“Aw, Evan, I…”
I turn down the street leading toward my apartment building. My jaw gets heavy. Is Reese about to say the words I’ve been dreaming of? That she loves me just as much as I love her. She lingers.
“You okay?” I ask, pressing the button to the building parking garage.
“Yeah, Evan.”
“Talk to me,” I implore, while the cage gate opens up, and my sports car zooms down the passageway. My first thought is to drive straight to her house but she's got company over.
“You know how we talked about my dad last night... There's more.”
Yeah, I knew there was a lot more to the story. But this isn’t an investigation, this is the woman I hope won’t try out for the fifty-yard dash. So I’ve decided to allow it all in her timing. “More like how?”
She begins to speak but the phone is muffled. Usually the reception is adequate in the underground parking, so I think nothing of it, and search for a parking spot. “Reese. Babe, I can’t hear you.”
“M… da…”
“What was Milo’s full name?” Instinct forces me to ask that question. “I love you, beautiful, you can tell me anything...”
“Mi… lo G–”
The call goes dead.
Instincts take into effect. The back tires scream against the cement walls as I turn the car around. Before I can call Reese back, my phone rings. It’s not Reese. It’s a Los Angeles area code. Maybe she's calling on Jamie’s phone.
I answer.
“You know, Evan. You were right. That cunt of yours does have a potty mouth.”
Riker! His detached voice blares through the speaker phone. “There's a cell phone blocker inside your ol’ lady’s place. It just got turned on. The Reese's Pieces is calling you back, at least that's how it looks through my lil’ iPad.”
He's watching her. The rear bumper slams into the ground as the car zooms up the ramp of the passageway at an accelerated speed. I toggle the shift, when turning onto the ground level, and collide with a Volkswagen driving down Main Street.
“Man, how I wanted some action last night. You had me going with fiddlesticks and poppycock,” he taunts just so I know that he heard our entire conversation too. “Man, poppycock. I’d like to ram my cock so far down her throat–”
“Touch one hair on Reese’s head, I’ll carve your fucking heart out!” I shout. Tunnel vision takes over. My foot smashes the gas while speeding through a just-turned red light.
“All I’m saying is you two could’ve done less talking and more boning last night. Now, I must be off. I'm going to see your ol’ lady as we speak. You do know that, Evan. Don't you? You've been on my ass for a while now. Hounding me like the annoying asshole that you are. Time to turn these shitty tables.”
23
Reese
Ten minutes earlier
Sephora brown sugar scrub has been exfoliated into my entire body, and the jets in my bathtub are working overtime. Hearing footsteps, I take the cucumbers from over my eyes.
“Oh, hell no, are you in here pleasing yourself, you little freak,” Jamie says, my extra pair of keys jingling in his hand as he places it on a padded hip.
“No,” I shoot up into a seated position. Dang, was that too much force? I totally just sounded like a liar, but I honestly just miss Evan. He held me close all night, we did nothing, and yet I still feel this unimaginable feeling. Light, airy, and sheesh, my cheeks have hurt for smiling all day.
“Reese, I just put the finishing touches on all of Kitty’s scrumptious cupcakes. And you’re in here pampering yourself. Well, I'm turning on Tom Hardy! If you think you're getting any play tonight with all these scented candles, then you've got another thing coming. We both don't have the right material to satisfy each other. Got that?”
He doesn't wait for a reply, just struts out of my bathroom.
“Whatever, sucker.” I smile.
We're a pathetic sight. He's wearing Wonder Woman fuzzy pajamas. My Avengers black and hot-pink Black Widow footie pajamas are draped over the settee in my bedroom. The truth is, we both went hard for Kitty’s wedding. I slaved for hours just to make the perfect cake. But the manual labor didn’t hold a candle to the outcome. I’m friggen proud of myself, and can’t wait to see her approval.
Instead of sinking back down under the suds, I shout, “Whatcha bring us to eat with the movie?”
“Fruit and veggie tray,” he hollers from the kitchen.
“You trying to kill me? My body thrives off sweets. Whyyy?” I grumble, reaching over the side of my oval-shaped bathtub to answer my cell phone.
“No carbs,” I can hear Jamie arguing from the kitchen.
“Hey, you,” I almost laugh while greeting Evan. I brag about having slept for most of the day. Yet, it’s almost like an out-of-body experience as my mood changes. There’s this guilt weighing at my chest about not divulging my father’s entire story. Might as well tell the truth before it comes and bites me in the ass. I fess up to the fact that there’s more to know about Milo.
“Reese. What was Milo’s last name?” Evan’s tone is caring and I close my eyes imagining his arms around me as he adds, “I love you, beautiful, you can tell me anything...”
I lick my lips then whisper, “Milo Gianni Benincassa… Evan? Evan…”
My heart lurches into my throat.
Al Capon, El Chapo, Gotti, those names are widely known, and Milo Gianni Benincassa is too!
“Jamie,” I call out.
In a flash, Jamie is standing at the door. His hand is at his chest, eyes roaming over me as if he scents blood, tears, danger. “Girl, the way you called my name, I thought you were dying or something! Don’t do that ever again.”
“I told Evan about Milo.” My hands shake, so I drop the phone back onto the shaggy rug for fear of it falling in
