Page 101 of My Infatuation with Isabella

“I’m not sure that’s a good id?”

The rest of the word is smothered by my mouth, but I understand why she thinks it’s a bad idea. This kiss moves from mild to scorching in mere seconds. I pull her closer with one hand while the other threads into her hair. Most couples greet with a kiss when they see each other, a quick peck to say hi, but a few things stop this kiss from being one of those. I haven’t seen her since date number three last weekend, and it may have only been a few days ago, but I am insatiable when it comes to her.

So, when her lips part, my tongue immediately slides between them, then she lets out this husky little moan, and my arm coils tighter around her. She bites my lip and I lift her onto the table. She spreads her legs and I move my hips between them. She rakes her nails down my back and I undo her robe. The speed at which we get to dry-humping each other on her kitchen table is astounding. It’s only when my hand moves up to cup her breast that I realize we’re getting carried away.

I take a step back. “That was about thirty seconds, so if we have to continue at the same pace, by my calculations, we’ll be naked in another thirty, so...we need to stop.”

“Mmm...” she reluctantly agrees.

She seductively runs her tongue over her lips just to elicit another jump from my cock, and she smiles when she looks down and gets exactly that reaction. Beneath her robe, she’s wearing a matching satin pink pajama set with lace trimmings along the curves of her breasts, and that material does nothing to hide her hardened nipples.

“You’re evil,” I say with a slightly aggravated huff.

“So you keep telling me.” She hops off the table and adjusts her robe as she watches me unpack the groceries. “So, what are we having for dinner?”

“Shrimp pasta.”

She peers inside one of the containers. “Is this, like...pasta dough? Isn’t that a lot of work? Why not just get the packet stuff?”

My head snaps to look at her and I’m somewhat offended by that statement. “Non è vera pasta.”

A wide smile beams on her face. “Well, look what I just added to my bucket of swoon. I didn’t know you can speak Italian.”

“Just a few phrases. I’m not fluent. That’s just something my gran always says. It means that’s not real pasta. Do me a favor and never say something like that in front of my family. Packet pasta?” I shake my head with disgust. “They’ll forbid me from ever seeing you again.”

I make myself at home in her kitchen, rummaging through her drawers and cupboards to find pans, cutlery, and a chopping board. I chop the onions and tomatoes and get everything ready. The key to any good dish is to use fresh ingredients as much as possible.

“You take this so seriously,” she says, a hint of mirth in her voice.

I lift her to sit on the counter beside the stove and pluck a kiss on her lips. “There’s a lot of pressure. I have to impress you so that you’ll keep letting me do this.”

She rolls her eyes and snorts. “This is why I told Dana that your cheese is my Kryptonite. It makes me so weak.”

I melt butter in a skillet and begin frying the shrimp that I’ve already pre-seasoned with Cajun pepper, cayenne pepper, and garlic powder. “Don’t speak to my sister about me. That’s just...not a topic of discussion I want between the two of you.”

“She said the same thing. That smells amazing, by the way.”

Based on the discussions with my parents earlier, I know I have to stop being so overprotective, but I just have to know. Not just to make sure my sister was okay, but also to give me peace of mind that Bella will be safe if they decide to go out again. “So...everything went okay today? You and Dana had fun?”

“Yeah, I love hanging out with her.”

“And she was...fine? The whole time? She didn’t?”

“Relax, De Lorenzo.” She reaches out to run a soothing hand over my shoulder. “We were fine. She got a bit nervous when this guy came up to us, trying to convince us to buy this miracle carpet cleaner. As soon as he left, I told her she could drive us back to the restaurant so she could be nervous about something else, and she forgot all about it.”

That’s the kind of peace of mind I was looking for and I should’ve known that Isabella would’ve found a way to distract her and keep her fully grounded in the moment.

“She takes a bit of getting used to, though,” she continues. “I don’t understand why your whole family makes an active effort tonotlaugh. All of you are so hard to read. And then to couple that with the somewhat abrasive sense of humor all of you have...it’s weird. Don’t you think it’s weird?”

“I guess it is.” I remove the shrimp from the skillet then melt more butter to sauté onions, tomatoes, and garlic, adding pepper flakes and more Cajun spice. “So, when Dana was in boardi?” The lie is so ingrained in me that it comes out naturally, and I have to stop and think about it before I continue. “I mean...living at the institution, it was...an adjustment. It was hard on my parents. It was hard on her because she was only coming home every eight weeks, so there was always this heavy tension in the house whenever she visited. We were all dreading the end of the weekend when she had to go back. Uh...” I clear my throat, focusing on the onions as a distraction from the uneasiness building inside me. Fran knew about everything that happened without me telling her, so I’ve never opened up about this stuff, and I didn’t realize how hard it is to talk about. “One Saturday night, we were eating dinner and Dana said something stupid and my mother laughed, and it shocked everyone. She covered her mouth and pretended like it never happened. Dana got so upset, tossed her fork on the table, and said:You cry all the time, but you won’t laugh? You know, you guys don’t have to be sad all the time because of me.”

Bella doesn’t know the full story, so I can see by the look on her face that she’s trying to make sense of everything with the little information she knows. “Did you guys feel guilty...about being happy?”

“Yeah...to a large extent. After what she went through, it just didn’t feel right to have these random moments of happiness. My mother apologized, but Dana kept insisting that it was okay to laugh and when my mom still refused, Dana said:Fine, then that will be a new rule. None of you are allowed to cry...or laugh. Ever...even if I do this.”

“What did she do?” Bella asks, anticipation in her small giggle. “I bet it was something epic.”

“She then proceeded to take a handful of penne from her plate, and she just dumped it on her head. My dad started to waver, but my mom stayed strong. Dana decided to up the ante, and she cut slivers of mushrooms and stuck them on her eyebrows. At that point, I’ll admit, I was taking strain. My dad kept clearing his throat and pulling his lips in to control it. After that, she cut two small strips of pasta and pasted them near her nostrils like a mustache. Then she looked over at me, crossed her arms on the table like she was in a business meeting, and said:Penne for your thoughts.”

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