Chapter Seven
“EAT. EAT!"
Louis felt his stomach pitch as Mrs. Ravanides dropped a third portion of spinach pie onto his plate.
Like most guys in their midtwenties, he ate food like it might disappear, but if he packed away one more bite of Greek cuisine, he would keel over.
If it incurred the wrath of his spatula-wielding dinner host, so be it.
He wanted to live to see Saturday, dammit.
The reminder of Saturday led to a memory of Roxy sitting on his desk, hungry because she’d skipped breakfast.
With an inward curse, he picked up his fork and took another bite.
Roxy. He couldn’t keep her in one place longer than ten minutes, yet she’d become his biggest distraction.
If her strategy was to drive him crazy so he’d be a more entertaining date tomorrow night, it was working.
At this rate, he’d probably try everything from balloon animals to poetry readings to get her to sit still for an hour.
He wanted to look at her face. Wanted to make her laugh.
And for chrisssakes, he wanted to take her home.
What they’d done in the hallway outside his future brother-in-law’s apartment .
.. even with two helpings of spanakopita in his stomach, he still felt a wave of need.
Pulse-pounding, sweaty, unquenchable need to have her underneath him.
Not a comfortable feeling when two elderly faces are smiling back at you from across the table, remarking on what a good eater you are.
He’d accepted his pro bono client’s dinner invitation in hopes of taking his mind off the elusive Roxy for a few hours.
Not to mention the fact that the man’s wife had come to his office and refused to take no for an answer, practically dragging him out the door by his tie.
At first, he’d enjoyed himself. He’d sat on their plastic-covered couch and looked at old photos of their kids.
Listened to them tell the story of their emigration to America thirty years earlier, the way their convenience store had played such a huge part in their success in New York City.
They didn’t take what they had for granted, and Louis was fascinated by that.
He’d come from a world where taking what you had for granted was a given.
The norm. His father probably wouldn’t even step foot in their tiny shop for fear he’d get dust on his wingtips, but to them, it meant the world.
Louis had always wished for something like that.
Something that didn’t come easy. Something that required work as opposed to money.
When you had everything handed to you from such a young age—summer vacations, clothes, sailing lessons—your idea of value got skewed.
Was the free work he was doing enough to earn everything he’d been given?
He hoped so. But he couldn’t shake the feeling he needed to do more.
In an attempt to clear his head of those thoughts, he’d summoned Roxy to block them out. Her mix of confidence and insecurities, as well hidden as she could get them. The way she’d looked up at him, green eyes shining, and said, Think about me . Ah, it all made sense now. She’d cursed him.
It figured that the first girl to make him want to work this hard— hard being the operative word—acted like she could take him or leave him. This was his punishment for never pursuing a relationship that took place outside his bedroom. As a result, he didn’t know how. He sucked at it.
And he really sucked at sucking at things.
As a result, he’d spent today trying to convince himself he didn’t want a relationship with Roxy. Or anyone. Oh, and he’d been really convincing, too, checking his phone for a text from her before he’d even finished his thought. Of course, she hadn’t texted him. Pathetic.
All right, that’s it. He’d held out for two days. Giving Mr. and Mrs. Ravanides his best smile, he pushed back from the table. “Would you excuse me for a minute? I just need a little air.”
“Sure, sure.” Mrs. Ravanides, very businesslike, cleared his plate. “I’ll wrap this up for you.”
“If you didn’t, I was going to.” He winked at her. “That’s my lunch tomorrow.”
Her cheeks turned pink. “As it should be. I’ll just throw in some more lamb and pita.”
Louis walked out onto the front porch and collapsed onto their stoop.
Thank God he’d planned on an Italian restaurant tomorrow night.
If he ever saw another piece of feta cheese again, he’d probably run away screaming.
He reached into his pocket and took out his cell phone, pulling up Roxy’s picture.
Immediately, his annoyance with her dulled to a whisper, and all he wanted to do was hear from her.
Help me.
What appears to be the problem, sir?
Great. He was already smiling. Why couldn’t everything with her be this easy?
Ate too much. Need someone to roll me back from Queens. A crane might work, too.
What kind of food was it?
Greek.
Worth it.
Tell that to my belt buckle.
A long pause that had him feeling restless. Had he caught her in the middle of something? It was a Friday night. Did she have a date? Oh, man. He really didn’t like thinking about her out with another guy. It made him go a little insane, actually. Finally, his phone buzzed.
If I get that close to your belt buckle, are you sure you want me talking?
Jesus H. Christ. That comment had taken his current state of sexually frustrated and turned up the volume to deafening. Even without seeing her in person, he knew that comment had been meant to keep him off balance. It had worked. Good point. But not cool when you’re not within reaching distance.
Will it help if I tell you I’m looking forward to tomorrow night?
Before that last comment, maybe. Now? Definitely not.
No. Distract me.
I’m at an audition right now for a hair color commercial. The call was for twenty-something girls with a beachy, windswept look. One girl brought her own fan. Another is dressed like a mermaid.
I don’t believe you.
A picture hit his phone a minute later.
Okay, I believe you.
While they might be making light of the situation, knowing what she subjected herself to every day only justified the phone call he’d made last night.
Even the short performance she’d given at Fletcher’s bachelor party, after they’d returned from the bedroom, had proven how much talent she had.
It was such an easy fix. All she needed was a shot.
Soon she wouldn’t have to face the constant rejection anymore.
Wouldn’t have to take her clothes off to get her by until the next audition that very likely wouldn’t pan out.
No more living day to day. Paycheck to paycheck. But would she see it that way?
I’m up next. Wish me luck.
Give me your address, Rox. I want to pick you up tomorrow night.
So much time passed that he thought she’d blown him off. That he’d pushed too far, too quickly. His frustrated curse was interrupted by the buzzing of his phone. She’d texted him her address, apartment number, and everything. A slow smile spread across his face. Progress. Finally.
“What’s her name?”
Louis turned to find Mr. Ravanides standing behind him, leaning against the house.
Jesus. How long had he been there? See, this is what happened when five feet five inches of beautiful, complicated girl crowded everything else out of your mind.
You risked being crept up on by hairy, foreign men.
And the knowing look in the other man’s eye told Louis he wouldn’t accept any bullshit answers.
“Roxy. Just Roxy. I don’t even know her last name. ”
“Have you gone to meet her father yet? Asked for permission?”
“Permission for what?”
His thick eyebrows slashed down. “To see the girl.”
Louis laughed. “I’m having a hard enough time getting her permission.”
“Ah.” Mr. Ravanides nodded sagely. “She’s one of those.”
“I don’t know what you mean by that.” Louis turned and stared back out at the street. “But I’m guessing you’re right. She covers all the bases.”
“Just as long as you’re not covering bases,” the other man said sternly. “Not until you shake the father’s hand. Look him in the eye.”
Louis nodded to appease him. “Is that what you did with Mrs. Ravanides?”
“Hell, no. We eloped.”
With all the food in his stomach, it hurt to laugh, but Louis couldn’t help it.
Damn, he really liked the guy. His whole family, really.
The easy bond between them. It made him wish for the same thing.
It made him wonder what Roxy’s relationship with her family was like.
God, he didn’t know a damn thing about her.
That would change starting tomorrow. Everything would.
“Let me ask you something,” Louis said as he shifted uncomfortably. “Back when you met Mrs. Ravanides, if you had a way to make her life easier, would you have done it? Even if it meant leaving out the truth?”
“My lawyer is asking me for advice now?” He pushed off the wall and joined Louis on the top step. “Don’t worry. I’ll do it pro bono.”
Louis’s laugh turned into a groan when the spanakopita used his arteries as a water slide. “Thanks.”
Mr. Ravanides handed him a roll of Tums he’d kept hidden in his hand until now.
“I tell all my children that honesty is the best policy. Always. But sometimes people are too proud to ask for help when they need it. Those people need a gentle push.” He clapped a hand onto Louis’s shoulder.
“I know the kind of man you are. If you’re leaving out the truth, you have a good reason. ”
Louis popped the antacid into his mouth. For the hundredth time since last night, he wondered if his selfish reasons for wanting Roxy to have some security outweighed his good intentions. No time for regrets now, though. The deed was done. “Let’s hope you’re right.”
“I’m usually right. Unless the argument is with my Ms. Ravanides.” The older man stood. “Now. Come inside. My wife baked two pans of baklava, and they’re getting cold.”
Sweet Jesus.