“Same to you.” I call out as he walks away with his son. Once they’re out of earshot I turn to Noah. “That was strange.” Noah just stares at me like I’m an idiot. “You can go with them. I’ll be totally okay at home. And I won’t go out dancing, I promise. Unless you wanted to have Marcus over. I’m fine with either.”

  “Uh, yeah, no. Marcus isn’t coming over. I’ll go up with them.” He replies shaking his head.

  I step forward and pull him into a hug, whisper shouting into his ear. “You did so great out there!”

  And what does the little jackass say?

  “Told ya.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

  ANGELO

  I shouldn’t be here.

  I keep telling myself that. I told myself that the whole way over, and yet, here I am. Walking up to the front door, I can’t help but notice that Noah’s truck isn’t in the driveway. Beth is home alone.

  I really shouldn’t be here.

  Ignoring all my good sense, I clench my hand into a fist and knock. In response, I hear a startled yelp. Followed by a round of barking. Oh good, I scared her. I lift my eyes to the heavens. Off to a great start, Ang.

  “Beth, it’s just me,” I say into the door. “Angelo.”

  No shit, it’s me. There better not be any other men knocking on her door at 10:00 on a Saturday night. Not that I’m going to overthink the jealousy that swirls in my gut at that thought.

  “Oh, um, coming!” She calls out.

  My hand stays fisted. What I wouldn’t give to hear her call those words under different circumstances.

  I hear her mumble something to the dogs as the locks click open and I take a step back, so I won’t be looming over her. I’m used to being the biggest person in the room. With a career in security, it’s always been an advantage. And with the way I’ve seen Beth look at me, I think it’s an advantage with her too. But I still don’t ever want her to feel intimidated by me.

  “Angelo?” Beth says my name like a question as the door swings open.

  “Hey…”

  Whatever words were going to come out of my mouth next, die in my throat. I’m literally rendered speechless by the siren in front of me. I’ve seen women in ballgowns who haven’t caught my attention like she does right now.

  Beth’s standing in front of me. Barefoot. Shorter than ever. Hair loose around her shoulders, skimming the tops of her breasts. Breasts that are barely held in place by a thin strappy tank top. With no bra. No fucking bra. A pair of matching dark blue sleep shorts leave her legs bare. She’d be freezing in her tiny-ass outfit if it weren’t for the large hoodie she’s wearing, unzipped, revealing her entire enticing form to me. A triple-XL hoodie to be exact. My hoodie.

  “This is a surprise,” Beth says, with a smile on her face. Her beautiful, rosy-cheeked face.

  Taking an extra second to really look at her, I see the signs. She’s been drinking.

  I really fucking shouldn’t be here.

  “Would you like to come in?” She asks, oblivious to my stunned silence.

  I need to go.

  “Yes.”

  I’m a jackass.

  Stepping through the front door, I take my eyes off Beth and allow myself a moment to chill the fuck out. Her monster dogs take a quick sniff of me, as I toe off my shoes, before wandering away. There’s a bowl of popcorn on the coffee table next to a mostly empty bottle of wine and a short juice glass that she’s using in lieu of a real wine glass. The TV is on pause.

  “Sorry to just stop by unannounced. I was in the neighborhood,” I lie. “Figured I would drop off your container.” Not a lie. I hold up the Tupperware she let me use to take my breakfast in, the only other time I’ve been inside this house.

  “Oh, thanks. You didn’t have to do that.” She says taking it from my hands.

  I shrug. “I was free.” I look back to the living room. “Am I interrupting? I can leave.”

  I should leave.

  Beth gives me a self-deprecating smile. “I’m not busy. You can come sit if you want.”

  I watch her turn away from me and walk to the couch. From the back, it looks like she’s naked under my sweatshirt. I follow her, but I don’t sit down. She only has the one couch and if I’m sitting that close to her, I’m going to do something that I should probably regret.

  “Popcorn?” She offers me as she sits cross-legged on the couch. Showing me way too much of her tempting legs.

  “No thanks.”

  She bites her lip. A habit I’ve noticed she only does when she’s uncomfortable. Shit. I’m making this weird. I stop pacing and sit on the couch opposite of her.

  “What’re you watching?”

  “EverAfter.” She looks down. “It’s a Cinderella story. And kind of my guilty pleasure.”

  “What do you mean?”

  Beth shrugs. “I watch it when I either want to feel good… Or cry.”

  Want to cry? This is why I’ll never understand women.

  Knowing I shouldn’t ask, I do anyways. “Which was it tonight?”

  Her gaze darts to me then away again. “The latter.”

  “Why?” I can’t help myself.

  Beth lets out a deep breath. “Don’t you ever just need to let it out? Like when you bottle up all these stupid, gross, ugly emotions and they just pile on top of each other. And you need to get them out. But every time they try to come out it’s just not the right time? Like if you get drugged but don’t have time to deal with it because your nephew is in the house and you can’t lose it in front of him. Or if you kiss…”

  She trails off, and I know exactly where she was going. If you kiss someone and start to cry, but you’re at work, so you can’t.

  Clearly there is more going on here than I realize. There’s more to Beth than even my background check was able to pull. And I’m probably the last man who should be trying to comfort a woman, but I need to know what made her so upset about that kiss. That kiss, that moment in her office, it was… fuck, it was intense. It was hot-as-hell. But it was not something that should leave a person in tears.

  My body leans towards her as I ask, “Why did our kiss make you cry?”

  She pinches her eyes shut.

  I know I should say something else. I should tell her that she doesn’t have to tell me. I should give her an out. But I don’t.

  With her eyes still closed, she answers. “It was the first kiss I’ve had since my boyfriend died.”

  Uh… What?

  Fucking Enzo. Motherfucking Enzo. Why the fuck wouldn’t he have told me this?

  Beth opens her eyes to reach for her glass of wine. She takes a long sip before she looks at me.

  “I just... I think I need to get this out. I need to say it out loud to someone. And I don’t have anyone to talk to, ya know? I mean, I have Noah, but this is… And Uncle Enzo is the only other person that knows everything. But he’s …”

  When she trails off, I place a hand on her knee. “You can talk to me, Beth.”

  She swallows, then nods. Then nods again.

  “I told you that Noah’s dad, my brother, died recently. It was a …” she pauses, seeming to think something over. “He died in a car accident. Just over three months ago. I was actually in my own car accident that night. My boyfriend was driving, and someone ran into us, hitting his side. It pushed us over an embankment.” She looks away. “The cops told me he died during the accident.”

  My chest feels tight. “Were you hurt?” I whisper.

  She takes another sip of wine and shrugs. “Some broken ribs. A concussion. Some other cuts. I was in the hospital when they came to tell me about my brother.”

  “Fuck.”

  She gives me an odd look. “You want to hear something to say fuck about. My brother never even told me he had a son.”

  My eyebrows go up. “Noah?”

  She huffs out a sad laugh. “Yeah. After the cop told me that Aaron was dead, she told me I’d be getting custody of Noah. And my reaction was who’s Noah. How about that, for fucked up?”

  I’ve never been at such a loss for words. I have a sickening suspicion that those accidents weren’t accidents at all. It would explain a lot. Why she’s here. Why she’s going by a different name. Why Uncle Enzo is involved . . .

  CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

  BETH

  I ’m just drunk enough that I can’t get myself to shut up. Angelo showed up at just the right, or wrong, time. I’ve been sitting here debating my next steps. And maybe this will push me enough to act. I just need to move on.

  I shake my head. “I’m getting off topic, sorry. We were talking about the kiss.”

  Angelo opens his mouth, then closes it. Honestly, I’m surprised he’s still here. Most guys would have bolted for the door already. But - I swear to god, if he tells me he regrets our kiss I am going to lose it. So, I don’t give him the chance.

  “The problem with death is that it robs you of closure. I know, I know . . . that sounds like it doesn’t make sense. But it does. Because Patrick’s dead, I can’t break up with him. I can’t tell him that I don’t want to be with him anymore. Because that was my plan. I was ready for us to be over; I just hadn’t gotten around to it. We weren’t that close. We dated for a year, but we weren’t in love. We didn’t even see each other that often. We just were. And now I can’t seem to move on without feeling this stupid, nauseating guilt.”

  I lean forward and grab the bottle of wine, pouring the rest of the contents into my glass, searching for the bravery to finally say out loud what has been bothering me for months.

  “And now that he’s dead, I can’t question him about how we met.” I take a large gulp of liquid courage. “He knew my brother, but I didn’t know that. I sure as hell didn’t know that they were friends. That they worked together. I found all that out after they both died. And I just can’t shake this feeling that none of it was real. And I can’t ask them if it was all fake. Was he just with me because my brother put him up to it? To keep an eye on me or something? Was it a set-up when I first met him at that coffee shop? The one I went to almost every day. Was our whole relationship completely fucking fake? And - if so, was he faithful to me? Did he even really like me?"

  “And if I didn’t love him? And if I was planning to break up with him? And if he was just with me to - I don’t know - watch me, does it even count as a relationship. And if all of that is true, do I need to feel this ugly guilt about moving on? How long do I have to wait?”

  I heave out a breath. I feel a little better just having said that out loud. I left plenty out, but I still feel better.

  “Beth …” Angelo sounds tortured.

  I wave him off. “It’s okay. I know, there’s nothing to really say to all of that. I just needed to let it out. And hopefully explain my reaction to our kiss. That really was an it’s not you, it’s me scenario.”

  “Yeah.” He drags a hand over the back of his head. “I can’t even pretend to understand how that would make you feel. I’m sorry that kissing me caused you this heartache.”

  I shake my head. “No. That’s not it. I needed that. And more. I just need to rip the band-aid off, so-to-speak.”

  Angelo’s brows furrow. “What do you mean?”

  I meet his eyes before answering. “Sex. I need to have sex.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

  ANGELO

  “U

  m, what?” There is no way that I heard her right.

  But she nods and continues as though I didn’t just swallow my tongue.

  “The more I think about it, the more sense it makes. I need to do it. Go all the way. Round all the bases. If I do this slowly, then at each and every step I’m going to have these awful little mental breakdowns. And I can’t deal with that.”

  “You want to have sex.” I repeat, slowly.

  “Yes. I’ll fuck the guilt out of my system.” She bends and picks up her phone from the coffee table. “I’ve been thinking about this for a while and it’s time. I downloaded just about every dating app I could find tonight. I was psyching myself up to create profiles when you knocked.”

  She unlocks her phone and hits an icon I recognize as a sleazy hookup app. A completely unwarranted jealous rage rolls through me.

  “No.” I snap, and grab the phone from her hands.

  “Hey!”

  She reaches to get her phone back, so I stand up and step away. “You’re not sleeping with some random asshole.”

  Her phone is still open, so I start deleting all her new apps.

  She turns in her seat to watch me walk into the kitchen.

  “Angelo, this isn’t your choice.”

  “The fuck it isn’t!” I growl, slamming cupboards as I open and close them.

  “I’m an adult -”

  I cut her off. “Oh, I know you are, baby. And if you want to get laid, you can fucking get laid. Right here. With me.”

  That shut her up.

  I open the cupboard above the fridge and find what I’m looking for. Pulling out a bottle of Jack, I snag a random coffee mug from another shelf and pour a shot’s worth.

  Throwing it back, I swallow and level my gaze across the room at Beth. “You’re not going out there so some perverted stranger can get a taste of your pussy. No.” I pour another shot and tip it back. “You can ride my dick, get it out of your system.”

  I clench my teeth, pouring another round.

  I’m pissed. Really fucking pissed that she thinks she could get away with this shit. I will rip the limbs off any man that tries to touch my fucking woman.

  Beth’s angry tone matches my own. “If you have to be drunk to fuck me, then you can leave right now!”

  Her eyes are narrowed, her cheeks red, and she’s pointing at the door.

  I throw my head back and laugh.

  CHAPTER THIRTY

  BETH

  T his motherfucker is laughing at me.

  I let out my own growl. “I won’t be your drunk pity fuck. Take your tiny dick and leave!”

  Angelo has an infuriating smirk on his face as he slowly pours himself another shot. “This isn’t gonna be a pity fuck. And I don’t need to be drunk, doc. But you’ve been drinking and I’m stone cold sober and I’ll feel like an asshole if we aren’t both at least a little drunk.” He sets down the bottle. “Finish your wine.”

  I look at the glass still in my hand. “Why?”

  “Because it sounds like you haven’t fucked in a long time. I’m a big guy. You’re a little woman. I don’t want to hurt you, baby girl, and a little alcohol will help to loosen you up.”

  My mouth drops open.

  If he’s not serious about having a big dick, I’m gonna kill him, because his words have me halfway to a climax.

  I hold up my glass. “Cheers, big guy.”

  His eyes heat as he tips his mug back for a final time. I’m not one for slamming wine, so I take a slow sip as I watch Angelo stalk across the room towards me. I turn, keeping him in my sights. He stops in front of the couch, using a foot to shove my coffee table aside before he takes the glass from my hand and sets it down.

  I start to stand, thinking we’ll go to my bedroom, but Angelo places a hand against my chest and shoves me back down to sitting. At this height, I’m staring straight at the bulge in the front of his pants. An exceptionally large bulge. My fingers itch to touch him, but - before I can - he drops to his knees. His large hand grips the back of my neck, pulling me forward until my lips touch his. The hand on my neck shifts up, fisting into the hair at the base of my neck, tugging hard enough to make me moan.

  When my mouth opens, he sweeps his tongue in, tasting like whiskey and man. My hands reach out for his chest. Running up and down the planes of muscles.

  When his mouth leaves mine to trail kisses along my jaw, I tip my head back and arch my body towards his. The hand not in my hair, encircles my throat, then slides straight down my chest. His fingers grip the top edge of my tank top, and he pulls down until both my breasts spill out.

  The groan that Angelo releases, as he closes his lips around one of my nipples, has me begging.

  “Angelo. Please.”

  His mouth doesn’t stop, but his hands drop to my hips. Using his shoulders as leverage, I lift my ass up and he pulls my shorts down.

  I tug on his hair. “Shirt. Take off your shirt.”

  Angelo lightly bites my nipple before his mouth releases, and he sits back. His eyes lock on my exposed sex. I’d close my legs to hide myself, but I can’t. His hips are wedged between my knees.

  With one swift movement, Angelo’s shirt is off.

  Mesmerized, my hands reach out to finally get skin-on-skin contact. His muscles and coarse hair feel divine under my fingertips. At my touch, his shoulders bunch and his biceps flex. The size of them even more astounding up close. I’m too distracted, so I don’t see his hands reach out for me. I don’t feel his hands on my hips. I don’t notice his grip on me until he pulls me forward. Only stopping when I’m sitting on the edge of the cushion.

  He puts a hand on the center of my chest and presses again. I tip back, reclined, splayed out . . . for Angelo.

  I expect him to undo his pants next. I expect him to move on to the fucking me part. I stare down the length of my body, waiting to finally see what he’s hiding behind those jeans. But he doesn’t move his hands to his fly. He brings them between my thighs.

  “Eyes right here, baby.” Angelo rumbles, pointing to his face.

  I remind myself to breathe and lock my eyes on his. Then he starts to lower himself.

  “Oh my god,” I whisper. He’s going to … I gasp when he flattens his tongue and licks the length of my pussy. “Oh my god.”

  My brain is shorting out. It’s been so long since a man has done this to me. So long that I’ve forgotten how it feels. My eyes go back and forth between watching his mouth work between my legs and holding his gaze. Because he hasn’t stopped watching me watch him.

  I’m dripping wet. I’m about to come. And he just started.

  “Angelo. I’m so close.” I pant.