An Italian on the run from the Mafia. A reporter seeking the truth. Will they reveal their feelings before danger strikes?
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Reclusive writer Luca Ross...
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"Skylar, let me get this straight. You went to hot guy's house for dinner. The two of you had good conversation, lots of laughs and a hot kiss. Then he was okay when you said you wanted to take things slow and not fuck on the first date. He said he'd call you. I'm not exactly seeing the problem here."
Emily and I were each on our first beer while sitting poolside at my condo, dissecting Luca's words and the previous evening. It was Friday afternoon, and I had the day off because I'd worked so much overtime.
It felt decadent, almost like I was on vacation, to be lounging with my best friend on what was normally a workday. Normally I didn't like beer and never drank in the middle of the day, but the rarity of a day off seemed like a good time to loosen up.
Sitting on a chair beneath an umbrella, I wore a floppy straw hat, while Emily sat in the sun. I scowled at Emily's assessment of Luca. The farther I got from his good looks and charm, the more I questioned exactly who he was.
"Doesn't it seem weird? Why wouldn't he talk about his family or his past? And why would a guy that good-looking want me?"
Emily rolled her eyes. "Are you fucking kidding me? Don't start. You don't need me to remind you that you're hot."
"I'm fat."
"You're curvy and men love that. Jimmy said all the cops talk about your ass."
"Whatever." I grunted at the thought of cops discussing my body and took a long sip of beer.
Emily sighed. "Skylar. Calm down. Who knows? Luca sounds a little old-fashioned, but honestly he also sounds kind of sweet. At least he's definitely not just some bro dude who demands to fuck and run. Maybe he is just private. You should be happy. This sounds promising and fun. Damn, I'd screw his brains out the next time I saw him. What's the big deal? As long as you know what you're getting going in."
Emily drained her Corona, and I just stared at her. If only I could be so practical about sex.
"You're always looking for the bad," Emily continued. "Remember when you were trying out OKCupid last month and you got a perfectly nice message from that marketing guy in Tampa? You texted something to me like, 'Just got a well thought-out, kind message from a cute guy. He must be a serial killer.'"
I sighed. Emily was right. I was too hard on men. And on myself.
"Yeah," I muttered. "Damn James."
The mention of my ex's name elicited a wary stare from Emily. "Christ. How many times do I need to say it? You need to forget about that asshole."
I mumbled an agreement. "Did I ever tell you the final straw?"
"No," Emily said, "but I can't hate him any more than I already do. After you told me that he pushed you off the bed I didn't want to know more. Really, Skylar. You're so strong and tough. You put yourself through college. You're an orphan. How could you let a man do that to you?"
