Priceless (An Amato Brothers/Rixton Falls crossover)

by Winter Renshaw

  She’s the cure for everything that’s ailed me this last year. And maybe she’s a Band-Aid or a quick fix. Maybe the cure isn’t permanent. But I kind of hope it is, because Aidy’s brought nothing but sunlight into my life since the day we met.

  Scratch that.

  Since the day after we met.

  “Do you have Netflix?” Aidy asks, wrapping a sofa blanket around her naked body.

  I’m spent, cock still throbbing and pulsing and eyes still fixated on her naked body as she stands before me, the remote in her left hand.

  “I do,” I say.

  “Want to binge watch something?” she asks, rattling off a bunch of show options. “There’s this new one out. It’s like an old Western but it’s scary. It’s like ghosts in the old West. It sounds insane, but I keep hearing about it, and I feel like I’m the only one who hasn’t seen it. Have you seen it?”

  “No.”

  “Want to watch a couple episodes?” Her brows lift and she pulls her bottom lip between her teeth. The blanket falls, exposing a hint of her pert, pink nipples. I could fuck her again. And again. And again. But I’m still sore from last weekend, and my shoulder is still aching. I made her ride me tonight. Made her do all the work for once. It was nice, sitting back, watching her round C-cups bounce as she moaned, breathless, her skin hot, hair sticking to her neck as she threw her head back.

  “Sure.” I grab the other remote, the one that controls Netflix, and set up the show.

  Aidy trails off to the kitchen, grabbing us a couple waters, the blanket dragging behind her.

  “I have an appointment in three hours,” she says. “We can watch a couple shows and then I have to go.”

  There’s a sinking feeling in my chest when I realize she didn’t intend to stay long.

  “You going to come back after that?” I ask.

  Aidy lowers herself on the sofa, curling up beside me, tucking her legs underneath her. I feel her studying me, watching my expression, but I stare straight ahead at the TV and maintain my poker face.

  “We just spent an entire weekend together. You’re not sick of me yet?” she asks.

  “No.” Not even close.

  Chapter 26

  Aidy

  “Thank God you’re still alive. I thought maybe you got hit by the garbage truck and you were lying in some alley somewhere.” This is how Wren greets me when I sneak in the next morning.

  “Sorry,” I say, wincing and closing the door behind me. “I should’ve texted you.”

  “Damn right.” She reaches down, swiping a pair of Enzo’s shoes and moving them to the rug beside me. “So how are things with Ace?”

  My lips twist into a smile. “How do you know I was with Ace last night?”

  Wren rolls her eyes. “Because you’ve been flitting around like some Disney princess ever since you got back from the lake house, and I have a feeling this is only the beginning.”

  “I don’t flit.”

  I sit my things down by the door and head to the kitchen to make some oatmeal. After I returned to Ace’s last night, we spent the night in bed.

  Not sleeping.

  And now I’m famished.

  I snuck out this morning, before he woke up, and hightailed it to the nearest subway station with my big, black sunglasses on, rocking some major sex hair.

  “So are you guys, like, dating now?” Wren follows me to the kitchen, hand resting on her hip and a nosy, big sister smirk claiming her face.

  “No.” I crinkle my nose, tearing a packet of strawberries and cream oatmeal open and pouring it into a bowl. We haven’t had that conversation yet, and I’m not in any rush. “We’re just having fun.”

  “He seemed nice,” Wren says.

  “He is extremely nice. A little serious. But every once in a while I see this hint of playfulness in him.” I inhale, staring off to the side. “And he’s so hot. God, is he hot.”

  “Sure you don’t want to date him?” she asks, squinting.

  “It doesn’t matter either way.” I pour half a cup of water into my bowl and stir before placing it in the microwave. Turning to my sister, I shrug. “Once you and Chauncey get married, I’m probably going to move to L.A. There’s more work there, and I really want to grow our business. Plus with all of our connections, I could have a job lined up with a single phone call.”

  “Wow.” Wren lifts her brows, looking down. “I mean, you’d mentioned it before, but I never thought you were serious about it.”

  I nod, gaze softening.

  “You’ve always been my little sidekick.” Wren smiles for a second, but it quickly fades. “You followed me to college, to New York. You’ve been my roommate for about ninety percent of my entire life.”

  I nod. “Which is why I need to do this. You’re moving on to the next chapter of your life, with Chauncey, and I need to do the same. It’s time for me to see what else is out there.”

  My sister’s lower lip trembles. The number of times I’ve seen Wren cry I can count on one hand. She’s tough as nails, always has been. It takes a death or a real tragedy to get her going, so the fact that she’s this upset over me moving away breaks my heart.

  Going to her side, I wrap my arms around her. “I’ll only be a red-eye away.”

  Wren laughs, burying her face in my shoulder, and I realize now, at age twenty-five, that maybe I haven’t always been the tagalong little sister. Maybe she’s always needed me just as much as I needed her.

  “You and Chauncey are going to have a beautiful life together,” I say. “And I won’t miss a single milestone, I promise. You won’t even realize I’m three thousand miles away. It’ll be like I’m right here, blowing up your phone with cat memes and asking you what you’re making for dinner that night.”

  Wren pulls away, wiping her eyes with the back of her hand.

  “Just promise you’ll all come visit,” I say, “as much as humanly possible.”

  Wren turns away, swatting her hands at me. “I don’t want to talk about this anymore. God, why am I so emotional all of a sudden? Let’s talk about you. When are you seeing Ace again?”

  “This Friday.” My face lights at the mention of his name.

  Chapter 27

  Ace

  “This is probably the only time you’ll ever hear an instructor say something like this,” the man in the front of a makeshift classroom in the center of Prohibition Bar shoves his thick black glasses up his pug nose, “but it’s perfectly okay to be buzzed in my classroom. Notes will be emailed. The most important thing tonight is that you get some hands on experience and that you have fun.”

  I glance at Aidy to my right, standing there in a little black dress that hits mid-thigh. She looks at me, lifting her shoulders to her ear and grinning. A loose strand of blonde hair falls in her face, the rest of it pulled back with some sparkly headband contraption that makes her glow under the soft lights above.

  It’s dark inside Prohibition, dim lighting and Duke Ellington playing from hidden speakers. Outside it’s pouring rain, and there’s no place I’d rather be tonight.

  Aidy mentioned once that she hadn’t been on a proper date in well over a year, and seeing how we’ve been spending a lot of time together, I thought it seemed like the right thing to do.

  I could’ve taken the easy way out. Dinner and a movie. Drinks and a show. But I wanted to be original. I wanted to give her a night she’d never forget. So I called up an old friend of a friend who happens to own this bar in Gramercy that has mixology lessons, and we were able to secure a spot tonight.

  The instructor’s assistant walks past our table in the back row, lining up barware and things like stuffed olives and vermouth as well as four recipe cards printed on thick, cream cardstock.

  “Tonight, we’ll be learning four recipes,” the instructor says, “first of which will be a classic martini.”

  Aidy reaches for the cocktail shaker, taking the lid off and peering inside. “It’s heavier than I thought it would be.”

  “Everyo
ne, please check your table and let me know if you do not have one of the following,” the instructor calls out, pacing around the room. “A muddler, a strainer, tongs, a spoon, a shot glass, a mixing glass, and a Boston tin.”

  We scan our set up, ensuring we have everything we need, and Aidy gives him a thumbs up when he walks past.

  “This is so much fun,” she says, leaning closer and standing on her toes, her breath warm on my ear.

  “We haven’t even started,” I whisper.

  Her blue eyes are lit, and her mouth is slightly closer than usual since she’s wearing the sexiest pair of red fuck-me heels I’ve ever seen.

  “So?” She gives me a wink, her red mouth pursed. Every time I look at that full mouth of hers, I want to kiss it. I’m convinced she wore bright red lipstick tonight to torture me, knowing I wouldn’t kiss her with that on.

  It’s okay.

  I’ll tease the hell out of her, and by the end of the night, she’ll be wiping that red off her lips and begging me to kiss her.

  Another assistant comes by pushing a cart, depositing two chilled martini stems on each table.

  “Everybody ready?” the instructor calls out, slicking his hands together. “Okay, I’d like to officially welcome you once again to Prohibition’s Mixology 101. I’m your instructor, Carlos, and tonight we’ll be making four cocktails. If you could, please grab your Boston shaker. There are twelve steps to make the perfect martini, so please pay close attention.”

  Aidy grabs the shaker and gives me another smile.

  “A few things you should know before we begin,” Carlos says, holding up his Boston tin. “Whenever we mix a drink in a metal container, we swirl. When we mix a drink in glass, we stir.”

  Aidy leans in, bumping her arm against mine. “I didn’t know that. Did you know that?”

  I nod, “I did.”

  As our instructor rattles on about ice cubes, their sizes, the appropriate type and shape for each drink, and the how many to use when mixing a martini – seven or eight – I’m only half paying attention. All eyes are glued to Carlos except mine.

  I can’t stop looking at her.

  The rest of the evening is a blur. We listen. We mix. We taste. We taste some more. Two hours later, we’ve crafted four cocktails: a classic martini, an Asian pear mojito, an Amaretto sour, and a Moscow Mule.

  By the time the class is over, the rain has only let up slightly, and she’s well past buzzed.

  “I think we were only supposed to sample the cocktails,” Aidy says, her words slow and gentle as we step outside. It’s sprinkling again, and the rumble of thunder above threatens to usher in another summer storm. “I drank way too much, and now I can’t feel my face. Why’d you let me drink so much?”

  My plan was for us to walk the neighborhood. To get to know each other. To take our time and enjoy each other’s company as organically as possible.

  “You were having a good time,” I say.

  “You didn’t drink that much.” Aidy pouts.

  “I sampled.”

  “I should’ve sampled.”

  Lighting flashes over our heads.

  “One-thousand-one. One-thousand-two . . .” Aidy says, just before the grumble of thunder fills the air.

  “What are you doing?”

  “That’s how you know how far away the storm is. It’s two miles away.”

  “Is that true?”

  “I don’t know.” Her heels scuff the cement, and we walk slowly, though the rain seems to be coming down faster by the second. “That’s what Wren always said when we were growing up. I never fact-checked it.”

  I glance at her mouth, watching the way it moves as she rambles on about her sister and how smart she was and how she’s a bit of a know-it-all but that’s just Wren. And then I realize her red lipstick has worn off over the last two hours by all the drinking and talking and smiling she’s done.

  A loud clap of thunder makes Aidy jump, and she silences her commentary as she looks at the night sky. Up ahead, I hear the rain pelting the sidewalk, moving closer in our direction, and it occurs to me that I left our umbrella back at Prohibition. To our left is a black and white striped awning belonging to some boutique that closed hours ago. Taking her arm, I lead her beneath it.

  Positioning her against the limestone wall of the shopfront, I lift my hand to her face, her eyes slowly meeting mine. Her mouth curls in the corners before her gaze falls to my lips. Bending down, I claim her, the way I’ve wanted to since I first picked her up three hours ago. Her mouth belongs to me. Her smile. Her effortless sweetness.

  My lips graze hers, as if I’m unable to separate myself from her. Rain pours outside the awning, pelting above our heads and gushing all around us.

  “Come home with me tonight, Aidy.” I’m not asking. I stare into her sapphire eyes, and she bats her long lashes, exhaling. My hands fall to her waist and I pull her against me, kissing her once again. Her lips are soft, pillowed. Their taste? Addictive. “For some insane reason I can’t seem to get enough of you.”

  “I always knew you were the crazy one,” she says, standing on her toes and kissing me. “Fine. You twisted my arm.”

  Chapter 28

  Aidy

  “Oh my God, Aidy.” Wren greets me at the door Saturday morning, her face white as a sheet and her hands gripping my wrists. I thought I could slip in without her noticing, but of course the one time I do, she’s up at the crack of dawn. Judging by the look on her face, something terrible happened or she’s freaked out by the fact that I didn’t come home last night and forgot to let her know.

  “What? What it is it?”

  “I’ve been trying to call you,” she says, her voice trembling and body shaky.

  “Where’s Enzo? My phone died last night. What’s going on?”

  “Enzo’s fine. He’s at his dad’s,” she says, face white as a sheet. “Aidy, I’m pregnant.”

  “Wren . . .”

  She releases her grip on me and backs away, falling limply into an arm chair. Her expression is still dazed.

  “Are you sure? Like you’re one-hundred percent positive?” I ask.

  Her lashes flutter, and her gaze flicks to mine. “Go check the bathroom. I took five tests this morning. Every single one is positive.”

  I abandon my bag, letting it slip off my shoulder and down my arm, and I take a seat across from her. “Okay, so this . . . this wasn’t planned, but it’s okay because you have Chauncey and he’s amazing and he’ll be such a great father. Does he know yet?”

  She nods, slow. “Yeah. He was here this morning when I took the tests.”

  Brows furrowed, I ask, “Where’d he go?”

  She shakes her head. “I don’t know. He just had this panicked look on his face, like he was just as shocked as I was, if not more so. And he was quiet. And then he left.”

  “Jesus.” I bury my face in my hands. Heaven help Chauncey if he so much as abandons my sister. I never pegged him as that type, but it’s always the ones you least suspect.

  I save my questions. I don’t need to know how this happened. Condoms break. Birth control isn’t always one-hundred percent. And it doesn’t matter because she’s pregnant and there’s no going back now.

  “Aidy, I’m so scared,” she says. “He’s been gone an hour. And he hasn’t answered my calls.”

  We sit in silence for a second, letting the weight of everything sink in.

  “And I know I had my doubts before,” she says, voice quivering, “but it was only because I loved him so much, I was afraid to lose him.”

  “That’s why you’ve been putting everything off?”

  Wren nods. “I know it doesn’t make sense to you. But part of me thought that if I could delay the wedding or convince him not to marry me, then I could avoid the inevitable. Guys leave, right? That’s what they do. They love you and they leave you.”

  My lips part but nothing comes out. I want to tell her she’s wrong. I want to tell her Chauncey isn’t like that. But I don’t k
now that I can. All I know is that he was here. And he left. And now he’s gone.

  “What am I supposed to do?” Wren buries her face in her hands. “I can barely support Enzo on my own.”

  The lock behind me clicks, and the door swings open. Chauncey shows himself in, taking hesitant steps. He and my sister stare blankly at one another at first, and then my sister’s eyes fill with tears that I’m not sure are relief that he came back or sadness that he left in the first place.

  He holds something behind his back, and he goes to her, falling to his knees.

  “Why’d you leave me?” Wren asks, her expression twisted and hurt.

  “I didn’t leave you, baby.” Chauncey’s jaw hangs, words sputtering as he tries to explain. “I don’t know. I was in shock. I needed some air. I needed to think.”

  Chauncey, as great as he is with Enzo, has always made it crystal clear to Wren that he didn’t want children of his own. His life is Wren, Enzo, and Finnegan’s Pizza. The man works fifty, sometimes sixty hours a week. He doesn’t have time for much else.

  “And I thought about it,” he says. “I thought about everything.”

  Chauncey pulls a small bouquet of pink peonies from behind his back, Wren’s favorite, and hands them to her.

  “And I think we can do this,” he says. “I mean, I know we can do this. Maybe it wasn’t planned, and it’s not what I thought I wanted, but I want it now. I want it with you. I watch you with Enzo, and you’re an amazing mother, Wren. I can’t imagine anyone else as the mother to my child.”

  Wren’s hands fly to her face and she sniffs before dabbing her eyes on the back of her hand.

  “I’m sorry I left this morning,” he says. “But I needed to clear my head and really think about this. I don’t want you to think I was leaving you. That I was leaving because of this. I just needed a minute to breath, let this sink in.”