Page 106 of Easy Out

“I don’t need your tricks and schemes to get a girl. It’s called having a fucking personality.”

“Where are you going to find one of those?” I ask. Marco rolls on his side laughing. Hart silently laughs beside me. Even Enzo has the faintest smirk on his face.

“Oh my God,” Marco says in between chuckles. I didn’t think it was that funny. “She got you good bro. I knew I liked you, Lauren.”

“I have a personality.”

“Not a good one,” Hart counters.”

“You’re one to talk.” Hart tenses. I squeeze his thigh where my hand has been resting.

“I happen to love Hart’s personality.” I tilt my head back and kiss his jawline. Hart smirks back at Enzo. He makes it seem like it doesn’t matter what anyone thinks about him because he has me and I’m the only vote that counts.

The conversation drops as the guys focus on the football game. The Blazers’ new cornerback, Nick something, got an interception that put the team even further ahead.

Over the next couple of hours we chat, joke around, and sometimes we just sit in silence. I don’t know how it happened, but I think somewhere in the last two hours I became friends with Enzo and Marco.

I wasn’t sure about Enzo with his aggressive nature. I’ve realized he’s a lot like Hart. He hides the softer side of him underneath his rough exterior.

When we sit down for dinner, everyone is happy and laughing. It could be the company or maybe it’s because we’re all a little buzzed from Sylvie’s sangria. Either way, I like it.

The weirdness of being around Professor Morelli has worn off. He’s now just Enzo and Marco’s dad and a close family friend of the Harts.

We talk about the football game and the guy’s upcoming baseball season. Hart brags about what I’m doing with the kids. I want to hide away from the attention. I’m not used to the spotlight being on me like this.

It’s one thing to step into center stage and dance with a persona. It’s completely different to be sitting around a table with people you want to impress. I haven’t forgotten that I still need a letter of recommendation from Morelli.

After everyone is finished eating, I help Sylvie clear plates and get everything out for dessert. I’m not sure how anyone has room. I’m stuffed to the gills. I did spy some kind of chocolate pie that I think I can make room for.

It also isn’t Thanksgiving without a slice of my mom’s famous dessert. I missed having it all the years I was in foster care. A frozen pie from the food bank wasn’t the same as the homemade version my mom would whip up.

Nothing was the same without my mom.

“Lauren what kind of pie is this again?” Sylvie asks as she places the pie I baked on the table.

“Pumpkin and apple.” Professor Morelli and I answer at the same time.

“It’s my mom’s recipe,” I say warily.

“Gemma never could pick a favorite flavor.”

“How do you know my mom’s name?” My eyes dart around the table to see if anyone else is shocked by him saying her name. It seems I’m the only one caught off guard.

“What’s going on? Why is everyone so quiet? Hart?” I look at my boyfriend who is seconds from either punching a wall or whisking me out of the room. “Someone better start talking.” I turn back to Morelli. “I’ll ask again. How do you know my mom’s name?”

“I met your mom over twenty years ago at a little diner in Seattle.” I can’t breathe. This can’t be right. He has to be confusing her with someone else. “I was so distracted by my work I didn’t even look up at her when she greeted my table.

“When Gemma came back with my coffee, she held it hostage until I made eye contact. Your mother was one of the most beautiful women I’ve ever seen.” He looks at his wife and offers her a gentle smile which she returns.

Victoria knows about my mom too? And whatever relationship she had with Morelli?

“She was a spitfire, but so kind. Gemma was easy to love.”

Why is he talking about her like this? He’s married. Hart places a palm on my leg to stop it from bouncing.

Everyone at the table watches me intently. Are they waiting for me to run? To scream? I’m close to both. My professor was in love with my mom? What does it have to do with me?

“I was on assignment in Seattle for six months and well, one thing led to another.”

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