These two are always willing to cook up some scheme if it involves me finding a new wife.
“I don’t know. She was in the bar with some guy.”
“Roger,” I grumble.
Daphne gasps. “I knew you were interested.”
I stab at the overcooked potato, ignoring my sister’s comment because I don’t know what the hell I am. I wouldn’t say I was interested. I met her for a total of five minutes, and I probably wouldn’t recognize her if I walked by her on the street and she wasn’t covered in flour.
“She needed help, and I was just being kind.”
Daphne eyes me. “Mm-hm.”
I lean back, placing my fork on my plate, and stare my sister down. “Don’t get any ideas in that hormonal brain of yours.”
“It’s time.”
“I agree with your sister.” Ma’s trying to outvote me on something neither of them has any say in.
“What’s wrong?” Lucio asks, finally getting his head out of his ass to save me.
“Your brother met a girl.” Ma overstates what really happened, which is usually the case.
The entire table of people goes quiet and turns in my direction. There’s nothing I hate more in life than being the center of attention.
“That’s fabulous news.” Delilah claps her hands, way too enthusiastic for me.
“I haven’t met anyone. Jesus.” I push back from the table, about to stalk out of the room, when Lucio grabs my arm.
“Sit,” Lucio tells me as he narrows his eyes. “Don’t be a pussy.”
For a moment, I think about punching him in the face, but I decide to act like a grown-up and sit back down. “Are you taking my side?”
“There are no sides. Everyone around this table wants the best for you. Now, what’s going on?” He pats my arm before he finally releases me.
I take a deep breath and crack my neck, trying to relieve some of the stress that’s always weighing on my shoulders. “Honestly?”
He nods.
“Nothing. The lady next door dropped something, and I helped her pick it up. That’s all.”
“Is she cute?” he asks.
“She’s all right.” I’m lying. From the little bit I could see underneath all that flour, she was cute as fuck.
“Hmm.” He rubs the scruff on his chin. “So, just okay?”
Daphne rolls her eyes. “Lame.”
“She was covered head to toe in flour, but from what I could see, she wasn’t bad-looking.”
“Oh, she’s cute, all right,” Daphne chimes in. “She’s just your type.”
I grind my teeth together. “I don’t have a type.”
“You’re so precious.” The shitty smirk’s back on Daphne’s face. “You most certainly do have a type.”
“Why don’t you enlighten me?” I lean back, sliding my arm behind my mother’s chair, and wait for Daphne to impart her wisdom to the entire family. She thinks she knows everything about me, but she’s wrong.
