Life Before Damaged Vol. 8 (The Ferro Family) (6 page)

P
ete flops
down onto the grass, lying on his back, and stares at the sky. He seems lost in thought. We stay silent for a long time. After a little while, he pulls me to him, and I use his chest as a pillow. I'm in a daze, in that comfortable spot between wake and sleep. The steady beating of his heart lulls me into a relaxed contentment.

He shifts slightly under me, and I vaguely distinguish the sound of a paper bag being crumpled. He moans once, the way I did eating the gold pizza earlier. He moans again, but this time it almost sounds erotic. My mind drifts in and out, and I'm not quite sure if I'm dreaming or if Pete Ferro is actually moaning under me.

“This, is amazing” he says, his voice husky and heavy.

“Uh-huh,” I breathe.

“No, really, Gina, this cookie is amazing. I’m so glad you were willing to share it with me. No wonder you love these—they’re orgasmic.”

Uh... I open my eyes and push myself up. He's eating my macadamia nut cookie. It's the only one in the bag, and now it's stuck between Pete's perfect lips. His crooked smirk is back, along with that damned dimple, and a sparkle in his beautiful eyes.

I reach down to grab it from his mouth, but one of his hands grabs my wrist, firmly. “Don’t. You. Dare.”

He waggles his eyebrows.

I reach again with my other hand, but he catches my wrist. My body twists to the side, both wrists clasped in his grasp, and I try to wriggle my way free, but it’s useless. I don’t have a choice. If I want that cookie, I have to do it the sexy way.

I dip my head down, and my teeth grab hold of the cookie. I pull up, but the cookie won’t budge. He’s not letting it go. I bite off a chunk and straighten up. I make an erotic sound in the back of my throat as I swallow the bite.

I glance down with a victorious grin but falter. There’s still too much of that cookie trapped in between his lips, and I want more, so much more. I shift, to straddle his hips, and sit just below his stomach. Pete’s eyes widen in surprise, but he doesn't say anything because his mouth is occupied with the remainder of my cookie.

“You know, I kind of like that you can’t talk right now, Ferro. Makes you a lot more attractive. I think I may get you a gag for Christmas or maybe as a wedding gift. I wonder if they sell cookie gags.”

His lips quirk up and somehow, he manages to make the cookie drop further into his mouth, slowly disappearing just a little at a time.

“Oh, no you didn’t!”

His only response is to waggle his eyebrows cockily. I’ll have to wax those suckers off of him one night while he’s sleeping. I can see it now: undercover Jenny tiptoeing through Ferro mansion, hot wax in hand. She reaches Pete's rooms and finds him sleeping in bed.

Back to matters at hand—I want that cookie.

The next move will be tricky. There’s no way I’ll be able to retrieve the remaining bite without touching his lips at least a little bit, like a kiss. Like a meaningless stage kiss, only it’s not a kiss. Nope. Not a kiss. It’s a sly ninja move to save my macadamia nut goodness from the evil jaws of sexy death.

It’s a rescue mission. Save the cookies!

Yes, I can do this!

I look into Pete’s eyes and completely lose my nerve when massive knots start to form in the pit of my stomach. I can’t kiss him, not even a little bit. I’m over thinking it and it feels like I’m standing at the edge of a cold swimming pool, dreading to put my big toe in, fearing the cold sting. The longer I stall, the more I lose my courage.

Pete makes the decision for me. He tugs on my wrists and pulls me down toward him. It’s all about the cookie, Gina. It’s not about his lips. I’ll just take that last little bite and back off as quickly as I can. I part my lips and wrap them around the cookie. They gently touch his in a sweeping motion. He pushes the last little piece of the cookie into my mouth with his tongue, softly caressing my bottom lip in the process. Liquid heat shoots through every single cell in my body, and I gasp. I try to back away, but Pete keeps me close. His eyelids drop, and he starts kissing me lightly.

His kiss is tender and perfect, and I struggle to remember that this is his MO, his specialty. He’s the master player, making women swoon with a smile and a meticulously perfected kiss. I try not to kiss him back but, with the chewing and the swallowing, he thinks I’m returning it. He lets out a sigh, and his tongue strokes my bottom lip once more.

It breaks me. I can’t hold off any longer.

With the cookie long gone, I kiss him back, opening myself to him, and welcoming his kiss. I forget everything but the feel of his soft lips and the taste of his tongue as it dances with mine. I melt into him, and he places my hands on his shoulders before letting go of my wrists. With one hand, he cradles my head, twisting my hair in between his fingers, while his other hand goes to my back, pressing me firmly against him.

God, I’ve missed this. I’ve missed him. The first time Pete kissed me, it felt like my first time, like I’d never been kissed before. This, right here, feels like coming home. Pete’s hands travel everywhere at once, down my shoulders, along my back. I feel safe once more in his embrace, which is exactly why I have alarms and bells clanging loudly in my head, telling me to stop this. I ignore them. It’s like being in the eye of a storm. Complete calm amidst the destructive chaos around me. I know that this will destroy me, but I let it happen because I'm too weak to stop it. I need it. I crave it.

I'm lost in his lips, and I don't want it to end. His mouth breaks away from mine as he lightly brushes kisses over my cheekbones, down my jaw, delicately caressing every part of my face. Our eyes meet briefly and something snaps. All tenderness is gone and replaced by something else, something all consuming. Our lips meet again in a deeper, more passionate connection where every sweep of his tongue against mine sends me into a whirlwind of sensual hopefulness. My body aches for him. His hands keep me close the entire time, as if afraid I might run away. My fingers play with his hair, tugging every once in a while, earning a couple of the sexiest groans I’ve ever heard to reverberate in my mouth. He grasps my hips and squeezes, pressing me down at the same time as he pushes his hips upwards. I gasp. The pressure feels so good. He hits that sweet spot down below, and I rock into him once.

"Oh, God! More." I moan shamelessly into his mouth, and he gives me more.

He presses his hips to mine again, growling my name into the kiss.

His hands travel up my body until they cup my face, allowing Pete to sever our connection gently. We're not just breathless; we're both panting. I press my forehead against his and try to catch my breath. Pete's face breaks into a lazy smile, his eyes still closed. His eyelashes flutter as if he’s slowly waking up from a deep sleep. He is truly beautiful beyond compare, like a sexy angel that fell from the sky.

Pete looks at peace, and I trace every perfect feature with the pads of my fingers. He turns his head to the side and opens his eyes. “There, that should do the trick, don't you think?”

“Huh?”

“Over there.” He nudges with his chin. “Paparazzi. Hopefully, this will appease my mother, and she can get off your back for a while.” Pete points to a bush where photographers shoot in our direction.

My heart beats once and then plummets so far, so fast that it makes me gasp for air. It was all an act? Damn it! Of course, why else would he kiss me like that?

Constance had us followed; Pete saw the photographers hiding, and he gave them what they wanted. It’s as simple as that, just like when he was holding my hands earlier. I knew this wasn’t real, not for him. It's not like it was real for me, either. We're friends. That’s all we are, and all we’ll ever be.

“Good plan." I force a plastic smile on my lips and hide everything else. "Thanks.” I push myself up, wanting some distance, but Pete holds me there, grasping my hips and pulling me down on his--disco stick!

“Wait, don’t move!” he says. I try to wriggle free but, he’s holding me too tightly.

“Relax, Pete. You can let me go. You’re wearing jeans. No one will see your ginormous boner.” Pete’s mirth filled eyes connect with mine. "Ginormous, huh? It's nice of you to notice, but that's not what I meant." He reaches for the paper bag next to us, takes another cookie and, before placing it in between his lips again, says, “Ready for round two?”

My brow lifts slightly as my lips part. What? Do I want to do this again? The kiss was perfect, but I feel like I’m drowning in lust and things that will never be. But those lips, and deep blue eyes.

I suck in air suddenly, not realizing that I stopped breathing.

My eyes dart to the side. No, I’m not ready for round two. Every time we kiss, it results in him taking a piece of my heart. I don’t know how many times I can do this before there’s nothing left. I have to keep him in the friend zone. I can’t do the casual, flirtatious kisses without any true feelings behind them, not with Pete. Still, I don’t want him to know what he does to me.

My mask is on, and my walls are up. I smirk at him and push off his lap in a playful way that nearly brushes a nipple across his cheek. I’m a tease in that moment, I’m someone else—someone who doesn’t care.

“Sorry, Pete. I don’t do chocolate chip. I'm not that kind of girl. I told you I was classy.”

I’m crouched in Pete’s face, ready to straighten when a couple of black crows whip past me. One pelts me in the head. I startle and fall onto Pete’s lap. I’m trapped by Pete’s thighs propped up behind me.

At the same time, Pete starts to thrash. The crows are swarming and pecking at his face. I let out a scream.

“Omigod! Omigod! Omigod!” I flap my hands like I’m one of the birds. The crows keep pecking away at Pete’s face and his arms flail like mad, trying to get the birds away.

Pete is mumbling something. He can’t talk because his mouth is full of cookie and crows. It sounds like “Gnff! Gnff!” It takes a minute, but then I put it together.

Oh, shit! He’s saying,
get off!

I manage to roll onto the grass, and Pete stands up, swatting the birds away. But the crows don’t leave. They stick around, pecking at the remains of the chocolate chip cookie Pete spat on the ground. The look on his face is priceless. I’ve seen Pete fight. I’ve even seen him up close when he has that angry look in his eyes, but nothing comes close to the venom he’s giving those crows.

I crawl over to the birds, shooing them away before he can commit birdicide. They take flight and Pete jumps, covering his head with his arms. It’s too much. I roll on the ground, laughing my ass off.

“Oh, my God! Pete Ferro! Scared of little birds! Tweet, tweet!” I howl in between laughs.

Pete doesn’t think it’s funny. He picks up our things, helps me up roughly and stomps off, pouting.

“Aw, Pete! Come back! They just wanted some of your loving too! Come on! Give a bird a cookie!” Pete flashes the middle finger at me, walking away in a huff. I have to run to catch up with him.

Every time a bird flies by, Pete jumps and covers his head, making me laugh even harder.

I
stare
at my phone's screen, sitting cross-legged on my bed, surrounded by open notebooks. How did my love life get so complicated?

I read Philip’s text message over and over again as if I'll see the answers if I just read it one more time.

It's been two weeks since my date with Pete. I haven't seen or heard from him since, except hearing his door slam when he comes home in the middle of the night and when he leaves early in the morning. I have no clue where he goes or what he does, and I'm not in any hurry to find out. Even the gossip rags and newspapers haven't mentioned anything about him lately.

Apart from our heated kiss in Central Park, I feel like I’m closing in on nunnery more and more every day. I think back on my talk with Pete, the one about having no regrets. I don't want to be unloved and untouched forever. Philip's invitation is tempting. I hate that we parted on such bad terms, and we did have a connection. He knows about Pete now, yet he still wants to see me and patch things up. Maybe I should give this a try.

The intercom buzzes and the butler’s voice rings throughout my room. “Miss Granz, there’s a Mister Anthony Cleary at the door for you. He seems to be inebriated. Should I let him in or escort him off the premises?”

Anthony? What is this, revenge of the exes? What the hell? I haven’t heard from him since my betrothal to Pete, and I have nothing to say to him. I am curious though why he’s here and inebriated this early in the morning--that's so unlike him.

I get up and walk to the intercom on the wall and click on the button. “I’ll be down to see him in the grand foyer, but you're staying close, just in case. Thank you.”

"Very good, ma'am," he replies, and I hear the intercom click off.

I quickly key in a reply to Philip’s text, drop the phone on the bed and head towards the mirror. My hair is a mess because that’s what studying for finals does to my ‘fro. I secure my hair on top of my head with a bandana and grab a sweater before I head out of my room. The heels of my oxfords click on the cold marble tiles.

Though my surroundings have become familiar, this place still feels cold and unwelcoming. My nightmares don’t help ease that feeling. I'm still waking up, out of breath, having sprinted down the frost covered halls of the Ferro mansion every night.

I make it to the top of the stairs and see Anthony pacing by the large wooden door in the grand foyer. The butler stands close by, keeping a non-threatening distance, hands clasped behind his back.

I clear my throat and make my way down the spiraling steps. Anthony sees me and runs toward the bottom of the stairs. The butler twitches, but I nod to him to stay where he is. Anthony isn’t a threat. He’s never passionate or brash about anything. He’s the human equivalent of porridge. Baby bear’s porridge. Not too cold, not too hot, just plain, boring, lukewarm porridge, with a smidgen of catnip. What did I ever see in him?

He looks awful. His hair is dirty and much too long, his face is unshaven, his eyes are bloodshot, and his clothes look like he’s been sleeping in a dumpster for the past week. And the smell! Drown a dead rat in beer, and let him stew in the sun for a day, and you still wouldn’t get close to the stench wafting off of Anthony.

“Anthony?” I reach the bottom of the steps and cross the foyer toward him. This is not like him at all. He was always exceptionally clean, preppy, and put together. The man before me doesn’t match the person I used to know at all.

“Regina, it’s you!” He exhales my name as if I'm a mirage. I have to put my hands over my mouth and nose to block out the stench. Anthony holds out a filthy hand towards me, but I take a small step back. The butler moves in a bit closer, but not enough to be intimidating. Anthony sees that his every move is being watched and lowers his hand, backing away from me.

“What are you doing here and what happened to you?” He was a dick, but I can’t help but feel empathy for the broken man in front of me.

“I was told you live here now. I needed to talk to you. I don’t understand what happened, baby. I was hoping you could tell me. One moment we’re engaged, and I’m on my way to becoming a doctor, working for your dad, and being the luckiest shit on the planet. The next moment, I’m being served legal documents explaining the end of our engagement and how I’m to stay away from you. I was told if I tried to contact you, I’d get hit with a restraining order. Your father fired me, and the school took away my Granz scholarship. I can’t pay for med school, Regina. I was so close! My work is done, but they won’t give me my diploma because I still owe them money.”

The more Anthony talks, the more I feel myself unraveling, guilt pulling me down again. I thought I fixed everything by accepting Constance’s offer, but in solving my problem, I’ve caused one for Anthony. I’ve done this to him.

No, he did this to himself, Gina. Stop taking the blame for everything.

The new me tries to take a stand, determined to push through and fight for herself, instead of being walked on and used. I let her take over. “Anthony, we were never engaged. You never proposed. You cheated on me the day before my father ordered me to marry you and had no qualms living with a lie or marrying me under false pretenses. You only wanted to pretend we were fine because it was to your advantage. You used and deceived me. I’m sorry for your financial situation, but I wouldn't help you even if I could.”

“Is that what this is about, Regina? Dammit, it was just sex! It didn't mean anything. I love you, and that means everything! I’m sorry I cheated on you, okay? I was confused and under a lot of stress. It was stupid, and I won’t ever do that to you again. Is that what you want me to say? How can I make it up to you? Please take me back! You have to take me back!” He’s begging, desperate to regain his former life.

My hand grips the iron railing tightly enough to hurt, but my words are soft and controlled. "You never loved me. You hardly even cared for me. You didn't even want to touch me, Anthony. Do you know how much that hurt? How much it still hurts? You wanted my money and my connections so badly you forced yourself to share a bed with me. You weren't in love with me, you were repulsed by me, and now I'm repulsed by you. I won't take you back, not now or ever. Goodbye, Anthony.”

I nod to the Ferros' butler, a silent request for him to escort Anthony out. I turn around to climb the steps to my room. I don't want him to see my unshed tears; I don't want him to think they're for him. They aren't. Months of rejection have taken their toll, and I yearn to have someone who wants me for a change.

Suddenly, I feel a firm hand on my shoulder, pulling me back. “No! You have to take me back.” Anthony’s voice is desperate. The pain in his voice is too much. I can't crush another human being's spirit.

I want to answer him kindly, tell him it's not too late for him to turn his life around, but his hand is ripped away from my shoulder before I get a chance to speak.

“Get your fucking hands off of her, you worthless lowlife piece of shit!”

That voice. That angry, hate-filled voice echoes, booming around the grand foyer, promising nothing but pain and bloodshed.