“Semantics. You love me.” I smile wider to piss him off more.
Chapter Twenty
I’m antsy. I haven’t seen Emilio since this morning, and he’s all I can think about. I have no idea where he is or what he’s doing. This is why I don’t like relationships. I don’t like being this person. The type consumed by someone else.
Who cares what he’s doing? So we had sex a few times? Really, really great sex. So he knows how to give orgasms? That doesn’t mean I need to spend every waking minute thinking about the man. Right?
I need to do something, anything. Get out of this apartment. I know it’s lame, but I don’t have a lot of friends I can just call to hang out with. I tend to stick to hanging out with my cousins or brothers. Both of whom I’d like to avoid for the time being. It’s always easier to hang out with them, because they know the drill. They know what our family does and why there might be scary men following us at times for security purposes.
Kevin is the exception. He doesn’t ask questions about my family, other than the details of my boyfriend’s dick. I smile.My boyfriend.Emilio didn’t correct me when I called him that this morning.
I sit on my sofa and flick through Netflix. Not being able to settle on anything to watch is frustrating. So I pick up my phone and call my mom, because I need to talk to someone to distract my mind from Emilio.
“Hey, sweetheart. How was Mexico?” Mom asks as soon as she answers my call.
“Good. Can you meet me for a drink? Dinner?”
“Of course. Where do you want to meet?”
“My place? I can order in,” I suggest.
“I’ll bring something,” Mom tells me. “Be there soon.”
“Thanks, Mom.”
“Anytime, sweetheart.”
Half an hour later, my mom is walking through my front door. I have two empty wineglasses on my counter waiting.
“Hey, thanks for coming.” I wrap my arms around her. Other than my dad, my mom gives the best hugs. Well, Emilio’s aren’t too shabby either.
Damn it, I’m not supposed to be thinking about him.
“If you call, I’ll always come, Frankie. Now, tell me what’s bothering you?” Mom walks into the kitchen and drops the two bags of takeaway onto the counter.
“Why does something have to be bothering me for me to want to have dinner with my mother?”
“There doesn’t, but I know you and I know something is bothering you, so what is it?” she asks. “Did something happen in Mexico?”
“Yes, damn Emilio,” I groan, open the fridge, and pull out the chilled white wine.
“What did he do?” Mom takes a seat on the stool at the counter.
“He made me cave. I slept with him,” I admit. “More than once.”
My mom’s smile is so wide and giddy anyone would think I just told her I was nominated for a Nobel Prize.
“Oh… My… Lord… Frankie Giuliani, finally. I’m so happy for you!” She squeals in a high-pitched tone. She jumps off her stool, rounds the counter, and throws her arms around my neck. Then she pulls back so she can look me in the eye. “Why aren’t you happy about this? Was he… not good?” she whispers.
“Mom?” I raise a brow and shake my head. “He’s fine.”
When she finally lets go of me, I open the bottle of wine and start filling the two glasses.
“The problem is I can’t stop thinking about him. Like right now, I want to know where he is and what he’s doing. I don’t care. I don’twantto care where he damn well is. I don’t want someone else to be taking up this much space in my head.”
Mom sits down on the stool again, taking the glass I offer her. “You’re in love, sweetheart. It’s completely normal.”
“How do I make it stop?” I ask her.