“Then why don’t you do us both a favor. Get me out of your system. Not tonight, since you already said no tonight, but meet me tomorrow. We’ll fuck until we’re good and satisfied, then we can both move on with our respective lives.”
Laughing a little, she takes another big gulp from her martini. “Men suck.”
“We don’t suck. We eat,” I tell her, leaning in to say it near her ear.
Her beautiful face flushes just slightly. “I don’t need to fuck you, Salvatore. I already know where that leads.”
“Where does it lead?” I ask her.
“Heartache,” she says, meeting my gaze. “At best. At worst, you wreck me.” Looking away from me and at her martini, she swiftly finishes it. “I don’t need that.”
I lost my smile about three words into that statement. I’ve never had a woman look me in the eye and say something so brutally honest before, but it gets me right in the gut.
What kind of asshole would want to wreck her?
I can also tell she really is about to bail on me.
“Let me buy you one more drink.”
But she shakes her head. “I agreed to one drink. I had one drink.”
“Francesca.” I reach across the bar, grabbing her hand. “Come on. You’ve barely told me anything about yourself.”
“I’ve told you all that’s relevant,” she responds, pulling her hand from mine and meeting my gaze.
“I want to know more,” I tell her, and I mean it.
“Well, you can’t always get what you want.” I’m surprised when she opens her own purse to pull out some money.
“You don’t have to pay,” I say, honestly confused.
She puts a twenty down and pushes it toward the bartender. “My treat,” she tells me. “No more cupcakes. It was nice meeting you, Salvatore.”
“Goddammit, Francesca.”
She doesn’t even pause, she just walks away from me like it’s the easiest thing she’s done in her life.
I sigh, hopping off the bar stool and chasing after her. “We brought my car.”
“I have a ride,” she tells me, not even looking back.
“Let me take you back to your car, at least.” I shoulder through people, trying to catch up to her. This woman is fucking infuriating, and I just want her to stop running so I can catch her.
I catch up, grabbing her arm and pulling her around to look at me. “Come on.”
She shakes her head, before I can say another word. “One sexless drink. That’s all I agreed to. I held up my end of the bargain.”
“I’ll come back to the bakery tomorrow.”
“Well, it’s closed tomorrow, so have fun with that.”
“Have dinner with me,” I request.
“How many times do I have to tell you ‘no’?” she asks, exasperated.
“I think you’ve reached your quota; switch over to ‘yes’ now.”
“Why?” she demands again, staring at me. “You’re Mr. Confident, right? Surely you can get a date easier than this.”
“Of course I can.” I’m not being cocky, just realistic, but who knows how she’ll take it. She seems inclined to think the worst of me. I guess I can’t really blame her. “But I want a date with you.”
“I think you only want what you can’t have,” she tells me, turning and heading out the exit door.
“Well, let me have you and we’ll see,” I shoot back, following her outside.
“I’ll pass, but thank you for your kind offer,” she tosses back over her shoulder. Then, stopping so abruptly I nearly crash into her, she turns around and flashes me a smile. “This was fun. It was nice meeting you. I hope you and my brother continue to not kill each other over stupid money that neither of you needs. Good night, Salvatore.”
I expect to have more time, but it turns out she’s already called for a ride, I guess, because a car pulls up and she wastes no time opening the door and hopping in. I have to see who’s driving, so I peer in. Dark-haired kid, barely out of high school. Definitely a Morelli by the look of him. She probably shouldn’t have called a Morelli to pick her up, especially since he looked right at me, but there’s not much I can do about that now.
I can’t believe I keep standing there, watching her car until it disappears from sight, but I do.
And as soon as it’s gone, I make the decision to go to the bakery again, just like I told her I would.
Chapter Three
“On a scale from one to ten, how crazy would it be to fuck Mateo Morelli’s little sister?”
My buddy, Mark, is sprawled on the opposite end of the sectional, watching reruns of Entourage on my big-screen television. I guess I am, too, but I’m not paying attention to the show. I’m thinking about getting Francesca Morelli a cell phone, and the kind of fun we can have with pictures and text messages. Maybe I can’t go see her at the bakery, but that doesn’t mean I can’t flirt with her by phone while I’m going about my day.