Part 6 (1/2)
”Oh, to have been a fly on the wall.”
”Yeah, well, Nick was. He must have exceptional hearing, because he repeated several parts of our conversation verbatim.” Rosalie slid the top drawer of her desk open and searched for something to stop the banging in her head. Rubbing wasn't cutting it.
Gina padded out of the office and returned with a bottle of water and a handful of pills.
One look at Gina told Rosalie the inquisition was not over. ”Cyanide?”
”You wish.” Gina handed Rosalie the medication.
”I hate pills. I already took three. They didn't help.”
”This is aspirin mixed with caffeine-it's the perfect hangover remedy.”
Rosalie popped them in her mouth and swallowed a half-bottle of water. ”Thanks.”
”So, what does this Nick look like?”
”He's a big, tall, Italian, Jude Law with the same blue eyes, a phenomenal chest, and an incredible a.s.s.”
”Sounds like he's got the physical attraction part of the love equation covered. How about personality and intellect? Is he dumb or something?”
”No. He's smart and funny. I had a nice time.”
”As evidenced by your whisker burn. I hope you're not on the rebound.”
”How can I be on the rebound, when I was never bound in the first place?”
Gina slid forward in her seat with her toes planted firmly on the floor, ready to take off at any moment. With her little body erect, she looked like all she needed was the countdown. Ten, nine, eight... Rosalie knew it was time to take cover.
”Are you sure he's single? Did you check for the telltale wedding ring tan line?”
”He took me to his cousin Vinny's restaurant. He wouldn't do that if he were married.”
”Where does he live?”
Rosalie shrugged. ”I never asked.”
”You didn't ask. Okay, what's Nick's last name? You did ask his name, didn't you?”
”I forget. Maybe DiNicola. That's his cousin's last name, I think.”
”You slept with a man, and you don't even know his last name?”
”I didn't sleep with him. He slept on my couch.”
”Semantics-he could have been a mad rapist.”
”Oh, and knowing his last name would have been a big help if he were.”
Gina stood and wiggled into her shoes. s.h.i.+t, she was going to pace. Rosalie hated when she did that. And she was off... hand on hip, she strutted back and forth in front of Rosalie's desk, her back slightly arched, making her miniature JLo b.u.t.t stick out more than usual.
”Rosalie, you're too d.a.m.n trusting. Have I taught you nothing? Haven't I told you about all those nice girls Sam's pulled out of the East River?”
Rosalie didn't follow Gina's double-time march. She couldn't muster enough energy to move her eyeb.a.l.l.s.
”Gina, ever since your sister married a homicide detective, you've been obsessed with murder. I'm not an idiot I'm careful. I met him at the restaurant, and I know he's the service manager at Romeo's.”
”How do you know he didn't slip something in your drink?”
”Leave it alone, Gina. Nick's a nice guy.”
”Fine, but don't blame me when you find out he's a married serial rapist with six kids living on Long Island.” She muttered something in Spanish and stormed out, slamming the door behind her.
Rosalie winced. Neither the conversation nor the slamming door had helped her hangover. d.a.m.n, she felt like s.h.i.+t.
Nick sat in the Mustang parked across the street from Rosalie's under the wash of a streetlight, missing his Viper. He killed the engine and wondered if a night with Rosalie was such a good idea. Sure, she said she wasn't interested in a relations.h.i.+p, and on the surface, she seemed like the perfect playmate-for lack of a better term. But women always said what he wanted to hear in the beginning. The only difference was that Rosalie had said it first. Strange.
Something nagged at him in the deepest recess of his mind, yet he couldn't get a grip on it. It was a sense of antic.i.p.ation, but not the same antic.i.p.ation he felt about taking over another dealers.h.i.+p or seeing the preliminary PLs. This was more turbulent, nervous. The thought of being nervous astonished him.
Something about Rosalie was different, or maybe it was that he felt different when he was with her. He wasn't used to not knowing his own mind, and he didn't like it. It might take time, but he'd figure it out. He always did.
He scrubbed his hands over his face and got out of the 'stang. At least he was comfortable in his clothes. Being someone else meant he no longer had to live up to his image or his status. It felt great to be out of a suit and tie. He pulled the sleeves of his Henley down and shrugged on his old leather jacket before skipping up the steps of Rosalie's brownstone. He rang her apartment, and she buzzed him in.
”Door's open. Come on up.”
What was she thinking, not even asking who it was- and then leaving her door open? Nick pushed his way past the guy getting mail out of his box, strode down the hall, and slipped into her apartment, determined to give her a lecture on safety.
”What are you-”
Dave barked and jumped, slamming Nick against the closed door. The dog's beefy paws knocked the air out of Nick with a whoosh, and he struggled for his next breath.
”Oh, sorry, Nick.” Rosalie rushed to the door, grabbed Dave by the collar, and yanked. ”Down, Dave. You remember Nick, don't you, boy? He fed you your num-mies this morning.”
d.a.m.n, she looked good. She had on a lipstick-red, wraparound sweater that his fingers itched to untie, over some kind of satin and lace lingerie top that skimmed her hips and brought to mind sweaty s.e.x and the sound of ripping fabric. Her black jeans made her legs look long and hot as a summer day. Pink polished toenails peeked out beneath the hems of her jeans. Nick cleared his throat.
”Hi.”
She smiled, and he fought the urge to grab her and kiss her like he'd been thinking of doing all d.a.m.n day. He couldn't do that. It would look as if it was natural to want to kiss her. Which, he guessed it was for other guys, just not for him. He hadn't had the urge to kiss his other girlfriends when he saw them, though they usually kissed him. He'd never understood it. They'd put on all that d.a.m.n lipstick, and then they'd kiss him. He always ended up wiping the stuff off his face and hoping he got it all. Rosalie had painted her mouth to match her sweater, all red and glossy, and for the first time, wiping off lipstick didn't seem like that big a deal.
He'd wanted to kiss Rosalie the first time he set eyes on her and every time after that-even that morning, when she'd looked green. She didn't look green now. Her dark eyes were sparkling, an improvement on the bloodshot looks she'd thrown him earlier. Her curly hair was s.e.xy and tousled, the same as that morning, when he awoke to find her staring at him. The sight of her in nothing but a nights.h.i.+rt had him thinking of little else all day. Well, that and the memory of how she looked out of the nights.h.i.+rt.
”Hi.” Nick was staring at her. What was she supposed to do? Kiss him? No. That'd be too much of a ”Hi, honey, welcome home” moment, and Rosalie didn't want to give him any ideas. The sound of stainless steel being kicked-Dave's way of saying, ”Hurry the h.e.l.l up, I'm hungry”-broke the silence. You'd think Nick would have said something. Maybe he was struggling with the same dilemma-to kiss or not to kiss. It was time for her to make a quick exit and regroup.
”Um, I'll go feed Dave, and then we can leave.”
”There's no rush.”
She pushed her hair back and walked barefoot to the alcove/mudroom behind the kitchen. She should have straightened up the apartment, or at least, put away the d.a.m.n box of tampons sitting on top of a pile on the buffet, but she hadn't had time. She'd had less than an hour to change out of her work clothes. As it was, she'd gone through a dozen outfits, because he hadn't told her what they were doing or where they were going. Come to think of it, he hadn't even asked her out. He'd taken the lie she told her mother and held her to it.
”Make yourself at home. I'll only be a minute.” Rosalie walked away, knowing he was watching her. The hair on the back of her neck stood up. She hated that, especially since she didn't know if her jeans made her b.u.t.t look big. The one day she really needed them, her personal fas.h.i.+onistas, Wayne and Henry, were both unavailable for consultation.