~ ~ ~ ~
Five days later we were allowed to reopen the deli.
A professional cleaning crew had gone over the place from top to bottom, so when I was finally able to get in and restock all the shelves, the Rorschach blot of Chico’s blood was gone, the linoleum, replaced. All the food in the display cases had been donated to St. Rita’s food pantry because we couldn’t sell it. Even though it was only a day over the sell by date, we didn’t need any Board of Health violations coming down the pike.
When our freezer delivery came, I’ll admit I was a little…hesitant, about walking into the place where I’d found Chico. But if nothing else living with my obnoxious brothers has taught me, it’s to – as nonna said numerous times when she had to deal with something unpleasant – preparati. In other words, brace yourself.
When we opened the doors again the line ran down the block and around the corner with customers waiting to get it.
I’d anticipated this because nothing draws people out more than the promise of good gossip, and someone getting whacked in your neighborhood deli is about as juicy a topic as you can find to commiserate about.
After answering more questions than I’ve ever answered in my life and making sure the counter staff was able to move the customers with efficiency, I snuck back to my office for five minutes of solitude and peace.
I found neither.
Not the solitude for sure, because Tony Roma was sprawled out on the couch scrolling through his phone, and definitely not the peace when I got a good look at him.
I hadn’t seen since him since the afternoon he’d come to my apartment. Then, he’d been dressed professionally in a suit and tie, his shoes buffed to a sheen I was jealous of and not a gorgeous hair out of place.
From the time I’d last seen him he’d undergone a severe transformation. Gone was the good guy cop, who—don’t get me wrong, was as sexy as you know what—to be replaced with a wannabe bad boy that stopped my heart and heated the space between my thighs to flowing lava temps.
“You shaved your head,” was all I was able to say as I stood in my doorway, one hand on the knob, the other flung over my heart.
“It’s not shaved, it’s just clipped short, like when I was in boot camp.” He ran his hand back and forth over the top of his head, a soft scratch sounding from the action.
And short his hair was. In fact, his skull was a shadow through the sheared tufts. Why wasn’t I surprised his skull, like the rest of him, was perfect? Not a knobby bump or bald patch anywhere. He hadn’t shaved in days, the wheat colored stubble lining his jaw and cheeks adding to the aura of hoodlum I think he was going for.
Gone as well was the well-tailored suit, replaced now with a form fitting Henley accentuating every single line and plane and muscle in his upper body. A physique like this required serious gym time. Having grown up with testosterone lifting nightmares for brothers, I knew it took eons of weight work to create sculpted arms like this. A torso like Tony’s didn’t pop up over night. It took dedication. My fingertips did that tingly thing again, wanting to run across all his defined flesh. I fisted my hands at my sides when I found myself lifting them to do just that.
Low slung black jeans that fit him like sin tapered down his legs, faded from wear in all the usual stress points. A CD-sized hole gaped over one knee, a thick slash over the calf of the other, and the black and white sneakers were—I’d bet good money on it—remnants from his high school days.
“You look…different.” I’d started to say amazing, but saved myself at the last moment.
He rose from the couch in one long and fluid line of magnificent male and walked toward me.
No, not walked. Stalked. Not only was his appearance different, so were his posture and the way he moved. Cocky and self-assured; badass to the bone. Shoulders pulled back in arrogance so his chest puffed out. Kind of like those big gorillas you see in the zoo who assert their alpha dominance over the other gorillas. I half expected him to start making grunting noises and beat on his pecs with his fists.
By the time he came to a stop right in front of me I was stress sweating like a puttana in a confessional, my heart pounding against my wire laced bra and my breathing was way too fast for normal, almost as if I’d been dancing with wild abandon for hours.
He even smelled different. Hotter; darker; dangerous.
I swallowed the bocce ball in my throat as I stared up at him. Were his blue eyes even different? They seemed darker.
“Are you wearing colored contact lenses?”
He nodded. “How do they make me look?”
It was on the tip of my tongue to say like every fantasy I’ve ever had come to life, but thankfully I was able to keep those words contained.
I can only imagine what he’d have thought or said if I blurted it out.
No, I needed to keep things between us on a cool, impersonal level. It was bad enough he was going to be around every day until he caught whoever killed Chico. Seeing him all the time and trying to act as if his presence didn’t make me want to drool, or worse, throw myself into his arms, was going to be torture. If he knew the effect he had on me it would have made the situation unbearable.
I swallowed again and tilted my head as if considering his question.
“Well?” He shot his fists to his hips.
“I don’t know what you’re going for,” I shook my head, “but you kinda look like you’ve got one foot in lockup and the other in a gangsta video pretending to be a young Uncle Sonny. Are you aiming for an angsty hood?”
His lips twitched and it was obvious he was trying not to laugh. Even through the darkened contact lenses his eyes shone with mirth.
“I don’t know about the angst, but hood is pretty good.”
I nodded. “Then you succeeded.”
I stepped to the side so I wouldn’t – God forbid – touch him in any way. If my hand had unintentionally drifted over to him I would have immolated in a burst of carnal flames on the spot.
At my desk I took a calming breath that didn’t do a damn thing to actually calm me, pointed to the couch, and asked, “So what’s the plan?
“I need to take over Chico’s delivery route so I’m gonna need someone to show me the ropes.” He sat back down on the couch.
Unfortunately, that someone was yours truly.
“I called all our regular customers yesterday,” I said, “and explained we’d be back in business today. They all want to resume deliveries immediately.”
“Okay, so I’m ready whenever you are.”
“It’s gonna be a while because I’ve got to make sure everything’s going okay with the front of the store first. Then I’ve gotta get all the deliveries put together. It takes time.”
“Don’t you have someone who does that for you?”
“Nope. It’s my job to make sure every order is correct.”
“In addition to all the other stuff you have to do?”
I shrugged. “I’m the store manager.”
His gaze swept from my face, down my shoulders and to my chest. Even though my usual apron with the store name and logo across the front of it covered my clothes, I felt naked under his perusal.
Tony pulled his attention back to my face and nodded.
“I’ll help. Just show me what to do. I’m a fast learner.”