Total pages in book: 101
Estimated words: 98321 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 492(@200wpm)___ 393(@250wpm)___ 328(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 98321 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 492(@200wpm)___ 393(@250wpm)___ 328(@300wpm)
I only realized what she’d done a few years later when I hooked up with one of her classmates, who professed pleasant surprise at the generous size of my package. When I asked her why she’d thought I might be anything less than well-endowed, she told me what Bianca had said.
I was still mad about it.
Bianca had been living in Chicago since college, but a couple years ago she’d moved back to Bellamy Creek and had picked up aggravating me right where she’d left off. She was an interior designer and liked to buy and flip houses on the side just like I did, and somehow she managed to outbid me on every listing we competed for, all while acting sweet as pie, like we were old pals.
We weren’t. I couldn’t stand her. She wasn’t a snotty little bookworm anymore, but she still knew exactly how to get under my skin.
Even more annoying?
She was fucking hot.
“What are you doing here?” I demanded.
“My family was here having dinner for my dad’s birthday. But our family functions are short and sweet because Grandma Vinnie is ninety-six. She starts to fall asleep after an hour or so.”
“Wow. Ninety-six.” I took a break from being annoyed to appreciate a long life.
“Yes. And hitched when she was twenty-one, had five kids before she was thirty, and was married to my Grandpa Jack for seventy years before he died. Which she loves to tell me every single time I see her, right before she asks why I’m still single.” Bianca took a sip of her wine.
“I’ve got some ideas on that.”
Beneath the table, she nudged my foot with hers. “So what’s with you? I thought I saw you with a date earlier. Either that or you were babysitting.”
I glared at her. “Funny.”
She grinned. “So who was she? Your girlfriend?”
“No. We broke up.”
Her eyes widened. “Oh. Sorry to hear that.”
“No, you’re not.”
“Enzo, this might come as a surprise to you, but I am not your enemy. I don’t even dislike you—much.”
“Oh yeah? Since when?”
She shrugged. “Since we’re not immature and awkward kids anymore, who didn’t know how to be friends with someone of the opposite sex?”
“Speak for yourself. I had plenty of friends who were girls.”
Her blue eyes gleamed in the candlelight. “True. You always were a ladies’ man.”
I rolled my eyes. “Whatever. I’m here alone, aren’t I?”
“Wait, are you expecting me to feel sorry for you? Like you couldn’t walk right out of here and pick up the next girl you see? There’s not a woman alive who can resist your charms, Enzo. Those dark eyes? That wavy hair? The Moretti swagger?”
“Apparently, I’ve lost my touch,” I muttered, pouring the rest of Reina’s Barolo in my glass.
She tipped her head to one side. “Eh, I doubt that. You weren’t really into that girl, anyway, were you?”
I shrugged. “She was okay.”
“You can do better.”
“Better isn’t the issue.”
“What’s the issue?”
“Fast.”
“Why?” She laughed. “Are you going to turn into a pumpkin at midnight?”
“No, I’m going to lose Moretti & Sons to my brother Pietro if I don’t get married before I’m thirty-five.”
Her jaw dropped. “Seriously?”
Instead of answering, I polished off the last few sips of Barolo and set down the glass with a clunk. “I need another drink. Something stronger.”
“Me too,” she said, finishing the wine in her glass.
I flagged Lara down, and we ordered cocktails—a dirty vodka martini for Bianca, and bourbon on the rocks for me. Once she’d brought them, I took a sip and studied the woman across from me. Was it the wine, or was she even cuter than the last time I’d seen her?
She had skin so fair she practically glowed in the dark, bright red hair that skimmed her shoulders and glinted with gold in the candlelight, blue eyes that never missed a trick behind black-framed glasses, and a wide, lush mouth painted fire-engine red. Her nose and ears were small—actually everything about her was small, and if I remembered correctly, she hated being teased about it.
“What?” she said, growing self-conscious under my stare. She touched her hair. “Why are you looking at me like that?”
“I’m wondering what your parents fed you that stunted your growth.”
Her crimson lips pursed and she sat up taller. “I am average height, thank you very much.”
“Average for what, a chipmunk?”
She took a sip of her martini and clucked her tongue. “Always so obsessed with size. What are we to make of that, Dr. Freud? Is he worried he doesn’t measure up?”
“Hey, that was you who started the rumor about the size of my—my stuff,” I said angrily, puffing out my chest. “Totally unfounded, I might add.”
“Okay, okay.” She set her glass down and held up her palms. “It’s time for me to apologize for that.”
“I’m not sure I accept,” I said stubbornly. “You can’t insult a guy’s manhood like that—without even seeing it—and just expect him to say it’s no big deal. You besmirched the family jewels.”