Evan had the good sense to shudder. “Dad would disown me.”
“I’m going to grab a shower and warm up some mac and cheese,” Gia said, rising. “You want any?”
“I guess I could go for some.”
“Awesome.” She started for the stairs. “Heavy carb date in ten minutes and you can show me how to use the calendar app on my phone.”
“Again?”
“It’s not ‘again’ if it’s a brand new app. I didn’t like the other one. This one has cool colors and alarms that sound like the ocean.”
“I’m changing your name to Too Many Calendar Apps Decker,” Evan called after her.
Once in the bathroom, Gia turned on the shower and reached for her phone. She dialed, took a deep, cleansing breath, and brought her phone to her ear.
“Hey, Cinnamon Girl.” The sound of her ex-husband’s voice simultaneously brought a smile to her lips and irked the hell out of her. It was the story of their relationship, being repeatedly charmed and disappointed by a man who refused to grow up.
“Hey, Paul. Did you forget something today?”
“Oh, man! Is it Friday again, already? I was so amped about this new gig I totally forgot.”
“A new gig?” she asked, immediately regretting it.
“I’m filling in with this band at the casino for the next few weeks. Their drummer’s having some legal troubles.”
“Legal troubles?”
“House arrest for possession,” Paul amended. “His loss, my gain. Can you put the kids on? I’ll say hi now.”
“Aurora’s been in bed for half an hour,” she reminded him.
“Right, right. How about Ev?”
“Listen Paul, I don’t want to just hand him the phone and tell him it’s you. He needs to know that you care enough to remember to keep your word when it comes to him.”
“Uh-huh. Uh-huh.”
She was losing him. She could feel it. He was getting sucked into whatever video game or YouTube video he would obsess over until something shinier caught his attention.
“I need you to hang up with me and call Evan on his phone. And don’t tell him I called you first.” She said it slowly and carefully, as if instructing a toddler.
“Gotcha.”
“And make it a video chat this time. It’s been a while since he’s seen you.”
“Sure. No problemo.”
She could envision him nodding into the phone.
“Okay. I’m hanging up now and you’re going to call Evan on his phone.”
“I got it, G. Consider it done. Oh, listen. The support payment is going to be a little light this month, okay? Things are going down at work.”
Gia closed her eyes and took another deep breath. If his child support payments dried up again she was going to have to look for a second job. Again.
“I can hear you doing your ‘don’t freak out breathing’ thing,’” he teased her.
“We’ll talk about the support some other time, okay? Call your son.”
“I’m on it. Good talking to you.”
“Bye, Paul.”
Gia waited until she heard Evan’s phone ring downstairs before pulling off her clothes and stepping under the steaming water.
5
A long run early Saturday morning made Beckett reluctantly aware of how loose and energetic his body felt. He refused to attribute it to the yoga he’d endured the night before or the beautiful sadist who guided him through it. It was most likely the aftereffect of a nice, sunny vacation, he decided.
After a strong cup of coffee and his usual protein shake, Beckett decided to spend the rest of the morning catching up on work. But try as he did to focus on asset allocations for the Petrovic family and Pete McDougall’s permit request for a custard truck, he found his thoughts returning to Gianna.
He was attracted to her. There was no doubt about that. He wasn’t blind. Physically she was stunning. She was little, petite. But what she lacked in height, she made up for in sinful curves. And that face. A sprinkling of freckles on flawless ivory and green-gray eyes that always seemed to be laughing at some unspoken joke. Her wide smile warmed rooms while accentuating the sweet dimple in her chin.
He found her intriguing.
She was nothing like his usual type. The women he dated were refined, restrained even. Focused on their careers, they had an appreciation of life’s little luxuries. They wore tailored suits and spoke fondly of Italian vacations and the literary works of Marcel Proust and Joan Didion.
Gianna did not fit neatly into that category.
Not with her body-hugging spandex, wild curls, and the energy that sparked out of her. He bet she curled up at night with trashy novels and didn’t even own a suit.
Yet the attraction for him had been instantaneous. There was power in that compact, curvy body. And that was as captivating as her physical beauty. She was strong and vibrant, making the memories of the women he’d always dated take on muted pastel shades.