He’s especially not like Paolo.
My date suggests we have dessert someplace intimate and despite having a wonderful evening, my love bud remains disinterested. I picture every bit of porn my subconscious can muster but nothing happens until I insert Wheels as the main attraction. With our meal finished, I can’t put my date off any longer. I have to say something.
His smile, along with several glasses of wine, encourage me to test my skills. “Can I ask you to do something, Rocky?”
“Of course, bella.” He covers my hand but unlike a certain bodyguard, no sparks fly.
Shit.Closing my eyes, I take a deep breath, and hope he doesn’t think I’m out of my mind. “Would you kiss me and rate it on a scale of one to ten?”
“You kid me, no?” At his chuckle, I un-scrunch my lids and peek. At least he finds me amusing.
“Let me explain. A guy said I was a horrible kisser, now I’m overly self-conscious.” I hope my white lie has no serious consequences.
For a moment, he looks confused, then his grin widens. “I would be more than happy to take care of your confusion.”
Leaning over the table, he pinches my chin, and as his lips press to mine, I try with all my might to respond.
From the horror on his face when we part, I may have gone over the top. “Wait, I can do better. Let’s do it again.”
“If you want more lessons,gattina, we will need some alone time, perhaps all night.” He folds his napkin, places it on the table, and motions over the waiter.
Being someone’s kitten should be endearing but it forces me to think of Catrina, which causes me grief about my current situation with the dark web. This, in turn, makes me stare at Mr. Sexy Bod, talking intently with his date.
Damn it all. The mere sight of him triggers my lady clams to swell around my private pearl.
Oh, for fuck’s sake.Why can’t you guys appreciate the nice man with the shiny sportscar and adorable accent?
Sitting back in my chair, I heave a deep sigh. “I had a lovely, lovely time but I have to be at work early. Would you mind taking me home?”
“Of course. Give me a moment.” His tone much colder than a moment ago, Rocco visits the restroom.
While he’s gone, I research how to be a good kisser on my phone. Damn, I’m doing it all wrong. I should let him take the lead, have a breath mint, and avoid pungent foods. God, how’s a girl supposed to remember all these things and still be in the moment?
I don’t ever recall being lip-disabled. No doubt, it happened after the divorce. He-who-should-not-be-named stole my sex appeal and I’ve no idea how to get it back.
I pretend to focus on my phone but can’t keep my eyes off Wheels’ modelesque date as she leans over the table and kisses him. Instead of blissfully happy, she stands, coils her arm way back, and smacks his face so hard, everyone in the room turns and stares.
Whoa. What was that all about?
As she stomps out, the murmuring grows in volume, and I try not to stare with the rest. It’s not until I’m putting on my coat do I glance to where he sits alone. He looks so forlorn, I want to ditch my date and console him. However, I can’t afford to have my rent double, so I leave with Rocky Racecar who speeds me back to Brooklyn. The whole way home I plead with my girly parts.Can’t you please give the handsome Italian a break? He seems nice enough. Twitch or do something.
Once home, I shake his hand to avoid the embarrassment of failing at yet another kiss. “Thanks for a wonderful evening. I’m sorry it…we… Well, I’m just sorry.”
With my apology over, I rush inside, slam the door, and repeatedly clunk the back of my head against the wood.
Holy shit, that was awkward.
Chapter 9
Wheels
Thank God, the curtain has come down on the disastrous evening. After calling an Uber for Jeannie, I apologized profusely with a dozen texts. We’ll probably never see one another again and while sad, it’s also liberating. It’s way past time to end our association. We had nothing in common except for adequate sex.
I’m no shrink but what if we were using this relationship as a crutch to avoid searching for something real? With these thoughts rattling around in my mind, I follow the Lamborghini until he parks in front of my client’s apartment. Bracing for the mandatory kiss at the door, I’m surprised it doesn’t happen, nor does she invite him in.
A squeal of rubber signals his departure. With him gone, I circle the block and search for a parking place for fifteen minutes. Finally, I give up and turn off my engine behind Joey’s Gold Impala. Yawning, I stretch, trudge between the buildings and climb the back stairs to Suds’ empty kitchen.
“Meow, meow, meow, meow…” An anxious Catrina circles my legs, pads to a cupboard, and scratches at the door.
