Page 65 of The Holiday Hate-Off
“You’re being rude,” I say hotly, feeling a flush rise into my cheeks. He’s right, though. I haven’t spoken with anyone at Hidden Italy. I felt self-conscious about trying to go over there after Nonna Francesca’s ban, but the real reason was that I hadn’t wanted to run into him. “We’re trying to have a private conversation.”
He lifts his palms up. “Of course. I’ll entertain myself.”
And he actually does. He quietly studies his phone whileHudson and I exchange small talk about Hideaway Harbor, my classes, his work at the fire department, and his family.
The server reappears to set Enzo’s dish down in front of him, momentarily distracting me, and walks off to get ours. Then Hudson’s phone issues a loud beep. He pulls it out of his pocket and checks the screen, instantly swearing under his breath. “I’m so sorry, Lucy. I almost never get called in when I’m not on shift. I’ve got to go. I’ll settle up with the server, but can we do this again sometime?”
“Of course,” I say, wondering if he means it or if it’s part of the act. “I totally get it. I had a lot of fun tonight.” I mean it. He’s a nice guy with plenty to say, but if Eileen and Erica sensed even the slightest hint of flirtation between us, they’d probably send out wedding invitations.
Besides, there’s no real chemistry, no click. I can’t imagine him kissing me, let alone undressing me.
Not once did I feel like the restaurant had narrowed down to only the two of us.
Hudson and I both stand. I hug him, feeling nothing but a pleasant awareness of his very impressive strength, and he leaves after nodding to Enzo.
“Alone at last,” Enzo says as soon as he’s out of earshot. “You know, he wouldn’t be half bad for your random sex plan. He’s good-looking, nice enough, and he wouldn’t tell anyone. Too bad Erica’s his mother. She’d have you in a white dress before Christmas.”
Is he a mind reader, too?
“How do you know I haven’t already found someone for my devious plan?” I ask. “For all you know, I’ve already done it.”
We have a stare-off for several seconds, his dark, heavily lashed eyes making me squirm.
Finally, he says, “You haven’t.”
“That’s what you think.”
He grins at me. “Is my next line ‘I know you are, but what am I?’”
“Youdoact like a playground bully most of the time,” I retort.
His grin stretches wider. “There we go, the perfect segue. I know you are, but what am I?”
Damn it, I’m half tempted to laugh, but I hold it in. He doesn’t get to make me laugh. If using my vibrator while thinking of him would be a loss, then so would that.
“I’m getting my dinner to go,” I say tightly, annoyance making my blood hot. Yes, totally just annoyance.
He gets up and sits in the other chair at his table, placing him across from me, where he can look directly at me. “You’d prefer eating at home alone? I thought you loved downtown Hideaway Harbor.” He waves to the window and the view of the harbor stretched out in front of us. “This isn’t doing it for you, Lucia?”
“You keep calling me that, but you know my name’s Lucy.”
“In Italian it would be Lucia. You look like more of a Lucia to me.”
My body pulses with need, but I push it down, refusing to give in to that either. “You don’t get to choose my name.”
“You can give me a nickname, too, if you like.”
“Will you answer to asshole?”
He grins at me, a devastating smile that lights up his usually serious, broody face and makes him look like the devil himself, fashioned to lure a woman into sin. “If you call me that, yes, I believe I’d answer.”
His words travel through me like a shock wave, but I steel myself against them. “Why did you want to have dinner with me, anyway? We don’t like each other.”
“Who says I don’t like you? Maybe I’m just sour that you’re using my balls for target practice.”
“You’re the one who gave me the idea.”
“See.” He raises his eyebrows. “It’s not so bad, letting me be in control.”
