Made to Love (18 page)

And for the second time this morning, I
didn’t think, or overanalyze, or mentally weigh the pros and cons.   I just
went with it.

“It’s a date.”

Reagan

It was lunchtime before the anxiety hit me. 

Was I really going to cook dinner for Nathan,
at my apartment?  It shouldn’t really be a big deal.  I had spent just about
every night with Nathan this last week, so tonight shouldn’t be any different.

Except, it was different.  Everything about
it was different.  I had reached out, initiated intimate contact with him,
after my firm stance that we not venture beyond the friend zone.  And he had
done nothing but respect that.  It was I who had changed my own rules.  And now
I had opened the door on something we both had already admitted we wanted, but
something I was very much afraid of. 

There was a level of intimacy in having him
over to my apartment, especially after that kiss.  It was almost as if there
was this unspoken acknowledgement between us that tonight would officially
cement our leap from friends to something more.  No, we hadn’t talked about
it—we hadn’t spoken since he’d left my office that morning—but it was there.  
When a girl kisses a guy like that, and then invites him over to her place for
dinner, it was pretty much a given that certain things were expected—even I
knew that.  And I’d made a move; of course he was going to want to see where it
led.  I couldn’t very well back pedal and be all “Just kidding!  Let’s go back
to being friends” like some desperate freak off her bi-polar meds.  Nathan
wouldn’t be able to run away fast enough.

So, I kinda had to see this through.  And
that was scaring me.  What if he tried to hug me again?  What if I had another
panic attack like had happened when I’d been at his house and he was the one
cooking?  There was no place to hide should things go south.  Did this mean I
needed to have
the talk
?

Was I ready for that?

This is what I get for my impulsiveness. 

I picked up my phone and scrolled through my
contacts, hovering over Dr. Peter Walker.  Therapy had been a large part of my
life after coming to live with Helen, but in the last few years, had lessened
to a visit every few months or so.  I had been doing well, and would have
probably ceased going altogether had it not been for Helen and her fear of a
relapse.  Dr. Rowland’s office had recommended Dr. Walker here in New York once
they’d learned I was moving.  I hadn’t made an appointment since I’d been here,
but the stress and change that came with moving, as well as my recent bout of
panic attacks, made me think perhaps I needed to. 

I tossed my phone down with a sigh.  I didn’t
want to do this.  I didn’t want to be so messed up that I needed therapy to
just navigate a simple relationship with a man.  And I’d be damned if I was
going to sit and listen to a complete stranger tell me how my painful past was
preventing me from letting Nathan in, and agreeing to fully move forward into a
healthy, successful relationship.  Or that I had trust issues. 

I already knew all that. 

So really, it was time to move on to
something I
didn’t
know.  I didn’t know if I could handle a relationship
with Nathan.  I didn’t know if we had the potential to create something that
would last, or if we would crash and burn.  I didn’t know if I would ever be
able to let him put his arms around me the way I knew he wanted to. 

There was a lot about Nathan, and myself,
that I didn’t know.  But I was suddenly tired of living my life based on a
series of what if’s.  I wanted to live. .  .
feel
. . . and
be.  

So Nathan was coming over for dinner
tonight.  And yeah, probably looking to score. 

And I was going to let him.

I was distracted from the very real image of
Nathan, naked and throwing me on the kitchen table, when the very object of my
thoughts popped up on my screen.

NPreston:  Please don’t kill me.  I have
to head to Boston again tonight.  Can I get a raincheck on dinner?

I laughed.  I couldn’t help it.  Here I was,
giving myself the pep talk of the century, determined that I was going to give
in to what I’d been fighting for weeks, and Nathan cancels.  It was as if the
universe was laughing, saying “Yeah, right.  That’s what
you
thought!” 
It was just my luck. 

But Nathan was busy.  I understood that.  And
it wasn’t as if he was aware of my sudden epiphany.  I pushed my disappointment
aside.

RAndrews:  :( Yes, you can.  When will be
you be back?

NPreston:  Sunday, probably.  I’m sorry! 
Dinner when I get in?

RAndrews:  It’s okay!  Just means I have
more time to practice. Call me when

you get back.

NPreston:  Practice?  Should I be afraid?
;)

RAndrews:  We’ll know Sunday night, won’t
we?

I couldn’t wipe the ridiculous smile off my
face as I attempted to focus on work.  It wasn’t working.  All I wanted to do search
recipes on Pinterest and make grocery shopping lists in preparation for
Sunday.  The only people I had ever cooked for had been my siblings, Helen and
now, Brooke.  Certainly never a man.  This was, yet again, something entirely
new to me.  There was something wildly domesticated about it all, but I was
more excited to use it as the first step in my plan of seduction.  The way to a
man’s heart was through his stomach. . isn’t that how the saying went?

The idea of me seducing anyone, let alone
Nathan, was laughable.  But I had made a decision.  Not one based on rational
thought, but one based on desire, and emotion.  And I was feeling damned happy
with that decision, disappointment over tonight’s cancelled plans
notwithstanding. 

So laughable it might be, but I was going for
it.  Sunday could not get here fast enough.

NPreston:  Why wait til Sunday?  Come with
me.

Oh. My. God.

Go with him?  Surely he wasn’t serious.

My hands felt clammy as they hovered above my
keyboard.  Of course I had just been seriously plotting out my seduction plan,
but still.  Going from dinner and sex to a weekend out of town trip?  Where
would I stay?  Should I be getting my own hotel room?  What if Bailey, Isaac,
or god forbid, Roger Preston found out? 

Geez, Reagan.  What happened to just
living, and doing things because you wanted to?  Stop with the overanalyzing
already!

RAndrews:  Is that a good idea?

NPreston:  Best one I’ve had in a long
time.  Please?

NPreston:  Stop.  I know what you’re
doing.  Don’t overthink this.  Just say yes.

I smiled at my screen.  He already knew me so
well. 

RAndrews:  What about work?

NPreston:  What about it?

Really?

NPreston:  Don’t worry about that.  It’s
fine.

RAndrews:  Okay.  I think.  If you’re sure
. . .

NPreston:  Yes, I’m sure ;)  I have a late
meeting so I’ll pick you up at your place @ 7. 

NPreston:  And Reagan?  It’s okay.  Trust
me, baby ;)

The strange, surprising thing was, I did. 

“Nathan, what is this place?” I looked around
warily, questioning Nathan’s emphatic boast that Gino’s was truly the best pizza
to ever cross his lips.  We’d been on the road for just over an hour when he’d
pulled into a parking lot, that while full, appeared to be sitting in the
middle of an inner city gang war zone. 

He unbuckled his seat belt and laughed. 
“Scared?  Don’t be.  Everyone knows you don’t mess with Gino.  Besides,” he
added as he opened his door.  “I got you.”

His confidence did nothing to bolster mine,
and I may have held his arm and walked too close to him as we made our way
inside.  If the parking lot was any indication, Gino’s was seriously busy.

Nathan held open the door for me as I entered
the restaurant, immediately assailed with the aroma of tomato sauce, oregano
and garlic.  My stomach growled in response.  I hadn’t eaten since lunch at the
office and I was starving.

“Nathan!” 

I turned to see a short man coming our way,
shuffling through the throngs of people.  A tomato sauce stained apron covered
his wide girth, and unruly black hair stuck out from his head in all
directions.  I appeared to be taller than he was, and I stared in disbelief as
Nathan greeted the man with a smile and a bear hug.  This was Gino, the man who
supposedly struck fear in the heart of the underworld?  What were they afraid
of?  That he would sit on them?

Shaking my head at myself, I plastered a
smile on my face as Nathan made introductions.  “And this, is Reagan.”

Gino turned to me, arms wide, and I hastily
thrust my hand out between us.  There was no way this man was wrapping those
meaty arms around me; I felt faint at the thought.  As it was, he grasped my
hand in both of his and brought my fingers to his lips for a light, wet kiss. 
“Benvenuto, Bella ragazza!  Nice to meet you,” he gushed dramatically. 

I blushed, uncertain how to respond, and
feeling somewhat awkward at being the center of attention in the crowded
lobby.  Gino dropped my hand and clapped his together in delight.  “Too pretty
for you, Nathan,” he drawled.  He didn’t wait for a response, but snapped his
fingers at a passing busboy.  “Table twenty-seven; get it ready for two. 
Fretta, fretta!”

Nathan winked at me over Gino’s head.  I took
his hand as we followed Gino to a secluded table near the back of the
restaurant, ignoring the envious glances of people who had been waiting ahead
of us and would likely continue to wait for quite a while, judging by the full
tables and scurrying staff, rushing to take and fill orders.  I did not,
however, miss the appraising looks Nathan received from more than one woman as
we passed by, and I felt an unfamiliar streak of possessiveness.  Okay, so
Nathan and I weren’t officially a thing, but that didn’t stop me from stepping
closer to him as we waited for Gino to ensure the table was set to his
satisfaction.  Or, as Nathan pulled out my chair, from tossing a smirk at a
nearby group of bottle blondes who were making no attempt to hide their ogling.
  

Gino was a flurry of activity, barking orders
and promising a quick delivery on the ‘usual’.  I raised an eyebrow at Nathan
once we were finally alone.   I couldn’t quite explain it, but I was feeling
rather emboldened at being here with him.  We were away from Manhattan, away
from people who would know me, and there was just something that felt right
about being here.  I was quite obviously the envy of at least half of Gino’s
patrons, and not just the female ones either.  And the fact that out of all of
the women Nathan could have asked to spend the weekend with, he had asked me,
had me feeling as if I had just a little bit of the advantage here.  “You
didn’t tell me you were quite the celebrity in these parts,” I quipped. 

 Nathan shook his head.  “Stop,” he scoffed. 
“It’s not me he’s making all these grand gestures for.  Gino loves a grand
presentation and he’s got someone new to impress.”  He leaned in
conspiratorially.  “If it was just me, I’d be stuck sitting at the bar, fending
for myself.”

“I know you’re not talking about me.”

“I am.  I’ve never brought anyone here, so
you know, he’s justifiably kicking it up a notch.”  He paused as a waiter set
down a basket of fresh bread and a little cask of oil. 

I was still reeling from the knowledge that I
was the first girl Nathan had brought here.  That tiny admission said so
little, and yet so very much.  I felt warm and antsy.

I wanted to kiss him. 

Clearing my throat, I lifted my plate to
accept the slice of bread Nathan was offering.  “But it’s obvious he knows you,
though.  Do you come here often?” 

“Gino and I go way back.  I’ve been coming
here for years; back since we first started the Boston office.”

Nathan continued to regale me with stories of
his various trips here, as a large, deep dish pizza carrying what appeared to
be everything but the kitchen sink, was set on our table.  “Gino’s brother is
like a modern day Godfather.”  He stopped at my questioning look.  “You don’t know
the Godfather?  Michael Corleone?  Al Pacino?  Seriously?” 

I laughed at his horror.  “Vaguely.  A Mafia
boss, right?”

Nathan slid a slice of pizza onto my plate,
and I took my fork and grabbed all the stringy strands of cheese that still
connected my slice to the pie.  “Yeah.  Something like that.  Anyway, Gino’s
pretty legit, but he’s not above making use of the family name.  Word like that
gets out.  And I kinda think he relishes being feared.”  He leaned forward and
bit into his pizza, tomato sauce and oil dribbling down the side of his mouth. 
His tongue flickered out to lick it away and my attention took a nosedive. 
Warmth flooded between my legs and I squirmed uncomfortably. 

Nathan’s lips curled into a sly grin, as he
watched me from across the table.  If I didn’t know any better, I would swear
he was fully aware of the effect he had on me and was doing things on purpose
to drive me crazy. 

Of course, that was probably true.   

He leaned back in his chair, and continued to
stare at me with eyes that sparkled emerald green in the dim lighting.  “So. 
About the sleeping arrangements this weekend.”

I choked on a string of mozzarella cheese,
and hastily grabbed my drink, gulping it down.   He calmly handed me a napkin,
and continued.   “You can stay with me, or I can get you a hotel if you would
prefer.”

I wiped my mouth and then took another
nervous drink from my glass.  I didn’t know what to say, and was suddenly
besieged with excitement, anxiety, fear and entirely too much pleasure at the
thought of spending the night in the same house as Nathan, completely sober and
fully aware.