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SAbrINA

I was wrong. It is definitely not cooler standing out here on the concrete than it was hanging out in the middle of the congested terminal.

In addition to the typical sticky early summer heat, there’s a melee of vehicles competing for a spot to pick up fleeing passengers while cops and orange-vested airport workers make valiant efforts to direct the wild traffic.

My eyes stay glued to the haphazard line of cars in the hopes of spotting the ancient blue Chevy Impala that once belonged to Monte’s grandfather.

Then it occurs to me that I don’t even know if he’s still driving the same car.

An hour has passed since we spoke but I’m sure reaching the airport is no small feat today.

A bead of sweat trickles down the back of my neck. I push my long brown hair over my shoulder and wish I had a clip handy to sweep it up.

Though I’m doing my best to stay out of everyone’s way while keeping an eye on the approaching cars, I get jostled from behind and stumble, landing hard on my left ankle, which is my bad ankle. I suck in my breath with a hiss of pain.

“Sorry,” says a sheepish teenage boy right before he dashes into the street and starts dodging cars.

Adjusting the weight of my backpack, I tighten the knot of the sweatshirt around my waist since I have nowhere else to put it. On top of hunger and heat and general turmoil, I’m on Day Two of my period and I’ve already swallowed my last dose of ibuprofen.

A fresh wave of cramps squeezes my lower belly. There is precisely one more tampon remaining in my bag. The situation will start to feel desperate very soon.

And just like that, a new game idea pops into my head.

You feel your period coming on but a fire-breathing dragon stands between you and a cozy refuge where there’s a bubble bath, a heating pad, and boxed chocolates. Slay the dragon and your reward is relaxing with huge mugs of ginger tea, a library filled with romance novels and a closet full of fluffy, oversized bathrobes.

It’s a niche concept for sure. Men will never understand just how much the lives of women revolve around our period. We fear it, we dread it, we rearrange our plans around it. But I think the idea could catch on with the right audience. There are more women joining the gaming world all the time.

I’m still sorting out the general outline in my head when a gruff, familiar voice startles me out of my daydreams.

“Who are you looking for, Gamer Girl?”

As I whirl around, I manage to accidentally smack the new arrival with my backpack, though I’m sure he felt no pain.

Monte Castelli is stacked with more muscle than ever. And I’d forgotten how tall he is. As he straightens up to his full height, he towers over the top of my head.

Seeing him is the best thing that’s happened to me all day. All week. Hell, in the last six months.

Without a second thought, I grab him like he’s a life preserver and I’m a floundering Titanic victim. My arms wrap around his torso and squeeze. My cheek collides with hard muscle in the middle of his chest.

He’s warm and solid. He smells like soap and oregano. He feels like home.

And now I’m having trouble letting go. I’m going to blame the menstrual hormones for a sudden surge of weepiness as I cling to him.

Seconds pass and I’m still clinging.

My face is squashed into his chest with the steady thud of his heartbeat under my left temple.

I’m sure he’s starting to wonder why I’m hugging him the way one might hug a lover returning from war. To be honest, I’m wondering the same thing. We don’t share a ‘hug’ level of friendship. We’ve always had a verbal sparring, eye-rolling kind of rapport that can usually be described as grudging.

Doesn’t matter. Monte Castelli is a sight for sore eyes and it’s been a while since I’ve felt this thrilled to see anyone. To my horror, I’m sniffling by the time I pull away.

To my even bigger horror, he notices.

“What happened?” Monte hunches down to peer more closely at my face, tipping my chin up so he can see my eyes. I’m not crying, not exactly, but I can’t argue that my mood is emotionally unsteady.

Judging by the sudden thunder overtaking Monte’s face, he’s getting the wrong idea. I’m having trouble finding words because I’m too worried that my nose might start dripping.

“Did someone fucking touch you?” He starts glaring in every direction in search of possible culprits.

The cop directing traffic is not spared from Monte’s suspicious scowl, nor is the adorable white-haired man who totters along with his equally adorable white-haired wife on his arm.

“No, nothing like that.” I shake my head. “Some smoke got in my eyes.”

The menacing glint disappears from his dark eyes and his tense muscles loosen. Now that I’m getting a good look at him, I can’t stop staring. Monte’s appearance could always be summed up as Born To Be Wild.

His muscled arms are even thicker. The grey t-shirt he wears can’t hide the defined contours of his chest and shoulders. There’s a hint of dark shadow on his jaw. Around his neck hangs a gold chain with a cross and an Italian horn. He’s worn both for as long as I’ve known him.

Monte’s superior looks would turn heads anywhere but he also simmers with a far trickier quality. If you have to give it a name, I guess you’d call it sex appeal. That appeal is laced with something volatile and damn near irresistible. The trace of a bruise on his right cheek somehow only adds to his magnetism.

Meanwhile, I’m standing here like a bedraggled, red-eyed pound puppy who just pulled some mismatched clothes out of a dumpster.

Monte surveys me up and down in a quick, shrewd manner. I’ve been stared at since I was thirteen and swelled to a double D cup almost overnight so I’m very familiar with the way guys will smirk and gawk when their minds go to the gutter.

But Monte has never looked at me that way and he’s not looking at me that way now. He looks at me the way a doctor would, like he’s trying to arrive at a diagnosis for my distress. I guess he has all the girlfriends he can handle. Or maybe I just don’t do it for him. Funny how this has always been both a relief and a disappointment.

Once Monte is satisfied that I’m not damaged in any visible way, he relaxes. “Did you fly all the way here with nothing but that pink backpack?”

“No.” I jostle the weight of the backpack on my shoulder. “I flew all the way here with a tremendous overstuffed suitcase that cost me a small fortune in excess baggage fees.”

“Great. Where is it?”

“Somewhere in the bowels of the JFK Airport ecosystem with thousands of other luggage pieces that will never reach their destinations. I was told by a mildly hysterical ticket agent that I’ll receive a call when it’s available, which probably won’t happen before tomorrow. Anyway, can we please get out of here now? I’ve had enough of mingling with my fellow travelers and I don’t want to get accosted by another Gavin.”

“Gavin who?” Monte’s eyes narrow as he glares this way and that.

“Never mind. I’m sure he’s fallen to the zombies by now.”

His brows pinch. “What?”

“MOVE ALONG!” A woman with a red, sweaty face and a neon vest waves at us with a bright orange stick. “NO STANDING!”

Monte nudges me away from the curb. “It’s a fucking zoo here. I had to park so it’ll be a hike to the car.”

“Lead the way. Anything is better than this.”

He automatically assumes the position nearest to the street and hovers close as we leave all the frenetic honking and shouting behind.

“Why are you limping?” he says after ten seconds.

“I broke my ankle.”

“Just now?”

“Eight weeks ago. It’s still a little sore and I’ve been neglecting my physical therapy.” I need to bend my head back to look up at his face, only to find him peering down with a frown.

“Sabrina, I wasn’t kidding when I said it’s a hike to the car.”

“I’ll make it. Just don’t ask me to sprint.”

He digests this information and drops down on one knee with a sigh. “Hop on.”

“Hop on what ?”

“Me. I’ll carry you.”

“Don’t be ridiculous.”

“At the rate you’re staggering along we won’t reach the car before midnight. Piggyback time.”

I like to think I’m pretty imaginative, however I cannot visualize climbing on Monte Castelli’s back for a piggyback ride. The image simply refuses to take shape.

“Monte, I can’t.”

“What are you worried about? I won’t drop you for fuck’s sake.”

“I’m wearing a skirt!”

“Keep that hoodie tied around your waist. You’ll be fine.”

“I’m afraid I’ll drop my backpack.”

“Hand it over. I’ll carry that too.”

“But my laptop is inside.”

“Do you think I eat laptops for breakfast? Give me the freaking thing. Let’s go.”

I’d much rather gnash my teeth over the pain and limp all the way to the car. But Monte was nice enough to drop everything and dash out here to pick me up so starting an argument within the first five minutes feels bratty.

With reluctance, I hand him my backpack, which contains all of my worldly possessions, at least until my mammoth suitcase shows up. Monte promptly wears it on his chest and throws me a look of impatience.

“Um.” I raise my left leg three inches off the ground.

He snaps his fingers twice. “Come on, cupcake. I’m not the Matterhorn. No strategy required. Climb aboard.”

With a deep breath, I place my palms on his shoulders. His exceedingly broad shoulders.

The instant I lean into Monte’s back, he hooks his arms around my knees. My arms circle his neck and I unleash an embarrassing yelp of fear as he stands up.

“Have some faith,” Monte says as he takes off at a brisk pace. “I swore I wouldn’t drop you.”

“I have faith,” I grumble.

“In that case, can you use your faith to quit strangling me?”

“Sorry.” I relax my arms, which were looped tightly around his neck.

As the anxiety fades, I marvel over Monte’s strength. He’s not remotely winded as he marches doggedly along. I’m short but I’m not exactly light as a feather.

My sisters have always called me ‘voluptuous’ and claimed to be envious of my figure. Easy for them to say. Daisy and Anni are both willowy and graceful. I’m neither. I’ve got boobs and hips and an ass. Yet Monte lifted me without even a grunt of effort.

My face heats up as I realize my bare thighs are locked around his waist. I feel the flex of his muscles with every step. The warmth of his hard body rubs right up against my skin.

Truth be told, this is the most action I’ve seen in a while. A long while. And I have an overactive mind that tends to go to dirty places.

Naturally, there have been times when I’ve wondered what it would be like to have sex with Monte. After all, I’m human. I have hormones. Monte is gorgeous and according to gossip, he knows how to please.

I can’t relate. My bedroom talents are a little deficient. I’ve been told this in no uncertain terms and I have every reason to believe it’s true.

In theory, I know exactly where everything goes and what’s supposed to happen. But the reality of sex turned out to be a different experience than the hypothetical. As a result, it’s become much easier to stick with my depraved fantasies than risk disappointing anyone again. Once is humiliating enough.

Anyway, Monte has never given a sign that he sees me as anything other than some kind of vaguely annoying acquaintance so I have nothing to worry about.

As I stuff all filthy thoughts to the back of my mind, the pressure is off and I can relax. Being carried isn’t all that bad. For one thing, I get to see life as a tall person. It’s rather pleasant up here.

“This must be how it feels to go horseback riding,” I declare.

“It’s not,” Monte replies without breaking stride.

“How would you know?”

“Because I’ve been on horseback before.”

“I can’t picture that.”

“How come?”

“Nothing about you screams country boy.”

“And nothing ever will. But for three weeks every summer my dad used to send me and Nico out to Wyoming to visit our cousins. Four boys, all close in age to us. Their father owns a huge ranch. Horseback riding was mandatory.”

Now I’m trying to envision this tribe of western mystery cousins. In my head, they all look like Monte with a cowboy hat. The concept is intriguing.

Meanwhile, my eyes are having trouble behaving. They insist on taking this opportunity to examine Monte’s thick arms at close range. The guy has superhero arms and for once they aren’t covered with a shabby leather jacket.

A sudden and very powerful intrusive thought tells me it’s a great idea to reach out and touch one of those mighty arms to test if it’s as hard as it looks. Good thing I have no hands to spare.

“Why are you clenching my shirt in your fists?” Monte asks.

“Am I?”

Yes, I am. With the way I’m gripping the grey fabric, I’m probably stretching the whole thing out of shape. This is still preferable to losing a battle with my willpower and stroking his muscles like a freak.

“Don’t you trust me?” Monte says. “Look, here’s the car and I haven’t dropped you on the pavement once.”

“I trust you,” I mutter as he gently sets me down. I have to admit, unwrapping my legs from his waist leave me feeling a little breathless.

Monte hands over my backpack and flings open the passenger door of the classic blue Impala. The hinges let out a monstrous screech. “Get in.”

Typically, I always sat in the backseat in his car. “You want me to sit up here?”

He blows out a snort of amusement. “Not your chauffeur anymore, Gamer Girl.”

“Point taken.” I climb in and wince as my bare thighs come into contact with the hot leather seat. It’s not the first time today that I’m wishing I hadn’t chosen to travel the world in a pleated mini skirt. I spread my hoodie out underneath me and smooth the short skirt over my thighs as best I can.

I feel very conspicuous as Monte ducks behind the wheel. He glances at my legs, shakes his head once and clicks his seatbelt closed.

“Go ahead and say it,” I sigh as I wrestle with my own seatbelt. “I know you want to.”

He flicks the ignition key and the engine thunders. “Say what, Sabrina?”

“Make fun of my clothes. You dropped everything and drove all the way out here so I won’t deprive you of your favorite hobby.”

“Hate to break it to you, but there are a few pastimes I enjoy more than judging your wardrobe.”

“So I’ve heard but I’m giving you a free shot so you should take it.”

He rests his forearm on the steering wheel, swivels and gives me a more studied appraisal. I do my best not to fidget under the heat of his gaze. The corner of his mouth quirks up and I wouldn’t be surprised if he guessed my thoughts.

“At least it was easy to spot you in the crowd,” he says.

“I was expecting a more obvious insult. Have you grown soft while I was away?”

“No. It’s actually a relief to see that you still dress like a tacky cartoon character.”

“Ouch. You can stop now.”

“But where are your mouse ears? They have a way of completing any bizarre outfit.”

“I’ve explained to you at least three dozen times that those were cat ears, not mouse ears. But trends change. I didn’t bring them. By the way, who beat you up?”

“I fell down,” he says in a mild tone as he throws the car into reverse.

“Ha! What did the other guy look like?”

A shadow drifts over his face. The fact that he won’t answer says more than words ever could.

I’m under no illusions about who Monte Castelli is.

After all, I was born into a high profile mafia family.

It’s a secretive, male-centered, exceedingly violent club full of codes and decrees. If my sisters and I were men instead of women, there’s no doubt we would have been inducted into its chaos long ago. As it is, I’ve pieced together enough to understand the truth is chilling.

The mafia is a cutthroat realm filled with merciless killers.

And Monte has been in the middle of it for quite some time.

Maybe this knowledge should instill an element of fear, or at least wariness. Growing up in my father’s house, I truly did fear a lot of the men who lingered on the fringes of our lives like menacing shadows. One time, Anni ended up with a badly dislocated shoulder after her defiance enraged our father and he ordered one of his bodyguards to rough her up. The flashback still has the power to make me feel sick to my stomach.

But the idea of fearing Monte feels preposterous. Sure, we have a history of bickering. And there’s a high probability he believes I’m extremely annoying. Yet I’m also sure that he’d immediately break the teeth of anyone who laid a hand on me.

What a paradox.

Here I am, sitting next to a man who may not even like me but who also races to my rescue when I call and acts like he’d burn the airport down if a hair on my head is harmed. It’s quite the puzzle.

“Hey, Monte?”

He straightens the wheel and keeps his eyes focused ahead as he steers out of the parking garage. “Yeah, Sabrina?”

“Thanks for coming to save me. I mean it. I owe you.”

A fleeting smile tugs at his lips. “You don’t owe me a thing.”

“I hope you really weren’t busy at the time.”

“Nope. In fact I was pretty damn bored so this gave me something to do.”

“Excellent. Curing your boredom is probably my biggest accomplishment today.”

He snorts. “You hungry?”

“To the point where I feel weak and little dark spots keep dancing in front of my eyes.”

“There’s half a bag of barbecue chips in the glove compartment. But if you can hold out a little longer, my dad’s pizza is worth waiting for.”

“Oh, yes,” I groan in a way that sounds brazenly sexual.

He cuts a sharp glance in my direction and I clear my throat to cover my mortification.

“I mean, I’ll wait. Gino’s is the best and I haven’t eaten real pizza in forever.”

“How did they run out of pizza in Sicily?”

“I meant New York pizza. Can I roll the window down? I need to smell the city.”

He raises his eyebrows but shrugs and accelerates to join the parkway traffic.

I turn my face to the open window and inhale deeply. Right now there’s nothing to smell but exhaust fumes but I’m still flooded with delight that sinks all the way to my bones. I could be blindfolded and my body would still sense that I’m home.

“HELLO NEW YORK!” I scream at passing cars. “I’VE MISSED YOU!”

Monte chuckles and shakes his head. “You’re still a piece of work, you crazy girl.”