Page 60

FIFTY-TWO

ruby

As soon as Lorenzo is out of sight, I dash for my car, still buzzing with the adrenaline of the game.

The drive is two hours, and as soon as I get home, I slide in front of my laptop.

Even though my midterm writing assignment for my food analysis class has been done for a week, I’m eager for one final read-through before I hit Submit.

I promised myself I’d do things differently senior year—no procrastinating, no getting distracted by shiny new objects, and no second-guessing my decisions.

Which means I’ve committed the rest of my time in college to working toward a job as a research chef, and I’m not giving myself the option to change my mind.

Not until I’ve graduated and had a chance to work in the field for a couple of years.

Giving myself no other options has slowly gone from terrifying to comforting.

With a few edits made and the assignment submitted, I grab the pan of lasagna from my kitchen and head for Lorenzo’s. He’s already home, standing shirtless in his kitchen in nothing but a pair of gray sweatpants. I look him up and down. Definitely no underwear beneath those pants.

“Gina’s gonna kill you if you don’t eat your own body weight in pasta tonight,” I say as he tears chunks of meat from a rotisserie chicken—only white meat, of course. We’re expected at Reeve’s house tonight and we’re expected to show up with appetites.

“I can do both.” He looks me over and smiles. “Still in your war paint, huh? You’re not gonna wash that off before dinner?”

“No, and no plans to take off this jersey either.” So maybe the way I wear my Rossi jersey with matching ribbons in my hair and paint number fifty-two on my cheeks has some high-school-cheerleader energy to it. I don’t care. I’ve waited so long to let the world know he’s mine.

“It’s never looked better.” He gets a hungry look in his eyes as I reach up to kiss him.

“Hey, no chicken grease on the jersey.” I push his hands away and maneuver myself so I’m standing behind him. “This thing’s gonna be worth six figures someday.”

“I don’t need my hands to make you come.” He looks over his shoulder and winks.

My body throbs in response to this threat. I run my hands up the muscles of his back, leaving a few kisses along his spine. I swear I can feel the heat of exertion from the game still pulsing under his skin.

“Promise?”

By the time we get to the big old house Cash, Reeve, and Cam share, it’s been transformed from unmistakable college-dude bachelor pad into something that feels like a home.

The warm smells of garlic, roasted meats, and simmering sauce are detectable from the front door, and there’s actual matching dinnerware and a white tablecloth covering the row of card tables cobbled together to make one long dining table.

A group of football moms plus a stray dad or two bustle in the kitchen, Gina leading the charge as she pulls pans out of the oven I’ve never once seen used; arranges giant foil pans of meat, pasta, and vegetables on the counter; and stirs something bubbling on the stove.

Lorenzo asked that we at least pretend this dinner has nothing to do with his return to the field, but when we walk in, Reeve announces the entrance like he’s a sportscaster, and there are claps and hoots and a general ruckus that make Lorenzo’s cheeks flush adorably. But his smile is real.

Anthony’s at work in the kitchen, preparing some kind of soup, but he flicks off the burner and takes Lorenzo in a hug, pounding his back with a fist before letting him go. “Total fucking stud,” he says, one hand still on Lorenzo’s shoulder.

Lorenzo’s Aunt Teresa gives her son a playful slap on the arm. “Must you, Anthony?”

“Yes, Ma, I must.” Anthony grins. “My cousin’s the fucking MVP.”

It’s funny all the things that haven’t changed in the wake of the Rossi family shake-up.

The main difference is the way Lorenzo and Anthony have settled back into the relationship they had years ago before there was any bad blood.

And while I sometimes catch Gina studying both boys in a way I’d never witnessed before, no warmth has been lost between anyone in the family.

More hugs are exchanged. I’m introduced to Ant’s girlfriend, Cara, and I take her out of the kitchen to mingle with Lenni and the other girlfriends in attendance.

I’ve stopped assuming they don’t like me and, in a twist I probably should have seen coming, realized every single one of them is a sweetheart when you get to know them.

We light the candles in the center of the table and pour generous glasses of the pricey wine brought by the parents.

The food is phenomenal, a true potluck with dishes ranging from pumpkin sage ravioli to red beans and rice, and my mind buzzes with inspiration for cozy fall meals. Jazz bubbles from a speaker, and the wine flows as freely as the conversation.

When everyone’s had their fill of dinner and a few of the parents head to the kitchen to pull out the desserts, conversation turns to next year.

“Your boy’s looking better than ever,” Cam says to me from across the table.

I can’t help but gaze at Lorenzo. In the glow of the candlelight and that shirt that’s not meant to be tight but clings to his shoulders nonetheless, he really does. “He’s quite the specimen, isn’t he?” Then I look at Cam. “And yeah, he’s definitely going places.”

“Come on,” Lorenzo warns, trying to stave off conversation about his NFL prospects, but he’s met with boos and sounds of disapproval from the friends close enough to hear him.

“Modesty’s overrated!” Cash crows.

“Maybe try it before you form an opinion,” Lorenzo tells him.

“So I want to hear,” Cam says, his eyes back on me. “What are you two going to do next year if this kid makes it big?”

“Look at him,” his girlfriend, Lenni, says, running a hand through Cam’s hair. “Even more interested in hearing about your love story than about football. Such a romantic.”

Cam gives her a warning look, but there’s nothing but love in his eyes.

He has a good chance of getting drafted next year, too, and everyone knows Lenni has had her career planned out for years, so working out a long-distance relationship is close to their hearts.

When Cam’s gaze returns to me, Lorenzo’s hand finds mine under the table.

“We’re going to make it work.” I nod. “No clue how, but we will. Hopefully we’ll be in the same city, but if not right away, we’ll get there eventually.

” It feels good to talk about it, even with all the uncertainty.

I’ve stopped feeling dread when someone brings up life after graduation.

There’s nothing big enough to tear us apart.

“We’re best friends—nothing’s changing that. ”

Lorenzo squeezes my leg and reaches for his wineglass. “Let’s drink to that.”

Even though half the people at the table have no idea what we’re toasting, everyone’s ready to celebrate, so glasses are quickly raised and there are drunken whoops and fists pounded on the table hard enough to rattle the dishes.

“You know, there are restaurants in every city and town in America,” I tell Lorenzo that night as I nuzzle my nose into his neck. His naked body is damp with sweat, and his heartbeat thunders under my palm.

“Truth.” He lets his breathing slow, then adds, “Also random.”

“I was just thinking at dinner that I could get a job as a chef anywhere you end up.”

“What happened to sticking with your plan, Hayes?”

“Just checking to see if you’re paying attention. I was kidding. Mostly.” I chuckle, still a little buzzed from the wine and the orgasm. Still bubbling with happiness.

“Mostly?”

“I’m sticking with the plan. Just had a little moment of distraction, that’s all. Old habits die hard.”

“Don’t let them die altogether. I like you a little weird and wild.”

“Me too.”

“You know what I was thinking when I had you bent over the bed?”

“I can probably guess.”

“I was thinking about what you told me over the summer—that you have five tattoos. Isn’t that what you said?”

“It is.”

“And were you exaggerating again, Ruby Hayes? Because I’ve seen every inch of your naked body, and I’ve only counted four.”

“I was not.”

He sits up on his elbow to look at me. His eyes are lively as they dance across my face, and I feel another surge of happiness. It’s so rare I can surprise him anymore. “You gonna leave me hanging?”

I nod toward his bathroom. “Not for long.”

He follows me into the bathroom and watches me rummage under the sink until I find scissors and his electric hair clippers. His arms are crossed, his expression a mix of skepticism and interest.

I gather all my hair into a high ponytail except for the bottom two inches above my neck. Then I look at Lorenzo in the mirror and hand him the scissors. “Chop the bottom off.”

He draws back in surprise, but when I don’t move, he takes the scissors. “I trust that if you’re fucking with me, you’ll stop me before it’s too late.”

“Go ahead. Short as you can.”

He meets my eye one more time and then takes a deep breath before cutting carefully through my hair. When it’s done, he brushes the hair off my bare back.

I hand him the clippers. “Now buzz it. Just like an undercut.”

“Did you get confused on the way to the bathroom? We’re talking about tattoos here, not haircuts.”

“I’m not confused.” I wiggle the clippers, urging him to take them.

“See how much you like my weird and wild after this.” A wave of doubt washes over me when I think about what he’s about to see, but one look at his face and it disappears.

Yes, weird and wild wouldn’t be inappropriate adjectives for what I did, but Lorenzo already knows who I am. And he loves me.

He nods at me in the mirror. The clippers click on, and his brow furrows in concentration as he slides them across the back of my neck. I shiver from anticipation and the buzz of the clippers. He makes one row, brushes the hair away, and starts on the second row.

I know the instant he sees the tattoo. His gaze catches and his hand pauses in its work.

He stares at the back of my head. Does he recognize it?

Then he blinks a few times, and the clippers move across my skin again, this time hurrying.

The clippers click off and there’s silence.

He sets them down and returns to my neck, brushing away the hair one last time.

The smile forms lopsided on his face, first the right corner of his lips and then the left. Like he needed time. Then he meets my gaze in the mirror.

“ Love, Lorenzo ,” he says, reciting the words inked into my skin.

I swallow. “Do you recognize it?”

“It’s my handwriting.” He draws a finger slowly across the tattoo, sending shivers through me.

“Remember the letters we used to write when I went to overnight camp?”

“I still have them.” He wraps his strong arms around my chest and drops his chin to my shoulder. “You always were my girl.” He presses his lips to the back of my neck and kisses the words. “Just took me a little while to let you in on the secret.”