Chapter 2
Chapter Two
Mia
Whatever power Gabe Wyatt had, he ought to bottle it and sell it. I thought he was hot in college, but now I felt like I was sitting next to a blow torch. But what he was then compared to what he was now, was like a matchstick to an atomic bomb.
“It’s not you,” he said. I stared at his oversize hands with his long lean fingers wrapped around the steering wheel. “Denise is always telling me I have a blank spot in my head where people’s names and faces should be.”
“You have that checked out?” Genuine concern bubbled up for this man I only knew from afar, a man who was more like a theory than flesh and blood. That was the power of my old crush—on my best friend’s boyfriend.
He laughed. “Don’t worry, Mia. I’ve been this way all my life. See that—I remembered your name.”
I tried not to giggle, tried for an adult-like laugh of mild amusement. “I guess Denise wasn’t kidding when she said you needed a—”
“A what? Watchdog? Babysitter? I’ve been doing fine the past year without her help.”
“Sore spot, eh? Sorry. Let’s not talk about Denise.
” I should have told her to find someone else to keep an eye on her so-called boyfriend.
If he were mine, I’d never have left him alone, never have moved away.
I wouldn’t care how little attention he paid to me, even a small amount would be better than . . . whatever the hell Denise got now.
“It’s all right. Things are fine between us. We’ve settled into a comfortable long-distance relationship. Suits me. Football takes a lot of my attention.”
“So I’ve heard.”
He gave me a censuring smirk and said, “Tell me about yourself. Why aren’t you a famous model like your mother?”
“Ouch. Right for the jugular. And I thought you were a nice guy.”
“I meant that as a compliment. You could be. What do you do?”
“You don’t know?”
He looked chagrined. “Sorry, I should know. Denise probably mentioned it.” He showed a dimple and, as far as I could tell, the dimple was genuine.
“I get it. I don’t play football, so your attention span is limited.”
“I’m not that bad.” He paused a beat. “Okay, I guess I am that bad. Sorry. I promise whatever you tell me tonight, I’ll remember. I really do want to know what you do.”
Heaven help me, I believed him.
“I’m an emergency room nurse at Mass General. Nurse in charge, actually. And before you ask me why not a doctor, it’s because I wanted to have a life outside of work.” Unlike him.
“Very cool. You’re not squeamish about blood and guts then.”
I laughed for real. “That’s what I’d expect an adolescent boy to say.”
“Arrested development. Once football took over my mind . . .”
I giggled. I never giggled, hated giggling, except I couldn’t help it and I couldn’t deny I enjoyed it now.
He was charming me and I wasn’t sure if it was his genuineness or his heart-stoppingly gorgeous face or his self-deprecating smile.
But I felt it all over again, that attraction welling up, worming its way through my system. The crush revived.
Not one to be impressed easily by a handsome face, or even a killer body like his, I knew it had to be his graciousness.
Paradoxical. On one hand, he didn’t pay attention to much besides football.
On the other hand, when he did pay attention, you felt like the most important person in the universe.
I experienced a tug, a connection, and chided myself that he was like this with everyone.
He’d been famous for his female following in college. And now . . .
He pulled the car up to a small, divey-looking place on a narrow side street lined with a mix of white cement buildings and the stacked porches of old-style multifamily homes. I could see there weren’t a lot of cars parked near the restaurant. I wondered what kind of place he was taking me to.
“Don’t worry. It’s not much on the outside, but the chef and owner are salt of the earth and the food is special. I come here a lot so I feel at home, like they’re part of my extended family.”
“So I shouldn’t be surprised if you get the red-carpet treatment.”
“No red carpets here. This is a down-to-earth, friends-and-family kind of place. Let’s just say coming here helps keep my feet planted on the ground. Firmly.”
He jumped from the car and was halfway around before I had my door all the way open. He opened it the rest of the way and helped me out of the low-slung sports car. A gray-haired man with a Santa Claus smile, dark mustache, and white apron emerged from the restaurant, holding the glass door for us.
“Louie, what’s cooking?”
The man, whose name was scrawled in large red lettering across the top of the whitewashed exterior, took Gabe in a solid man hug, laughing as he said something in Italian. He glanced at me, nodded, and raised his brows.
“This is Denise’s friend, Mia. She’s new in town. Let’s make her feel welcome.”
“Bene. Come inside and sit. Like we do for Gabriel, I will make you feel like this is your home.”
He led us inside through the busy restaurant to the back and to a semiprivate room where he sat us in a private booth.
“It smells heavenly in here,” I said to the old man before he left us with menus.
I said under my breath, “Do you always get secreted away from prying eyes to the out of the way booth?”
“Not always. Just on busy nights. Louie likes to take care of me. Do you mind? Do you want to sit in the main—”
“No, no. This is fine. Intimate.” The main dining room had been almost full and noisy, fun. People from the neighborhood must walk here.
“Don’t worry. You’re safe with me.” He showed his dimple and raised his hands.
“I know I couldn’t be safer.” It was true.
It was the pull of my old crush I needed to worry about, not him making a play.
Once I tore my eyes from his intoxicating face, I noticed the corner of a tattoo stamped on his upper bicep disappearing under the straining short sleeve of his silky black T-shirt.
“You have a tattoo?”
“It’s the Militia team logo.” He grinned.
“It figures.” I shouldn’t have said it. His smile flickered but didn’t disappear. We both knew Denise had wanted him to get a tattoo of her name. He’d refused. He didn’t know I knew that story. Unfortunately, she’d told me every awful detail of his neglect.
“You have any tattoos?”
Nodding, I said, “One. Small and intimate. You’ll never see it.
” I shouldn’t be a tease, but I was charged with testing him.
Not that I would tell him Denise wanted me to be more than a watchdog.
She was nuts, or maybe more like desperate.
It was sad because she was really a very proud woman and I’d always admired that about her.
His eyes went intense, boring inside me, squeezing my chest, giving me palpitations I had no business having.
“If I’m never going to see your tattoo,” he said in a low voice, way past any teasing I’d had in mind, “you’ll have to tell me all about it. Describe it in detail. Tell me where it is so I can imagine it.”
Yikes. I had to stop the direction of this conversation.
I wasn’t prepared for his return volley, although I should have known he’d be an expert flirt.
Like everything else about him. A waiter came by then, saving me from having to answer.
Not that I could have since my mind had gone blank and the only thing floating in my awareness besides him was that I’d need some fresh panties before the night was over.
“Have you decided on your dinner choices?”
“Hey Marco, you know what I’m having. My usual Friday-night-before-a-game meal.”
Marco nodded and smiled, then turned to me.
“She’ll have osso buco a la Milanese.” He ordered for me.
But the thing was I was okay with his choice, didn’t even mind his taking over.
It made me feel . . . taken care of, special.
Like I was someone to him when in fact I was nothing.
A person with a remote, tenuous association in a world filled with people who all clamored for a piece of him.
This waiter Marco was more linked to him than I was.
And yet I felt a connection between us. One that had nothing to do with Denise.
“So who do you have in mind to fix me up with?” I jumped in as soon as the waiter left, before he could revive his question about my tattoo. I didn’t want to tell him about it and I knew he’d soften me if I allowed him. I already felt soft—and hot and wet—enough.
He let me get away with the change in subject with only a mild knowing twinkle in his eyes.
“Denise—or should I say, the one whose name we dare not speak—said to avoid fixing you up with my teammates, so I have no clue.”
“I’m overriding her orders then.” I felt on the border of laughter, amused by everything he said—when he wasn’t flexing his sensual flirtation muscles. I added, “How about this weekend?”
I needed a distraction right away. Someone else to flirt with besides the man my best friend wanted to marry. He was too fast becoming the object of my affection—my crush all over again. It must be a rebound thing from Paul.
Marco came back with some bread and a bottle of red wine and poured us each a glass. Gabe took a sip of his.
“You sure you’re ready?” He wasn’t teasing. It was a real question. A caring question. He put his glass down. “Denise said you just had a breakup.”
I heaved a breath and tried to steel myself against the melting. It was like he’d read my mind.
“You’re awfully sensitive for a big strong football player, aren’t you?”
His mouth, perpetually quirked to show off his right dimple, mesmerized me as he leaned forward, bringing said mouth close, but not close enough.
“Nah. I’m the quarterback. Good at reading situations.”
“And people?” I sat still, in a daring mood and I hadn’t had a drop to drink.
“Especially people.”