Page 4 of Married to the Mafia Devil

“It’s not your job to get everything straight in this world. You can’t stop your dad drinking. That’s up to him. And when Amelia’s ready to leave, she will. All you can do is be ready to help them both. You can’t sort everyone’s problems out. Let someone else take the slack sometimes, give yourself a break.”

She jumps to her feet as she spots someone over by New Releases. “Put that back, have you no shame? It’s as cliched as that cravat you’re wearing.” She turns back to me as the book is returned to the shelf. “I’ve got it. You can stay at my place.”

“No overnight guests, no subletting, remember?”

“How about we find somewhere together then? Finally try out all those lesbian fantasies I’ve been nurturing in my heaving bosom.”

I shake my head. “Tempting but where are we finding a place with space for you, your Mom, me, Dad, Amelia, and that bosom of yours, heaving or otherwise?”

She glances past me. “Hey, take a look outside.”

“I’ve seen New York before. I’m trying to mope here.”

“No, there’s a guy. He’s staring right at you.”

I look up, straight into burning dark eyes that are fixed on me. The owner of the eyes is Italian, enormous, and wearing a jet black suit. His jaw looks like it’s made of granite and he’s got cheekbones to die for.

People walk into the street to avoid him but no one dares ask him to move.

A shiver runs down my spine. My heart races out of control, a confusing mix of fear and an unfamiliar thrill. His gaze is stripping me naked, leaving me exposed and vulnerable.

I turn away, grabbing the nearest book and reading the back like it’s the most interesting thing in the world.

“You know him?” Pamela asks. “Because if you do, I want introducing right now.”

“Never seen him before in my life.” My heart does a little skip, an unfamiliar flutter as I glance his way again. He’s still staring at me. I get an image in my head of him ripping open my blouse, growling as he lifts me into his arms and plunges his tongue into my mouth.

“You want him?” Pamela asks as I turn back to the book, my face reddening. “Or can I jump on those bones?”

“You’re insatiable,” I reply, trying to ignore the flare of jealousy rising in my chest. “Be my guest.”

“Are you saying you wouldn’t?” She turns to look at me. “Still holding out for Mr. Right?” she teases gently. “What’s wrong with Mr. Right Now? Got to snap that V-card of yours in half sooner or later.”

“I’m happy with a vibrator and a book.” I glance his way again and the words suddenly feel like a lie. Wrapped up in arms like that, I’d feel so safe, like nothing could hurt me again.

Pamela nudges me. “Vibrator can’t cuddle you in bed afterward though, can it?”

“Mine can. I got the special edition. It even brings me coffee in the mornings.”

She laughs. “Some men are all right, you know? Last week I met this guy who didn’t think I meant Texas or wrestling when I asked if he’d heard of Austen.”

“I neither need nor want a man in my life. Even if I did, which I don’t, what kind of a catch am I?”

“You’re a very attractive woman. Neurotic but aren’t we all?”

“I’m a virgin with OCD, panic attacks, no job, and I’m about to be homeless. I’m sure they’re all lining up for a pop at me.”

“You’re intelligent, you love books, and you’ve got a great rack. Everything a growing boy needs.” She glances outside. “Hey, where’d he go?”

The sidewalk’s empty again. “I’m going to head home,” I say, getting to my feet. “Job applications aren’t going to write themselves.”

“Want to go for a drink tonight?” she asks. “What do you say? Commiserate the pain of unemployment with copious amounts of alcohol and regret?”

The thought of small talk and forced socializing sends a wave of anxiety through me. People bumping into me, the noise, the tables all misaligned. My idea of hell.

She spots the panic in my eyes. “Or I could bring a bottle and a pizza to yours and help you job hunt.”

“I’d love that.”

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