Catholic and really stacked, and she can cook a mean lasagna. What more could a full-blooded Italian man ask for?” Before I could answer, he rushed on, “Mama’s going to love her.”
“So you’re happy?”
“Does a werewolf shit in the woods?”
I thought of Viola and her mega-room mansion. “Don’t they use toilets like everyone else?”
“It’s an expression, for Chrissake.”
“An inaccurate expression. Werewolves are responsible, civil members of society.” That is, when there’s no full moon. Or raw meat. Or really hot alpha males nearby.
“Says who?”
“Me.”
“A bloodthirsty, murdering born vampire?”
“For the record, I am thirsty, but I can totally nosh on the cup of coffee in my hand rather than biting some poor, defenseless schmoe.”
“Yeah, right.”
“Aren’t we getting a little off the subject? I thought we were talking about Carmen and how wonderful she was.”
“She’s the shit.”
Relief swamped me, followed by a rush of hell, yeah!
I’d done it. I’d saved my ass—and my fangs—and matched up Vinnie Balducci. I was so going down in the Matchmaking Hall of Fame for this one.
That is, as long as the feeling went both ways.
The doubt wiggled its way into my head and I heard myself ask, “So, um, do you think she liked you, too?”
“Are you kidding? She winked at me every chance she got, and she even tried to play footsies with me under the table. It was all I could do to keep her from ripping my clothes off right there in the friggin’ restaurant.”
Hey, you couldn’t argue with footsies.
“I want to see her again,” Vinnie went on.
“No problem.” I rounded another corner and dodged a puddle of water. “I’ll give her a call and set something up. How about lunch? Tomorrow?”
“Dinner. Tonight.”
I glanced at my silver bangle watch and coffee dribbled down my arm. “But it’s already seven o’clock.” I juggled the cup to my opposite hand and shook away the warm liquid. “What if she’s already busy—” Click.
“Vinnie?”
“If you’d like to make a call, please hang up and dial…”
Great. Just great.
I hit the OFF button. Dread firebombed my stomach and my heart started to pound. I had no clue if Carmen was even home right now, much less if she wanted to do dinner like, now.
Then again, if things had gone that well, she was undoubtedly as anxious to see Vinnie as he was to see her. She could be sitting by the phone at that very second, just waiting for it to ring.
I searched for her number on my cell and hit TALK . Sure enough, she picked up during the first ring.
“Hey, Carm, it’s Lil.” I grinned. “A little birdie told me all about last night.”
“You mean the absolute worst two hours of my entire life?”
“Vinnie wants,” I started, but then her question registered and my words stalled. Absolute? Worst? Entire life?
“But I thought you guys hit it off?” I asked when I finally found my voice. I dodged another puddle of water, a homeless person, and then a fire hydrant. “Vinnie said you were winking at him.”
“My contact was folded.”
“What about the footsies?”
“I was wearing flip-flops. They kept slipping off and I had to chase them around under the table with my foot.” She blew out an exasperated breath. “I’ve never had a date that bad in my entire life.”
Don’t panic, I told myself. Do. Not. Panic.
It couldn’t have been all bad, right?
“You know,” I used my most professional Auntie-Lil-knows-what’s-best voice, “there are a lot of other factors that go into a date—other than the actual daters—that can ruin an otherwise wonderful experience.”
“You think?”
I stopped at a crosswalk. “I see it all the time. Vinnie might have been the perfect guy, but you just couldn’t recognize it because the overall dating experience wasn’t up to par. Maybe if we dissect last night piece by piece, we can figure out the real problem. First off, how was the
“So you’re happy?”
“Does a werewolf shit in the woods?”
I thought of Viola and her mega-room mansion. “Don’t they use toilets like everyone else?”
“It’s an expression, for Chrissake.”
“An inaccurate expression. Werewolves are responsible, civil members of society.” That is, when there’s no full moon. Or raw meat. Or really hot alpha males nearby.
“Says who?”
“Me.”
“A bloodthirsty, murdering born vampire?”
“For the record, I am thirsty, but I can totally nosh on the cup of coffee in my hand rather than biting some poor, defenseless schmoe.”
“Yeah, right.”
“Aren’t we getting a little off the subject? I thought we were talking about Carmen and how wonderful she was.”
“She’s the shit.”
Relief swamped me, followed by a rush of hell, yeah!
I’d done it. I’d saved my ass—and my fangs—and matched up Vinnie Balducci. I was so going down in the Matchmaking Hall of Fame for this one.
That is, as long as the feeling went both ways.
The doubt wiggled its way into my head and I heard myself ask, “So, um, do you think she liked you, too?”
“Are you kidding? She winked at me every chance she got, and she even tried to play footsies with me under the table. It was all I could do to keep her from ripping my clothes off right there in the friggin’ restaurant.”
Hey, you couldn’t argue with footsies.
“I want to see her again,” Vinnie went on.
“No problem.” I rounded another corner and dodged a puddle of water. “I’ll give her a call and set something up. How about lunch? Tomorrow?”
“Dinner. Tonight.”
I glanced at my silver bangle watch and coffee dribbled down my arm. “But it’s already seven o’clock.” I juggled the cup to my opposite hand and shook away the warm liquid. “What if she’s already busy—” Click.
“Vinnie?”
“If you’d like to make a call, please hang up and dial…”
Great. Just great.
I hit the OFF button. Dread firebombed my stomach and my heart started to pound. I had no clue if Carmen was even home right now, much less if she wanted to do dinner like, now.
Then again, if things had gone that well, she was undoubtedly as anxious to see Vinnie as he was to see her. She could be sitting by the phone at that very second, just waiting for it to ring.
I searched for her number on my cell and hit TALK . Sure enough, she picked up during the first ring.
“Hey, Carm, it’s Lil.” I grinned. “A little birdie told me all about last night.”
“You mean the absolute worst two hours of my entire life?”
“Vinnie wants,” I started, but then her question registered and my words stalled. Absolute? Worst? Entire life?
“But I thought you guys hit it off?” I asked when I finally found my voice. I dodged another puddle of water, a homeless person, and then a fire hydrant. “Vinnie said you were winking at him.”
“My contact was folded.”
“What about the footsies?”
“I was wearing flip-flops. They kept slipping off and I had to chase them around under the table with my foot.” She blew out an exasperated breath. “I’ve never had a date that bad in my entire life.”
Don’t panic, I told myself. Do. Not. Panic.
It couldn’t have been all bad, right?
“You know,” I used my most professional Auntie-Lil-knows-what’s-best voice, “there are a lot of other factors that go into a date—other than the actual daters—that can ruin an otherwise wonderful experience.”
“You think?”
I stopped at a crosswalk. “I see it all the time. Vinnie might have been the perfect guy, but you just couldn’t recognize it because the overall dating experience wasn’t up to par. Maybe if we dissect last night piece by piece, we can figure out the real problem. First off, how was the
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