The Worst Best Man(59)

What they lacked in physical attention, they made up for in texting. Frankie was delighted to find that Aiden was funny over text.



Aiden: Dinner companion just mentioned having his hands full of wood. Exactly how am I supposed to respond? (Full disclosure: client owns several lumber mills).



Aiden: I was going to stop by your place tonight and surprise you, but Brooklyn.



Aiden: I’ve been disappointed by every single sandwich since the one your brother made.



And then there was tonight’s message.



Aiden: Preparing for lunch tomorrow. What’s the best way to take your mother’s attention off of Gio and the fresh widow? Should we tell her we’re adopting a child or that our sex tape was leaked?



Frankie laughed out loud at that one. She fired off a response.



Frankie: When is the last time you met a girl’s parents?



Aiden: I meet most of them.



Frankie didn’t care for that particular tidbit. It certainly didn’t make a girl feel special.



Aiden: However, I’m feeling a lot more pressure having heard about your mother. What’s the best way to win her over? Asking for a friend.



Frankie laughed again. She started to text back and then threw caution to the wind and dialed his number.

“Franchesca.” He answered the phone sounding both smoldery and delighted.

She felt like a damn teenager talking to her crush on the phone.

“Hello,” she said, wondering why she called him. Now they had to make conversation. “Are you really worried about meeting my mother? Because you should be. She’s terrifying.”

“You underestimate my charm,” Aiden insisted.

Frankie laughed. “You underestimate my mother’s lack of sanity. She’s going to ask you about weddings and babies.”

“And what should I tell her?”

Frankie flopped back on the couch cushion. “Well, she already knows that we’re having sex, which she thinks makes me a diabolical genius for hooking you on sex and then tempting you to put a ring on it.”

Aiden laughed softly.

“You don’t have to go, Aide,” she reminded him. She was more nervous about him meeting her parents than any legitimate boyfriend she’d had since high school.

“I’d like to go.”

“I can’t imagine why. They’re messy and loud and nosy, and you’re guaranteed to leave with a headache and probably a buzz and indigestion. My mom will keep refilling your plate while my dad keeps the booze flowing.”

“Are you trying to talk me out of it? Because never-ending food and alcohol are doing the exact opposite.”

“It’s just not going to be what you’re used to.”

“Franchesca, just because I haven’t experienced something yet doesn’t mean I’m not going to like it. But if you don’t want me to go, say the word. Anything you want.”

She paused, chewed on her lip. “Come. Meet my crazy family.”

“I’ll be there. Besides, someone has to save Gio from the widow.”

“You’re awfully loyal to my brother.”

“The man made me a sandwich that I’m still fantasizing about.”

“Just wait ‘til I make you a sandwich. You’ll forget all about Gio and his wilted lettuce and soggy bread.”

“A sandwich artist, too? Is there nothing you don’t do?” Aiden teased.

Was he taking a dig at her blue-collar roots? Sandwich maker and catering help?

“Well, if you wouldn’t be so busy making all that money, you could learn to make yourself an acceptable sandwich,” she said lightly.

“How was your week?” he asked, changing the subject suddenly.

“It was… good.”

“What did you do?” he asked.

“Why?” Frankie laughed.

“I’m interested in you,” he said dryly. “Tell me about your week. How did your exam go?”

So she told him, and he listened. She couldn’t get a read on him. It was as if he were treating this as a real relationship. Something she couldn’t afford to do. Get used to late night calls with the gravel-voiced Aiden Kilbourn? Then what exactly would she do when those calls stopped?

It played on an endless loop in the back of her mind. Even as she enjoyed the conversation, the banter, the interest.





Chapter Thirty-One


Frankie glanced out the front window of her parents’ house for the ninth time in two minutes.

“Someone’s waiting for her boy-friend,” her brother Marco sang in an annoying falsetto.

“Shut up, Marco,” his wife and Frankie’s new best friend, Rachel, snapped.

“Babe, don’t yell. The doc says it’s not good for the baby,” Marco said, rubbing his hand over her rounded stomach.

“Oh, hang on there, buddy. Why don’t you just stop doing things that require getting yelled at for?” Rachel was her brother’s match in everything… including volume.

“Both of you stop yelling so I can hear Drew.” Frankie’s father was a short and stocky man whose favorite place to be was ass-first in his recliner with the volume cranked on the TV. He DVR-ed The Price is Right all week long and binge watched it every Sunday. “For shit’s sake, two dollars? Whatsa matter, lady, you never do your own shopping?” he demanded in disgust.