“We’re good at that.” Nick poked my shoulder.
Ignoring him, I leaned forward in my chair. “You should write all this down, Noni. I could help you,” I offered. “I could type as you talk about what you remember.”
“That’s a great idea,” Nick said.
“OK, sure.” Noni tilted her head. “You know, I think I have an old photo album of the Lupo family around here somewhere. Maybe in a trunk in the attic. I can’t get up there anymore but you kids could look.”
“We’ll definitely do that.” Nick stood and stretched. “Coco and I are going to take a run before dinner. Maybe a swim. Is that OK? Or do you need me to do anything for you now?”
“No, no. You two go on. I’m going to stay out here a little bit. Dinner won’t be until around seven.”
“OK. I’m cooking tonight, Noni, so don’t even try to make dinner without me,” he threatened, offering me a hand getting out of the chair.
“I might let you in my kitchen, Nick Lupo, but not if I catch you swimming naked in my lake. You tell that boy to keep his trunks on, Coco.”
I grinned as he helped me to my feet. “I will, Noni. You can count on it.”
Nick held the screen door open and followed me into the house. I snagged my suitcase and headed up the stairs, whispering over my shoulder, “You keep your trunks on, boy. You hear me?” Then I squealed as he lassoed me with an arm around my waist, pulling me tight to his body and carrying me the rest of the way up.
“You watch who you’re ordering around, little girl. I’ve got gangster blood, and it runs hot.”
Gangster blood.
Damn.
I ran hard, the soles of my Nikes stirring up dust on the dirt road. My body was bursting with trapped energy, fueled by frustration and adrenaline, which only seemed to replenish itself the harder I pushed.
“Jesus, Coco, pace yourself.” Nick easily kept up with me, although I was glad to hear he was breathing heavy. “You’re going to wear yourself out on the first mile.”
“Can’t keep up?” I teased, stretching my legs to lengthen each stride.
Instead of answering he took off at a speed I’d never attain in this lifetime, moving about a hundred
feet ahead of me and then jogging backward as I caught up. “Hey, cupcake. What took you so long?”
I punched his shoulder and he turned around, running alongside me again. “No fair,” I panted. “You have much longer legs than I do.”
He glanced down at my blue running shorts. “I don’t know, your legs look pretty long to me. Long and luscious and begging to wrap themselves around my neck. What do you say we stop up here for a breather?”
“No. Do you know how many calories I’ve consumed in the last twenty-four hours? I’m getting a run in if it kills me.” Ignoring a stitch behind my left rib cage, I pumped my arms harder and sped up again.
“It might, the way you’re going at it. Why don’t you save some of that aggression for later? It’s turning me on.”
“Everything turns you on.”
“True. At least where you’re concerned.”
We ran in silence for a few minutes, following the dirt road as it curved around a bend. On our left was a field of greens; on our right, land thick with trees.
“How far do you want to go?” he asked.
“Three miles,” I panted. “Same as always.”
“Perfect. We’ll go to that silo up there, turn around, and then head east through the trees when we get back here.” He gestured to our right. “The reservoir is that way.”
“Great.” I slowed down a little, breathing deeply in an effort to relieve the ache in my side. Eventually it dissipated, and my mind strayed from my body to my heart, which ached in a different way. I needed to ask myself some hard questions.
What was I really doing here with Nick? Yes, I needed him to do me a favor by catering for Angelina, but he and I both knew he owed me a favor without this weekend together business. I could have argued harder that being friends and getting to know each other again did not have to involve sleeping under one roof. And I should have. But the truth was, I’d wanted to say yes. I wanted to spend time with him under one roof. Alone. With others. Clothed. Naked. Cooking.
Talking. Drinking. Laughing.
Kissing.
Showering.
Fucking.
Christ. My shorts felt wet with something other than sweat, and my breasts tingled in my sports bra. It didn’t help that he was right here next to me, sweaty and shirtless and breathing hard, muscles flexing. Before thinking about sex could derail my introspection, I put it aside and tried to examine how I really felt about Nick.
When I looked at him, I had all the stomach- flipping, panty-melting, heart-fluttery feelings I had all those years ago. When I thought about his success and saw how hard he’d worked to get where he was, I felt proud and happy. When I thought about being here at the farm, talking to Noni about family history, I felt like I belonged somehow. And when I thought about never being back here again, about saying goodbye to Nick tomorrow when the weekend was over, about going back to my regularly scheduled days of work, living with my parents, and no sex, I felt empty. No, worse than empty. Sad. Lonely. Depressed. Doomed to spend countless nights alone with my vibrator, getting myself off by thinking about Nick—and that’s only when I knew the house would be empty.
But. When I thought about what he’d done, I got so mad. I felt bitter and humiliated and betrayed. Served him right if he still loved me—here was my chance to make him feel a little of what I felt back then.