“Leo, can you please sit and let me explain?”
“No. Tell me the truth.”
Leo calms as I explain what happened earlier. And then I figure I can cash in the bro credit.
“How would you feel about meeting Hall of Fame?”
His whole body locks in place as he drops onto the couch. “Don’t even joke about that.”
“You know,” I say, dragging it out, “for someone who claims to be a true fan of the band, I’m surprised you didn’t recognize Kay.”
Leo gasps. “No. Fucking no. I knew her face was familiar.”
“I’m sure the AIDS epidemic isn’t a new concept for her. As you tell me all the time, the band does a lot of charity work. Maybe you could learn a little from your holier-than-thou friend.”
“She’s not my friend.”
“Maybe she could be?”
He huffs and sits back. “What’s for dinner?”
Hmm, interesting. Maybe I’m not the only one with a tiny, little, minuscule, barely there crush on someone.
“How do you feel about pizza?”
7
JULIUS
I was notready for Constantine’s glued-on jeans and fitted white chef’s jacket that highlights his slim frame.
I was not ready for the quality of his cakes and pastries that have caused a continuous line around the block every day for the last month.
I was certainly not ready for the way my belly tightens when I’m around him.
Constantine is a force of nature. He’s as passionate about what he does in the kitchen as he is about looking after his brother. More than once, I’ve seen them bicker about one thing or another until Constantine parents his way to the best solution.
It shouldn’t be arousing to hear his don’t-mess-with-me or his you’ll-do-as-I-say voice, but from the moment Constantine took over my kitchen three seconds after we met, I was done for.
“You’re thinking a lot over there,” my brother-in-law says, holding a couple of beers. I take one as he sits in the chair next to mine.
“No more than usual.”
“You sure about that? Kellie called you to throw a ball three times, and when you didn’t answer, she went inside to ask Hella if you’re sick.”
I take a swig of the beer and look up at the sky. It’s an uncharacteristically warm day—well, as warm as it can get in the fall in Connecticut—so my sister and brother-in-law invited a few friends over for a barbecue. I close my eyes and take in the warmth of the sun.
“And, naturally, my sister sent you to check on me.”
He smiles over the rim of his bottle. “You know what they say, happy wife, happy life.”
“I’m not sick, and I’m not overthinking anything.”
“Hmm.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“I didn’t suggest you were overthinking anything, simply that you were…thinking hard about something.” He leans forward on his chair.
