

  Bella: Carm, use woman, not chick please. From what Carm says you two have been circling each other your whole lives. Sometimes when everything aligns you have to listen to the universe.

  Carm: Isn’t she brilliant? Come back to the kitchen baby, I’m hungry… for you.

  Dom: I’m done. Thanks for your advice, Bella. Carm, I don’t wanna hear about your sexual shit either.

  A knock on the front door interrupts me typing the rest of my message.

  Ma runs out of the kitchen, wiping her hands on her apron, then she unties it and tosses it on a table behind the plant.

  “What’s going on? Is Father McAllister coming to dinner?” I stand to see who on Earth is making Ma act so flustered and why I’m the only one here. Please tell me I’m not giving financial advice to one of her friends again.

  Ma opens the door and there stands the reason. She’s been here a thousand times before, except this time, she’s my wife… at least temporarily.

  Val’s wide eyes zero in on me.

  “Giada!” Ma opens her arms, and Val’s ma hugs my mine fiercely.

  The two act as though they’re long-lost cousins when in reality, I bet they don’t go a week without seeing one another at least three times. Val’s parents own the corner grocery store.

  “Anna, we brought bread. Valentina went to Mazzola’s.”

  Ma takes the bag of bread and shoves it into my stomach before setting her eyes on Val. “Oh, look how grown up you are.” She holds her by her upper arms and kisses both cheeks. “Beautiful. Simple and beautiful, Valentina.”

  Val shoots me a look that says, “do something,” but I’m not even sure why they’re here, let alone have a game plan.

  “Dominic.” Giada lowers her head toward me.

  I place the bag of bread on the entryway table and approach her like a good Italian Catholic boy. “Nice to see you, Mrs. Cavallo.”

  When I draw back from our hug, she places her hand on my cheek and pats it once, smiling at me. “Such a good boy.”

  “Thank you.”

  “Come in. Come in.” Ma waves the both of them in. “Dom, I haven’t had a chance to put the cutlery on the table. Finish setting the table.”

  Val’s eyes shift to her ma. “I thought we were just picking up food?”
/>   Giada looks at Ma as though she’s the ringmaster of this circus.

  “Why are there only six plates?” I ask, walking over to the oversized dining room table.

  “What’s going on?” Val asks.

  “Sit down.” Ma points at me then at the chair like she did the time I trampled all over Mrs. Ricci’s flowerbed when we were playing hide-and-seek as kids.

  “You too, Valentina,” Giada says, eyeing the chair next to me.

  I slide out the chair for her, and she stares at me with “what the hell is going on?” written all over her face. But the hell if I know, so I shrug.

  “We’ll be back.” Ma and Giada disappear into the kitchen.

  Val turns to me. “What the hell? Do they know? Is this some kind of Italian setup?”

  “I don’t know. My brothers and Blanca said Ma canceled dinner.”

  Just as she’s about to speak, Pa opens the front door, laughing with someone—Val’s dad.

  “Dad?” Val asks. She might be the only Italian girl who refers to her dad by the American name.

  “Hey, kiddos,” Pa says. “Oh, Valentina, you look beautiful as always.”

  She stands, and they kiss each cheek.

  “Dominic.” My name comes out of my father’s mouth like razorblades traveled up his throat, and he barely can look at me.

  It’s guaranteed. Our parents know something.

  Mr. Cavallo puts his hand out in front of me. “Dom.”

  “Mr. Cavallo, nice to see you.”

  He nods, but I don’t miss the slight flare of his nostrils. My stomach rumbles and my chest constricts as he stares at me for a second before he lets our hands drop.

  Our mas come out of the kitchen.

  “Perfect timing,” Ma says to Dad and Mr. Cavallo. “Sit.”

  Between Ma and Giada, the table is filled with all the traditional Sunday dishes.

  “Prayer,” Giada says, holding out her hands.

  Val’s hand is cold as it slides into mine, and I squeeze it with the hope of relaxing her. There’s no way our parents found out. This is just some “fix them up” tactic they’re trying.