Tossed Into Love (Fluke My Life 3)

“Seems you got it bad for that boy,” she murmurs.

I glare at her. “I hate him.”

“I bet you do.”

“No, seriously. I do. I hate him.”

“Okay.” Her lips twitch, and I fight the urge to stomp my foot to emphasize my point. “Is he gone?” she asks.

“Yes.”

“Well, then, what are you doing? Don’t you need to get to work?”

“What if he’s outside?”

“If he’s outside, then you know he’s got it bad for you, too,” she tells me.

“He hates me more than I hate him.”

“Sure he does,” she mutters, moving me out of the way and opening the door. “Now, go on.”

“Why did Mac insist on befriending you?” I question.

Her nose scrunches up. “I don’t know, but you need to go. I have things to do.”

“Fine.” I swallow, then peek out into the corridor. Seeing it empty, I step out and turn back to say thanks to her for letting me hide out in her apartment. Before I can, she slams the door and locks me out. “Grumpy old woman.”

“I heard that!” she shouts.

I mouth “I heard that,” then turn on my heel and open the front door to the house. Seeing Antonio standing on the sidewalk, I grit my teeth.

“Libby!” he calls, but I ignore him as I head to the edge of the sidewalk to catch a cab to work. “I’m sorry.”

“Good.”

“I shouldn’t have asked you that.”

“No, you shouldn’t have,” I agree, feeling him get close to where I’m standing.

“Can you look at me?”

“Don’t you need to be somewhere?” I snarl, pissed at him and at myself.

I’m angry at myself for liking him when I shouldn’t and angry at him for being a jerk one minute and sweet the next.

“Yes, but first I need to know that you forgive me for being a dick.”

“I forgive you,” I say immediately, hoping that will make him go away.

My eyes fly up to meet his when his fingers wrap around my chin.

“I’m really sorry,” he repeats.

I swallow over the sudden lump that has formed in my throat.

“Okay.”

“Do you forgive me?”

Looking into his eyes and seeing regret there, I pull in a deep breath and let it out while nodding.

“Can I hear you say it?” he asks softly.

“I forgive you,” I whisper.

His fingers touch my jaw while his thumb sweeps across my bottom lip so lightly that I wonder if I imagine it. He steps back.

“Have a good day at work, Princess.” He steps into the road and raises an arm. A cab pulls up and parks at the curb. He opens the door for me, and I slide into the back seat without looking at him again as he slams the door behind me.

“Where to?” the cab driver asks.

I give him the address to the salon as I turn to look over my shoulder at Antonio. He’s standing with his hands tucked into the front pockets of his jeans, his eyes on my cab.

Do you have plans tomorrow night?

Looking at the text from Palo as I stand in the office at Tony’s, I wonder exactly how I should answer his question. There are times he will have a client come in and ask if someone can do their hair or makeup for an event. So it could be that, but it could also be something else.

Maybe . . .

I type back and press “Send.”

I’m taking that as a no, which means you’re going out on a date tomorrow night. I think I met the perfect guy for you.

Fricking great.

Palo, do I really need to remind you of the last five dates you’ve set me up on?

No, and this guy is different.

How is he different?

He’s young, he has manners, and he’s RICH.

I sigh out loud as I type.

I don’t care about money, Palo.

Every woman cares about money, Libby.

He’s wrong. I don’t care about money. I never have. Yes, I like nice things like most women do, but I don’t need them. My parents were not rolling in it when I was growing up, but we were always happy. I grew up in a house full of laughter and love, which I know is way more important than material things.

Palo . . .

I leave just his name, thinking that says it all. It really does.

Please? For me? Just this one last time. If it doesn’t work out, I won’t ever set you up again.

Yeah, right. Like I believe that for one second.

Gahhhh! Fine.

I drop my cell phone into my purse, then turn and leave the office.

“What’s going on with you?” Peggy asks as soon as she sees me. I wonder if it’s that obvious that I’m annoyed.

“I have a date tomorrow night,” I tell her, sounding as annoyed as I feel about the idea.

She looks at me, then looks over my shoulder. I watch a knowing smile form on her lips. Wondering what that’s about, I look behind me. My lungs freeze when I realize that Antonio is standing close enough that he probably heard me say I have a date.