Tossed Into Love (Fluke My Life 3)

Pulling in one breath after another, I take a step toward the mirror and look myself in the eyes.

“Libby Reed, you’ve gone on dates before. You know better than to get your hopes up,” I whisper to my reflection before I turn off the light in the bathroom and walk through my bedroom.

I swing open my door to find Antonio standing just inside my living room, wearing a black peacoat over a beige sweater. The high collar accentuates his strong jaw. He’s also sporting dark jeans that look great on him. And of course there are his ever-present boots. Seeing the amused smile that he’s giving my mom, I wonder what she’s been telling him.

“Sorry you had to wait,” I say.

His head turns my way, and his eyes scan me from boots to hair before they lock with mine. The moment they do, the intensity I see there makes my stomach do a different kind of twist. The space between my legs tingles.

“Oh, honey, you look beautiful! Doesn’t she look beautiful, Antonio?” Mom asks him with an elbow to his side.

I bite my lip.

“Yeah, Katie, she looks beautiful,” he agrees quietly.

I wonder if my mom can feel the sudden charge in the air around us—a charge I feel every time I’m around him.

“Thank you.”

I feel my cheeks get warm, and it takes everything in me to pull my eyes from him and look at my mom.

“You’re supposed to meet Miss Ina, Mom . . . ,” I remind her.

“Oh, right. I should do that and leave you two to your date.”

She hurries to the couch to grab her things. I pick up my coat, only to have Antonio take it from me and hold it out. Turning my back to him, I slip it on. My eyes meet my mom’s happy ones. I give my head a little shake, not wanting her to get her hopes up about this, but she just grins at me like the crazy woman she is.

“Antonio, it was so nice meeting you. You’ll have to come out to Long Island with Libby sometime for dinner.”

“Mom . . . ,” I warn, but she ignores me and continues on.

“Or brunch. Really, whatever works around your schedule.”

“Mom.”

“I’d like that, Katie,” he tells her.

I wonder if she told him to call her by her first name or if he just did that on his own.

“Well, then. It’s settled. The next time you both have time, we’ll plan for it,” Mom says.

My jaw clenches. This must be what Mac and Fawn felt when Mom was all up in their business.

“Sounds good,” Antonio agrees.

I grab my black slouchy leather bag with loads of tassels hanging from the seams and hook the strap over my shoulder.

“Good.” Mom moves around me to give Antonio a hug, and I roll my eyes at the back of her head. I hold back a sigh when she turns to face me. “Call me when you get home.”

“I’ll call you tomorrow.”

“Maybe I should just stay here tonight. You know . . . we can have a sleepover. That would be fun. We’ve never done that before.”

Oh god.

“Mom, you need to get home to Dad. He would not be okay with you having a sleepover.”

“He would be fine with it.”

“When was the last time you slept in a bed without him?” I counter.

She looks up at the celling, trying to come up with an answer to that question.

“Right. Like I said . . . you need to get home to Dad after your dinner with Miss Ina.”

“Fine. But you still need to call me tonight when you get home.”

“Remember what we talked about earlier?” I ask quietly.

Her eyes narrow on mine, and she grits out, “Yes . . .”

“I’ll call you tomorrow,” I say, repeating my earlier statement.

“Fine. Call me tomorrow.” She lets out a huff before putting a smile on her face that she aims at Antonio. “She can be a little hardheaded at times.”

“Mom!”

“What?” She turns to look at me, and I glare at her. “It’s the truth, honey. You’re sweet as can be, but you really are hardheaded.”

Hearing Antonio chuckle, I transfer my glare to him.

He grins at me.

Whatever.

“We should go,” I mutter.

He wraps his fingers around mine, giving them a squeeze before opening the door.

“Love you,” Mom says, stopping to kiss my cheek.

“I’m wondering if that’s true,” I grumble under my breath.

She smiles, then heads down the steps. Following her out, I wait until Antonio is out of my apartment before I lock the door and start down the steps with him at my back.

When we reach the first floor, he takes my hand. This startles me, and I look up at him.

“You really do look beautiful,” he says.

“Thank you.”

“And I really like your boots.”

The roughly spoken compliment sends a shiver down my spine—and a different kind of shiver though my girlie bits.