Chapter Eighteen #2
“Cannoli. They’re a bitch to make.” I sprinkle cheese over the sauce. “Keep going,” he instructs. I sprinkle more on and turn to the crumbled Italian sausage. His strong fingers trail under my shirt and touch my bare stomach.
A breathy giggle leaves my lips. “You’re distracting me.”
He kisses my neck again as I add mini pepperoni slices. “Good. So, you like your meat?”
I create a neat pattern with the pepperoni slices. “I think you know the answer to that,” I say. “I’m going to gain so much weight dating you.”
“You’d still be beautiful,” he says softly from behind me. I know he’s teasing me, but I feel light as a feather in his arms. “I have a home gym in the garage, but I think we’ll be able to burn the calories off on our own.”
I smirk to myself. “Robby…”
Definitely didn’t need pajamas.
While the pizza I made bakes, Robby assembles another one, and I walk around the open floor plan instead of hovering in the kitchen.
The fireplace mantel has a Lego succulent plant on it next to a couple of framed photos.
One is with two people who have to be his parents, and I recognize the version of Robby I met at that party.
He’s leaner now, but I like him a little bulkier like he is in this photo.
His mom and dad are similar heights, but Robby’s a few inches taller than them.
His mom has a warm smile on her face and beautiful dark curly hair, yet Robby resembles so much of his dad.
The chilly air gives me goosebumps, and I rub my upper arms. “These your parents?” I ask and hold up the framed photo.
Robby looks up and instantly smiles. “Yeah, how’d you know?” he jokes.
I carefully set the photo back in its original place and wipe the dust off the top of the frame with my thumb. “Do they come to LA often?” I ask.
“Uh, sometimes. They’re not fans of the big city. Dad came down for a week to help with the renovations, and I usually go up to Napa for holidays. A few months ago, they came down for a concert and stayed here for the weekend, and we did some sightseeing. Do your parents visit?”
I walk away from the mantel. “God, no, never. They’re pretty busy with my brothers and their million grandkids.”
He bends over in front of the oven. “How many nieces and nephews do you have?”
I sigh. “Probably too many for someone my age. I’m a terrible aunt. Haven’t met them all. I don’t know their birthdays or middle names, and I hardly know my sisters-in-law.” I walk back to the kitchen as Robby rolls out more dough.
Robby glances at me again. “I’m sure you’re a good aunt.”
I rest my elbows on the smooth breakfast bar.
“I have six nephews and two nieces. My oldest brother is divorced, remarried, and expecting with his second wife. And one of my other brothers is going through a divorce.” I purse my lips and glance around the living space, looking for something else to focus on. “You don’t have any siblings, do you?”
“No, my mom was lucky to have me. She met my dad in college, and he’s two years older.
They did the long-distance thing while she finished her degree, then she moved to Napa.
I wasn’t born until she was thirty-seven.
Like fifteen years after moving there and marrying my dad.
He was almost forty. I have a cousin who’s the same age as me, and his dad is my dad’s youngest brother. ”
“But you were greatly wanted.”
“So were you.”
I snort. “Yeah, right. I have a theory that my mom only had my brothers because she was trying to get a girl.”
“That must have been something…the youngest and only girl.” He pauses and chuckles. “Do I have to be worried about your brothers since I’m screwing their little sister?”
They wouldn’t care if I ended up in his basement, and my murder was on the news.
Of course, I don’t say that. Maybe my youngest brother, number three in our lineup of offspring, would care.
He’s the only decent one. The older two are jerks who spend their free time hiding at my parents’ and watching football or whatever’s on to avoid their wives and children. No wonder both of them are divorced.
I look down at my fingers and brush my thumb over the surface of one of my gel-covered nails. “No.”
“Well, I don’t have siblings, but I have a million cousins who mostly still live in Napa.
We all got along pretty well, and growing up, my mom never knew how many kids would be at dinner.
But it was cool. Whenever my uncles and aunts went on trips, my parents always ended up watching my cousins,” Robby explains.
“And when my parents went on their anniversary vacation, I stayed with one of my uncles.”
Sounds like how a family should work.
“That’s awesome.”
“We’re all loud, by the way. Like really loud. My dad and his brothers just kind of yell at each other from across the vineyard to communicate,” Robby adds and laughs.
“’Cause what’s a phone?” I joke.
Robby laughs again. “Exactly.” He lets out a small groan.
“And my cousins are crazy. We’re all boys except for one, but she lives in San Diego.
Um, my dad’s brothers stayed in Napa, but their sister went to San Diego for college, met her now-husband when he was a law student, and they stayed there. ”
“Wow, only one female cousin?”
“Mm-hmm, she’s great but definitely spoiled.”
“So, does this mean we’re cursed to only have boys? I mean, if you want kids.” I quietly ask. I haven’t put much thought into future children, but one or two would be nice someday.
“I can’t wait to be a dad and, um, not necessarily. Some of my cousins have kids, and there’s a couple of more girls in the mix now.”
“What’s your mom like? Also excited to be a grandmother?”
Robby smiles. “Very, but she respects that I’ve stayed single to enjoy my twenties. But she has no idea…” he trails off. “She’s quiet. Peaceful. An anchor in a lot of chaos.”
I get goosebumps again and rub my arms to settle them. “Must be nice having a mom like that.”
“Are you cold? I can adjust the AC?” he asks.
“I’m always cold. Don’t worry about it,” I answer.
“So, what’s your mom like?”
I lightly rub my temple at the question.
There’s not enough time in the day.
“Um, the worst. Classic narcissist combined with passive-aggressive Southern Christian-ness,” I rant.
I wish she were like Robby’s mom.
“Hmm, I see why you didn’t go back to Georgia.”
I just nod in response. “Is all of this pizza for us?” I ask.
“The first two. This one is for my neighbor. He’s older and recently widowed.”
And in that moment, I see Robby’s mom come through in him, and my heart warms my chest.
“That’s nice of you.”
“I need to clean up, but you’re welcome to keep exploring,” Robby adds.
I lift my arms off the breakfast bar. “Maybe I will.”
There’s a hallway off the foyer, separate from the main living space, so I start that way.
The hallway has the same gray paint and new flooring with family photos on the walls.
I pause by the same photo of his family that’s on the winery’s social media profile.
I squint to figure out who’s who, and I can now identify his parents.
Robby has his arm on his dad’s shoulder with a big smile painted on his face.
I’m assuming one of his cousins is standing on Robby’s other side, and he’s easily the giant of the family, standing a couple of inches taller than Robby.
Out of the corner of my eye, I notice one door at the end of the hallway is mostly open, and it draws me toward it.
He told me to explore, so I gently push the door all the way.
Inside, the air feels heavier. It’s his filming room.
I take in the filming setup, complete with an empty tripod and lights arranged around it in front of the all too familiar couch against the back wall.
Aside from those things, the room is devoid of any décor with bare walls.
The blinds are closed tightly, but enough light pours in to illuminate the space.
The goosebumps crawl up my arms again, and I exhale slowly as I step inside.
I knew he was Rook, but seeing his filming room in person just solidifies it.
This is where my fantasies were born. I carefully walk over to the couch as if I’m walking on eggshells and find a pair of neatly folded dark-wash jeans waiting for the next video.
I lift them up, and they unfold in my grip.
They’re made from a crisper denim than I expected, and the waistband has distressing for the worn-in feeling. It’s an absolute relic.
“Want me to put them on?” Robby’s voice behind me makes me jump, and I turn to find him in the doorway, leaning against the doorframe casually.
“Will you become someone else if you do?” I ask.
Do I want that?
His eyes darken. “Not tonight, baby.”
He walks in and drops his shorts, revealing he’d gone commando. I avert my eyes. To give him privacy, but also, I’m afraid I might pounce on him if I look too long. But what would be more iconic than fucking Robby on Rook’s couch?
He reaches out for the jeans, and I pass them over to him. He pulls them up his legs and fastens the button fly. He lifts the hem of his shirt to reveal how they hang off his hips and sucks in to flex his abs. My mouth waters, and it’s not from the tomato-fragranced air.
“Like what you see?” he asks.
“Mm-hmm, now, put it away before I get reckless. I want to eat pizza,” I snark. Robby chuckles, and the noise booms around the relatively empty room. “But damn, they look good on you,” I add, trailing my fingertips over his jean-clad butt.
He smirks. “I know.” A timer goes off just then. “Ugh, I should deal with that.”
I follow him back to the kitchen. Seeing Robby in the Rook jeans in such a domestic setting is a strange duality, like I’m dating two men, but now, I’m a believer that Rook needs to start adding cooking videos to his page.
“You know, there’s bitches who’d pay to watch you cook shirtless in those jeans. It’s me; I’m bitches.”
Robby chortles loudly as he pulls a pizza out of the oven.
He tosses the oven mitts onto the counter and walks over to me.
His hands gently find my hips, lifting me to the clean counter, so we’re face-to-face.
“How about we make that sort of view exclusive to just your eyes?” My heartbeat drums hard in my chest, and I press my hand over it.
“I can’t tell if you’re trying to DTR with me right now,” I say, draping my arms over his shoulders.
His eyes shift away from me in thought. “DTR?”
My anxiety makes me giggle. “Define the relationship.”
“I’ve been yours since we met in college.”
I should have been his, too.
“Want some wine?” he asks, playfully slapping the sides of my thighs with both of his hands. It’s an innocent question, but my insides feel like they’re sinking inside me.
“Do you drink every day?” I ask.
“Yeah, why?” I frown before I can stop it. He brushes a rogue curl from my face. “What’s wrong?”
“Um, I grew up with a lot of alcoholism. It bugs me that you drink so often,” I whisper.
“Oh, Appa…” He pauses for a moment. “To be clear, I drink one glass of wine per day. Sometimes, two. But it’s not for the alcohol.
Nonna has a very strong belief that wine has antioxidants and can keep your heart healthy.
” He brushes the curl behind my ear, but it just springs back to frame my face.
“A big guy like me isn’t getting drunk off one glass, and I don’t crave it.
It’s more habit than anything. Okay?” It sounds innocent enough, but I can’t do life with him if he’s going to be like my dad.
Still, something inside of me believes him.
“When’d you start drinking wine?” I ask.
“Regularly? High school, but my dad let me sample before then. Nothing crazy. But I hope that made you feel better. I haven’t gotten drunk since college,” he says.
“I think so. It’s just triggering for me.”
“If it bothers you, just tell me.”
Who is this perfect man?
We end up tangled together on the chaise lounge of his sectional couch with our now crumble-littered plates on the coffee table nearby next to our empty wineglasses.
“I really wish you had taken me home after the party,” I murmur.
Robby shifts and rolls me, so he’s braced above. One arm supports his weight, and the other trails his fingertips down my stomach. “Me too,” he says.
I breathe out. “You know, I watched you after you talked to me… you didn’t talk to any other girls that night.” His dark eyes study mine, and he sits up, balancing his weight on his knees on each side of me.
He runs a hand down his face. “Because as soon as I saw you, no one else mattered. Look, you weren’t ready for me. Or my intensity. If I had made a move that night, you weren’t going to make it out alive.”
I feel the hair on the back of my neck stand. “What—what do you mean?”
“It had to have been your first time away from the nest. You wouldn’t have wanted this serious of a relationship so early.”
I narrow my eyes at him. “You couldn’t have known what I wanted from a two-minute conversation at a frat party.” I sound sassier than I intend, and he rolls his eyes.
“Jesus Christ,” he says under his breath.
I lift my arms and run my hands under his shirt over his abs. “Am I ready for you now?”
“Better fucking be. Because if you weren’t mine six years ago, you sure as fuck are now.” He leans down, planting kisses on my collarbones. “You don’t know how many nights I stayed awake, thinking about what we would have done that night.” I shift my hips to grind against him.
It was all I wanted.
He unhooks the clips to my overalls, flinging the straps over my shoulders.
He lowers the part of the overalls covering my chest and stomach like he’s unwrapping a present.
Kisses are planted on my neck while his breath warms my skin.
“But I wasn’t going to suffocate you,” he whispers, vibrating my skin with his voice.
“What was your plan? Stalk me on social media forever?” I whisper.
He lifts his body off me, hovering again.
His strong hand finds my neck, fitting around it perfectly, and making my breath hitch where the pressure of his fingers rests.
But it doesn’t scare me. Only excites me because he’s in Rook jeans and letting Rook seep through his cinnamon-roll persona.
“Was just waiting for a signal, something to show you wanted this, too.” He waits, studying my face and expression.
After a moment, he moves his hand from my neck, and it’s his turn to feel me up under my shirt. “So, what do you want from Daddy now?”
I burst out laughing, my knees bending behind him, and my belly rumbles from my laughter. “Oh, my God, you didn’t just.” I cut myself off.
Robby moves off me and off the couch and rips my overalls off with one motion. “Oh, I did, baby.”
“Hmm, only if you promise to ground me after,” I say with a smirk and bite my lip.
He smirks, too, but then pounces like he’s been starving for me for days.