Page 45 of Books and Hookups

“Lucie, what are we? Are we two people in an uncomfortable situation who avoid each other because we don’t know how to navigate it, or are we neighbors and friends who could be more?”

“Could we be neighbors and friends who occasionally hook up while navigating an uncomfortable situation? Because an orgasm will help me sleep, and I navigate better when I’m well rested. I write better too.”

“You’re having a hard time writing your book?”

“Yeah. There’s not enoughtherethere yet, you know?”

“Therethere?” His dark eyebrows scrunched.

“I’m not done with my interviews. I need one or two big ones and a few regular people. People who’ve made a difference in their communities but who aren’t famous outside them. I want to show people that everyone can have a legacy.”

God, the way he listened to me, leaning in, eyes wide, taking in my words, my body language, everything. It was such a turn-on. I stepped closer. “So, want to come in?”

He pushed off the wall. “I don’t want to hook up. Not with you.” He stomped away, muttering something, but my pulse roared in my ears. Something sharp—shame, probably—lodged in my chest.

“Fuck you,” I muttered, “if you don’t think I’m good enough for a hookup.” I shoved my door open.

Heavy footsteps sounded behind me, and I turned. My breath caught at the smolder in his eyes. Had he changed his mind? Was he going to fuck me against the door again? I shivered.

“I don’t want a hookup, Lucie. I want a real relationship. One where we don’t play games or avoid each other. One where we act like grown-ups, like people who are going to be parents. Like people who genuinelylikeeach other. Because I genuinely like you.”

My mouth dropped open, but no words came out. His eyes blazed, and his jaw, I knew, would be hard as granite if I dared to touch it.

“Stop avoiding me, okay?”

I blinked. “I…okay.”

“Good.” He nodded once, then stalked toward the stairs. This time, I heard his heavy footsteps go all the way down to the first floor to Barb’s.

I closed my door. He genuinely liked me? Who the fuck said things like that?

Danny Carbone, that’s who.

16

For Christ’s Sake

The Tell-Tale Tart

Combine equal parts fresh orange juice, grapefruit juice, and lime juice in a pitcher. Add a splash of agave nectar. Pour over ice, then top with club soda. Garnish with a cherry.

DANNY

“Danny Carbone, is that you?” a white-haired lady asked as I set the pitcher of margaritas on their table. She’d just joined her friends who, I noticed, wore matching navy skirts and white blouses with a medallion pinned to the pocket.

“Sister Frances!” I said. She stood, and I hugged her.

“How long has it been?” She stepped back and scanned me from head to toe, lingering on my shoulder-length hair.

I pulled it back into a ponytail and secured it with the elastic on my wrist. “I graduated twelve years ago, so that long I guess.”

“It doesn’t seem possible,” she said. “Just the other day, you were the studious boy in my algebra class.”

She introduced me around the table to the sisters. They were all younger than Sister Frances. She stepped closer to me, and the women restarted their conversation. More quietly, she said, “I don’t suppose you ever made it to college?”

“Nah.” I ducked my head. “There wasn’t enough money for all five of us to go. Leo and I got jobs, but the younger ones all went. Giuliana is a physical therapist, Tony works at an insurance agency, and Elena is a computer programmer.” I straightened my shoulders.

“And what about your cousin Nico?” she asked. “I always worried about him, especially when…”

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