Cuff Me(51)

And then she picked up her phone with a quiet “hey.”

She didn’t say Tom’s name. She was kind enough for that. But she slipped into her bedroom and quietly closed the door.

He took both their plates to the sink. Rinsed his wineglass and put it away. He could still hear Jill’s voice coming from the bedroom. Muffled as though she were intentionally keeping her voice down.

For his sake?

Maybe.

Vincent braced both hands on Jill’s kitchen counter as he stared blindly at her coffeepot for several long, torturous moments.

He breathed in, breathed out.

He waited for a minute. Two minutes. Five.

Waited for Jill to remember he was out here. Remember that they had a conversation that needed to happen.

He waited ten minutes.

Waited for Jill to choose him.

Her door stayed shut.

And then he realized… Jill wasn’t going to choose him. Not now.

Not ever.





CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO


Jill knew she should be happy that the Morettis and Tom were getting to know each other. Knew that in theory, it was a good thing that the two most important areas of her life were blending.

But right now?

Right now she felt just about anything but happy.

It had seemed like a good idea at the time—having a spontaneous dinner party at her place. She’d wanted Tom to get to know her friends in a casual, “let’s all hang out and eat pasta and drink wine” kind of way.

The way they did it on her favorite TV shows.

She’d set it up two weeks ago. Back before she and Vincent had had the mother of all fights. Back when they were still talking.

It had been two days since their tense talk over pizza at her kitchen table. Two days since she’d come out of her bedroom after her conversations with Tom, and found him gone—as though he’d never been there in the first place.

They’d barely exchanged a word since.

No easy task, since they were partners and all, but they’d managed.

Jill had never been so miserable.

Worst of all, people had noticed. Tom had noticed. He’d practically given her an inquisition when he’d flown in last night. Elena had noticed when she’d shown up early to help Jill set up.

And now, of all people, it was Anthony who’d cornered her in her own home.

“Talk,” he said curtly. Like Vincent, nearly everything Anthony said came out like a near-bark. His marriage to the sweet Maggie had softened Vincent’s older brother slightly, but there was nothing soft about him right now as he stood glaring down at Jill.

She glared up at him with, “Were you just standing here waiting for me to come out of the bathroom?”

Anthony crossed his arms and said nothing. Waited.

She huffed and started to move around him, but he moved with her, blocking her from walking back into the kitchen.

“Look, Anth, I respect the big brother thing you have going on, but let’s remember that you’re not my brother, hmm?” she said, trying to dodge him again.

He moved once more, blocking her way as he spoke. “Just because we’re not related by blood doesn’t mean I don’t love you like a sister.”

Jill froze. None of the Moretti siblings were overly demonstrative, but it was particularly unnerving to hear the word “love” from the mouth of the taciturn eldest.

But Jill couldn’t deny the effect it had on her. Suddenly she found herself wanting to lean into Anth’s tallness and beg for a hug. Because the sibling love went both ways.

Still, it wasn’t the time. Or the place.

Instead she crossed her arms over her middle and cupped her elbows as she glanced to the right of Anthony toward her living room. “It’s nothing.”

“Jill.”

She gave a little sigh. Then she shifted so she could look around Anthony’s other side, since the man was entirely too tall for her to see over his shoulder. “Fine. I’ll play annoying little sister to your overbearing big brother. You want to know what’s crawled up my ass? It has to do with the fact that I have a certain bad-tempered homicide detective in my living room who can’t be bothered to look up from his cell phone for—”

“He’s looked up,” Anthony interupped.

Jill gave him a look. “Not that I’ve seen.”

“That’s because he only looks up when you’re looking away.”

Jill glanced again at Vincent where he sat perched on her bar stool in a long-sleeve black shirt, jeans, and a scowl. “I don’t think—”

“He’s been looking at you,” Anthony cut in.

Jill’s eyes flew back to Anth’s gaze, which was surprisingly patient.

“He’s always looking at you,” Anth said, his voice quieter this time.

“I—”

“What are you doing, Jill?” His voice was tired.

“Excuse me?” she asked with an incredulous little laugh.

“You know what I’m asking,” he said, keeping his voice low. “I’m not saying that Tom’s not a great guy. I’m not saying that you’re not allowed to marry whomever you want—”

“Damn straight I’m allowed to marry whom I want!” Jill said, temper spiking.

She’d seen Anthony get high-and-mighty with his younger siblings before, but this was the first time she’d been on the receiving end. And she could totally see why the younger Morettis were always itching to strike at Anth, in all his control-freakish— “Calm down,” he said, irritating her even further. “Don’t cause a scene.”