‘Just pleasantly distracted by something else at the moment.’
Itisquite pleasant. He pulls me up onto him, and I straddlehim with my legs on either side. Our lips crash against one another’s, a habit, an addiction.
The worst part about addictions, though, is that you have to keep coming back for more. And no matter how badly I want to, eventually, I’ll have to stop.
I usually can. I’ve stopped before.
It’s usually easy.
Usually.
Chapter Twenty
Tarantella
Rod
The smell of the famous Amatopasta alla Normawafts through the yard from the open back doors, pulled open so we can all march out of the house directly to the party with theprimo, the first course. Our guests are probably going to explode at some point this evening and, judging from the proud smile on Bianca’s face as she and Tali tote the pasta over to the table, she’d be glad if they did. We’ve made about enough to feed a couple of large elephants for Bia’s ‘farewell’ bash, but our actual clientele today is just about the entire neighbourhood. Rebecca is here with her kids and her grandkid, and Jake, his sister Lyla and their parents have also joined us. With everyone in total, we have about sixty people at a massive picnic table, all laughing and literally breaking bread together. My eyes dart around the table, though. The one person I’ve been waiting on isn’t here.
‘She’s a busy woman, Rod,’ hums Bianca as she heads back inside to grab herself a plate. ‘Give her a moment. She’ll be around.’
I force a smile. Her absence is totally not affecting me. Why would it?
To the back of the yard, Tali, Jake and Lyla are running around with the dogs. Scout attempts to absolutely crash into Tali with his ass, and she just bursts into giggles.
‘Who are you all posted up waiting for?’ As if immediately rotating in for my oldest sister, Genny scoots over in what I think is supposed to be a casual manner. Her empty plate of pasta tells me she’s probably raring for some gossip in between courses, and I roll my eyes as she clasps her hands together in faux-patience.
‘No one,’ I fib. Really poorly, because my eyes flick to the gate of the fence just as I say that.
Genny gives me a big-dimpled grin, her auburn ponytail bouncing. ‘Oh, you are. You’re waiting forher. What in the world did Bia tell you that it straightened everything out? I need to get myself a load of that.’
‘Stop it,’ I whine, attempting to use my baby-of-the-family privilege on her. Naturally, it fails, because she shoves my shoulder with a laugh and points down at my full plate on the table.
‘Eat,’ says Genny pointedly, but her smile only broadens as she looks to a spot just behind me.
We exchange a look of sibling-ESP, and immediately, I swivel around on the picnic table bench. The breath I’d been holding finally leaves my chest, except when I see Jordan, it fills right up again.
Her almond-shaped eyes narrow happily, little creases forming in the corners. She wears this long pale green sundress dotted with white flowers that tussles about in the faint breeze, and my eyes travel up towards the tight torso of the dress, hugging her body for dear life, then to the gold necklace pendant that rests askew at her collarbone. She sweeps a wave of long black hair back. Her gaze doesn’t waver from mine. I hope she can’t tell just how badly I want to tear that dress right off her and—
Jordan’s eyebrows turn up curiously as she regards our absolutely enormous table, pasta every which way. ‘You really thought I’d miss this?’
‘I was a little worried you might miss it,’ I practically choke out.
‘Italian family dinner?’ She nods towards the food piled high on my visibly sagging foam plate. I don’t know if it’ll be able to take seconds. ‘Absolutely not missing that.’
Bia whisks her off just as I’m working on my next words, chattering about the pasta while finding Jordan a seat between two fellow sundressed women. As usual, she fits in effortlessly, the conversation starting up almost immediately. Jordan laughs, eyes wide, as Bia scoops a hearty helping onto her plate till it’s close to folding inward from the thick sauces. Food is my sister’s love language, as a restaurateur. It’s very much an inheritance from our Ma, considering Dad can’t cook for shit, and neither can Genny. I only do well enough to get by.
I watch Jordan ask Bia the question I had no doubt would come up. I hear her from paces away, the concerned ‘Gluten-free?’ that I know is more out of guilt towards herself, that she’s inconveniencing us, more than anything else. Bia nods reassuringly. Of course, I’d told Bia. I wanted to make sure.Despite my lacklustre cooking skills, I’d tried my best to help my sister make a separate pan without the gluten. I also made her promise not to tell Jordan I’d said anything, not to make a deal of it, but from the grateful smile Jordan shoots my way, I can tell my sister definitely broke her promise.
I’m perfectly content standing, but with mischief in her eyes, Bia reaches over, wraps her fingers of iron around my wrist, and yanks me onto the bench right next to Jordan. I clear my throat, prodding my sister in the ribs with my elbow. ‘Bia. What is this?’
‘Family dinner. Go on!’ she chortles without any further explanation, flitting off to prepare thesecondo, second course. Someone places wine glasses before us, already full of Prosecco.
‘There’s going to bemore?’ Jordan says in disbelief, taking a generous sip of wine before grabbing her fork. ‘I guess we’d better get going.’
‘Wait – savour it.’ I don’t totally register that I’ve got my hand over hers, until I look down and notice it, moving mine away with an awkward cough. I swallow hard, meeting her eye. ‘It-it’s been in our family for literally centuries. It’s really good, the pasta.’
‘Oh, I see.’ Despite all my fumbling, Jordan doesn’t seem taken aback, just amused as she digs in for the first bite. She raises an eyebrow. ‘Okay, Big Time. I’m doing it. Hold onto your panties.’
