Chapter 8 Twenty Questions
Chapter eight
Twenty Questions
Sophia
“I can’t believe you remembered that! Though, your memory is a bit off, because I don’t believe we’d classified it as a date back then,” I say, using air quotes to emphasize the word “date.”
“Well, consider it reclassified. This is a date to make up for the non-date ‘date’ that we never got to have.”
There’s this intensity vibrating through him like that night at Bella Donna six months ago, when he cut in like a guard dog while that guy who looked like he stepped off the set of 365 Days chatted me up at the bar.
It’s like he’s been caged up for years and can’t contain himself any longer.
I can feel my walls of self-preservation lowering with each minute.
Memories I’d put on lockdown are resurfacing, especially when this side of him comes out.
The flirty, teasing, cocky side that always left me craving more of him as an obsessed eighteen-year-old and even more now as a twenty-five-year-old woman who never got over her teenage crush.
Now he’s a sexy-as-hell man, and there’s no ambiguity in his words or actions about his intentions.
I want to preen under his attention, just turn into one of those cartoon characters with hearts in her eyes.
But I’m still nervous. What if I let all my walls fall and it’s a complete mistake?
I know with absolute certainty the minute I let Marco Marrone under my skin, I’m ruined for anyone else. Forever.
Sensing I’m lost in my thoughts, he brings me back to the present by placing his big, strong hand on my thigh, giving it a reassuring squeeze and leaving it there while he continues to drive one-handed.
“I remember everything about that night. About that summer,” he confesses.
I take the opening to ask a question that’s eaten at me for years. “Are you ever going to tell me what’s going on between you and my dad? What did he say to you in his office that afternoon? And what did he mean about warning you?”
His jaw clenches and he tightens his grip on my thigh, like he’s steeling his resolve to keep whatever’s going on with my dad firmly under wraps.
“I’ll tell you. But not tonight. Besides, did you already forget we’re on our first date? Surely, I don’t have to deal with meddling fathers until at least the second one.”
“You’re insufferable.”
Eventually I’ll push him to tell me, but I decide to let it go for now. I don’t want to ruin this moment, because this is exactly the version of Marco I’ve wanted all for myself.
I place my small hand over his, stroking over the top of his thick fingers and bulging veins. Is it normal to find them so hot or is horniness altering my brain chemistry?
“Where are you taking me anyway?”
“You’ll see. We’re almost there. It’s not too far from Bella Donna either.”
A few minutes later, we’re pulling around the back of an industrial style building in the Meatpacking District.
Marco pulls up to the front of a black garage and keys in a pin.
The roller door opens, and we drive in and park the car.
The signage above a discreet black door says Joey’s Pizza Parlor, so I assume this is the back door access to the pizzeria.
Again, he keys in a code to access entry and stands aside to let me walk through.
I pause before crossing over the threshold into the dimly lit restaurant.
“Why do you have your own access codes?” I ask him, confused. Like, did he buy a pizzeria?
“Perks of loving a good slice I guess.”
“So what? You’re telling me you’ve brought enough slices to hold shares in the place or something?”
“Or something.” He chuckles as he places his hand on the small of my back to guide me forwards.
His firm but tender touch is both familiar and new.
I almost buckle under the heat of it, but I manage to keep it together and let him usher me to our table.
Except instead of heading into the main dining area, which is buzzing with people and playing upbeat tunes, we round a corner into a private booth just to the side of the open-plan kitchen.
The table is set, like they were expecting us.
I slide into one side and Marco on the other.
The cool leather seat is a welcome relief for my suddenly overheated body.
From here we can see into the big open plan kitchen complete with copper-faced traditional pizza ovens and a large marble work bench tiled with jade-green subway tiles.
Pendant lights hang overhead. The staff are young, wearing a uniform of all black, making the tattoos lining their arms pop.
One of the guys notices us and waves. He gives some orders to his kitchen staff then heads over.
“Hey, man! You made it,” he says, doing some fancy handshake with Marco. “And you must be the Sophia.”
“The one and only,” I say smiling up at him before quickly flashing Marco my best what the fuck? look, which he just plays off with a causal shrug.
“I’m Joey. I’m so glad the Big Boss was finally able to show you our place. The food is almost ready, but first, what can I get you to drink?”
I order a Negroni and Marco sticks to beer. I’m still at a loss for words. Did he have this all planned?
“The Big Boss? Looks like you have some things to catch me up on. What do you say we up the ante on this date? Twenty questions meets speed dating. We each take turns asking questions. You go, then I go,” I explain, adding with a devious smile, “Nothing is off-limits.”
“Okay, but I go first,” he states with a smirk.
I roll my eyes at the memory. “Clearly, you woke up and chose violence today.”
Memories of that summer still sting, but I can tell he’s trying to do exactly what I asked and prove why I should let him in. Truth is, I’m not sure I ever let the idea of him go.
“What the hell did you see in the hockey douche?”
“Firstly, you never met him, so I don’t think you have a right to call him names. Secondly, he was fun and carefree. He made me stop thinking for a while. Thirdly, have you seen hockey bodies? Phwoar. I rest my case.”
“And what or who did you need a distraction from?”
“You got your one question. My turn. Why is he calling you the Big Boss?”
“Borrring.” He puts his face closer to mine and draws out the word with a smirk.
I shake my head and smile playfully. “You’re ridiculous.”
“An acquaintance turned friend pitched the investment opportunity to me about six months ago. He’s a savvy businessman and owns a few successful businesses in Manhattan and Europe.
I jumped at the chance to get in on this because I believed in what Joey wanted to create.
Besides, I’m not getting any younger, so I want to start building for the future, too.
” The conviction in his voice and the steely look on his face make that statement feel laced with so much more than he’s letting on. “So here we are.”
I want to know the “more” of it. Like who this acquaintance is and if this future he speaks of includes a special someone.
Includes me, chimes in that voice from deep within.
I shake off the thought. I know I have been gone for a while but as far as my sleuthing can tell, Marco has kept his friendship group small—my brothers and a few guys from the security firm.
He’s never trusted people easily, and ironically Mr. Popular doesn’t give two shits about being popular. His smooth voice cuts through my whirring thoughts.
“Now, next question, Kitten. Craziest thing you did in college?”
“Got tipsy and let the hockey team take body shots from my belly button. It’s how I met Aiden. You could say he gave me a taste of what his tongue could do, and I was sold.”
His eyes darken and his jaw clenches, hooking me the reaction I was looking for when I tossed out that tidbit like bait.
“Oh, so that’s your test for choosing your next boyfriend, huh? Find out how talented he is with his tongue?”
“Is that your question?”
“Sure,” is all he says as he reclines back into the booth and spreads his arms along the top and extends his legs under the table, so his knees brush mine. One word. One touch. Yet it all feels so charged. Especially with the way his gaze is zeroed on my lips.
“Well, it’s important to know if a man knows how to use his tongue.”
“Hmmm…true. That’s why he wasn’t enough for you, Kitten. He was a boy. Not a man. Once you’ve had a man’s tongue on you—in you—you’ll know the difference.”
“Is that a promise? I’m beginning to wonder if you’re doing something wrong.
No shortage of girls. But no girlfriends, Mr. New York’s Most Eligible Playboy,” I clap back, citing one of those silly online lists he was featured in a while ago with a picture of him looking stupidly sexy, with an equally gorgeous date on his arm.
“Is that your question? Or just letting me know you’ve been keeping tabs on me,” he retorts. “It was an old picture, for the record.”
“No, I have a better question. One for old time’s sake,” I say, pulling my bottom lip into my mouth before slowly letting it go. “Kill? Marry? Fuck?”
“I did always love this question. But, seeing as how you assured me, you’re all grown up now, let’s up the ante.” A wicked grin forms on his kissable lips as he leans over the table so we’re almost nose to nose.
“Pussy. Ass. Mouth?” he whispers.
I don’t get a chance to answer because an absolute feast arrives. Pizza with prawns, pasta arrabiata, arancini balls and an arugula salad. All my favorites.
“Yum! Good picks,” I say flicking my eyes to Marco, who looks a little bashful, but he’s quick to add, “A man always remembers to feed his girl her favorites. Non-negotiable.”
“Hangry doesn’t look good on me.”
“Oh, I remember, Kitten,” he says with a throaty chuckle. “Let’s eat. My phone has been vibrating off the hook in my pocket. No doubt it’s your brother checking in on our ETA.”
We fall into a natural conversation, filling in the gaps time and distance have created and laughing at old memories that held me through the hard days.
By the time we’re sharing three scoops of delicious gelato, I realize the man in front of me has made me feel much the same way: gooey and wickedly good.
I can’t decide if I should indulge or if too much of a good thing is bad for me.
He shoots off a quick text before standing and coming around to me, holding his hand out for me to take.
I place my hand in his and look up at him, unable to stop the coy smile tugging at my lips.
“To answer your question from before, I say why choose when you can have them all filled?”
Tugging me to my feet, and bringing me flush to his chest, he whispers in my ear, “When you’re strung out from pleasure and begging for my mercy, don’t forget it was you who chose the trifecta.”
Then, acting like he didn’t just scorch me with his words, he places a chaste kiss on my cheek and shoots me a boyish wink. “C’mon, Kitten. Let’s ride.”