“Dom, don’t,” I said.
“Later.”
Disconnect.
Fuckity, f**k, f**k, f**k.
I looked at my alarm clock on the nightstand and it was already seven o’clock. I wanted to call Sissy but I didn’t have time. As it was I rushed through my final preparations.
I had decided to go gung ho for the night. I was telling myself this wasn’t an in your face to Luke after his last tough guy speech. I was telling myself this was for me. That even though I had sworn off men, it didn’t mean that I couldn’t look cute.
I was wearing a black skirt, so tight it fit like a glove and cupped my ass. Its hem hit me at the top of the knees and had a front slit that went to mid-thigh. I topped it with a black, ultra-wide, low scoop-necked, long-sleeved, stretchy t-shirt that also fit like a glove and had a long hem so it came down well over the waistband of the skirt and gathered around my waist. I put on tons of silver bangles and charm bracelets on my right wrist and hoops at my ears but didn’t add rings and necklaces (in the latter area, I was going to let my cle**age do the work). I finished with pointy-toed, pencil-heeled, sling-backed, black pumps. I left my hair long and wild, had done my makeup in “Drama!” and spritzed with my expensive perfume.
I walked into my living room and Shirleen was lazing back on my couch, eating yogurt out of a container. Her eyes bugged out when she saw me.
“Girl,” she muttered low. “You are playin’ with fire.”
“I’m just going out to dinner.”
“And I’m just sayin’ you best pop by here before you go back to Luke, change your clothes, wash your face and hope he never finds out you went out with another man wearin’ that outfit.”
“It’ll all be fine,” I assured her.
“Yeah, that’s what you said about our visit to Uncle Vito. Now he’s plannin’ your weddin’ to his nephew.”
This, I had to admit, was true.
There came a knock at the door.
Shirleen looked to the heavens. “Here we go,” she said as if warning God to brace.
I went to the door and opened it. Ren stood there.
Ren was just like Dom in the tall, lean-hipped, broad-shouldered, thick, dark hair departments. Ren’s hair had no wave like Dom’s did, though. His eyes were a fantastic espresso color and, even though I pretty much knew that he knew he was hot, he didn’t strut like his cousin. He was just… cool. Way cool. Yumalicious cool.
He was wearing a well-cut, dark-brown suit, a light-brown shirt and his muscular throat on show. I’d always loved his throat, there was something about it that made you just want to taste it.
“Ava,” he said.
My eyes went from his throat to his face. “Hey Ren.”
He was looking in my eyes. Then he did a body sweep and his gaze came back to mine.
When it did and I caught the hungry look in his eye, I had to stop myself from putting my hand to the door to hold myself up.
Boy was I screwed.
* * * * *
Carmine’s on Penn had a cozy atmosphere, was always packed to the gills, had white paper over the tables so you could draw on it with crayons they provided and didn’t have menus. Their dishes were listed on blackboards on the wall but none of the items made any sense unless you had been there before. The waiters explained the dishes then wrote your order in crayon on the white paper on your table.
I didn’t need the waiters to explain the dishes. I knew exactly what I wanted. I just hoped it was what Ren wanted because the food was served family style.
Ren and I had chit chatted on the ride there in his black Jaguar (seriously sleek ride, totally super-fly). He valet parked and we were seated at a cozy table a deux. We chit chatted before ordering and chit chatted while eating the delicious garlicky rolls.
Ren was easy to talk to, he might have been hot as well as way cool but there was something mellow about him, laid-back and he gave the impression he gave a shit about what you said.
Our big bowl of caesar salad was put on the table when Ren asked, “So how are you doin’?”