Total pages in book: 79
Estimated words: 75397 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 377(@200wpm)___ 302(@250wpm)___ 251(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 75397 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 377(@200wpm)___ 302(@250wpm)___ 251(@300wpm)
I finish in record time, the proverbial fruits of my labor rinsing down the shower drain.
Soaping off, I rinse, step out, and wrap a white towel around my hips. Only much to my dismay I’m still hard as a rock. Grabbing some gym clothes from my closet, I change up and head down to the lower level to play some racquetball, hoping the satisfying thwack of the ball against the walls will be enough to take my mind off that woman.
It works—but only for a short while.
As soon as I’m done, I’m right back where I started … obsessing over Rossi Bianco.
And wondering if she could ever be mine.
Chapter 11
Rossi
* * *
I’ve never watched a tennis match in my life, but watching Fabian grunt and groan on my living room TV, I can’t look away. Who’d have thought watching two people hit a ball back and forth could be so … intense?
Fabian serves, and I’m still trying to figure out this forty-love scoring thing. I don’t know why it can’t just be one, two, three, four … but his opponent misses and the crowd claps before returning to silence.
The camera closes in on Fabian’s face as he paces his end of the court, and his expression appears angry almost. Or maybe he’s hyper-focused. Either way, I wouldn’t want to be on the opposite end of anything he’s serving.
The doorbell chimes, pulling me out of my moment, and I check the clock before placing Lucia on her blanket and trekking to the foyer.
Shoot.
Every Wednesday Dan comes over for dinner—and I’d been so busy this week I’d completely forgotten.
“Hey,” I answer, shoving my hand on my back pocket. “Come on in. I’m so sorry, I haven’t started dinner yet. Been a crazy day …”
And it has been. After busting my hump all morning to finish the Valdez project, I spent the bulk of the afternoon shopping the list Fabian’s assistant sent me. I had to go to three different grocers just to find his favorite brand of organic flax seeds, and then I called around to four health stores to find the exact flavor of protein powder he requested. When I got home, there was a delivery at the front door—a set of 1000-thread-count sheets and two expensive-looking pillows.
I only pray this is as high-maintenance as the man gets or I might be regretting each and every one of our twenty-eight days together.
Dan steps inside, a bowl of salad and bottle of wine in hand, and follows me to the kitchen. He helps himself to the drawer with the corkscrew and locates two glasses from the cupboard as I raid the pantry in search of something I can throw together in record time.
I come out with a box of bowtie pasta and a bottle of olive oil, and by the grace of God I find a carton of cherry tomatoes, a bag of unexpired spinach, and a package of feta in the fridge.
“Lucia, Lucia!” He makes his way to the living room and takes a seat by her blanket. “How’s my favorite baby doing today? You have a good day with that crazy auntie of yours?”
He throws me a wink. Carina and Dan are strangely two peas in a pod despite being complete opposites in every way. Honestly, I don’t know why they haven’t dated yet.
No, that’s a lie.
I know exactly why.
He has his sights set on me.
I boil a pot of water and rinse and chop tomatoes while he keeps Lucia entertained.
“Since when do you like tennis?” He points to the screen. “Or sports, for that matter?”
I lift a shoulder as I run a colander of spinach under the faucet. “I’m trying it out, seeing if I can get into it.”
He laughs. “Really? Because the other day, I could’ve sworn Fabian Catalano was in your driveway and now he’s on your screen. Is there something you’re not telling me?”
Busted.
Most of the time Dan lives in his own blissful, ignorant little world where he can easily turn a blind eye to painful realities, but the man can be awfully astute when he wants to be.
“Actually,” I say. “That was him.”
His jaw slacks. “What? I was kidding … sort of. That was him?”
I nod, turning to salt the water as little bubbles rise to the surface of the pot.
“How do you know him?” Dan asks. “And how did I not know this before?”
“We go back,” I say, giving him an extremely abbreviated version of the truth. “Like way back. Just recently connected again.”
He hands Lucia a stuffed ballerina, his shoulders deflating. “Ah. Good for you two.”
Disappointment colors his tone.
“You like spinach in your pasta, right?” I change the subject.
“Fabian’s got quite the ladies’ man reputation, doesn’t he?” Dan asks, ignoring my question. I don’t think he means to. “Didn’t he date that supermodel a while back? The one that had that surgery that made her eyes look like a fox?”