Total pages in book: 99
Estimated words: 96129 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 481(@200wpm)___ 385(@250wpm)___ 320(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 96129 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 481(@200wpm)___ 385(@250wpm)___ 320(@300wpm)
42
ROSIE
Okay, Jimmy Ryan was cute as hell.
He had the perfect hair, perfect smile, perfect quarterback thing going, and he was such a gentleman, opening doors and holding out seats. I couldn’t imagine a man like this staying single unless he wanted to be. He’d picked Masseria’s for dinner. I almost told him to change location, but then I remembered this was all Veronica’s doing. Still, the possibility of running into one of Dominic’s friends here was making me a little uncomfortable.
“You okay?” Jimmy asked across from me.
“I am.” I smiled. “I’m assuming Patty filled you in on why I was doing this?”
“She tried, but to be honest, I didn’t really pay attention. I saw you on stage and Googled you that night, so I didn’t really care what your reasons were.” He chuckled and I swear his teeth twinkled like they do in the cartoons. “I’ll tell you my reasons for taking you to this event though. My ex will be there with the guy she cheated on me with.”
My jaw dropped. “Someone cheated on you?”
“Girlfriend of five years. Fiancée of four months.” He paused to listen to the waiter and ordered us a bottle of wine to share. When the waiter left, he said, “I hope you like wine.”
“I don’t really drink wine, but I promise I’ll like it.”
“Good.” He laughed. “I’m well aware this isn’t a real date, but since we’re here, tell me about yourself.”
And I did. We spent the entirety of dinner talking and getting to know each other, and by the time we were almost done with the wine, I was tipsy and genuinely having a good time.
43
DOMINIC
“Who the fuck is Jimmy Ryan?”
“The new starting QB for the Jets.” Rocco shot me a look from the other side of the counter. “Why?”
“No reason,” I muttered as I continued reading the email Veronica sent Rosie.
She must have not realized I was still in this email chain; otherwise, I knew she wouldn’t have done it. Every few days, I’d ask her if she’d spoken to Rosie and she never responded, which meant yes. Nico was being annoyingly quiet about anything Rosie-related as well. The only thing he reported back to me was that she was safe. He didn’t even tell me the location she was safe at, which was just as well since I had another set of eyes on them who actually did report back. Mostly because Adio, who was Jamaican Mike’s cousin and came highly recommended, was new and hadn’t gotten comfortable with me yet. Marco was still recovering from his broken arm, so I had him doing other important things right now. If Adio not being comfortable meant he wouldn’t withhold information about Rosie like everyone else in my fucking life, I hoped he never got comfortable around me at all.
Gabe had been in contact with her and didn’t offer much aside from “she’s fine.” They all had the same smartass answer when I lost my temper and told them to elaborate. “Call her. Go see her.” As if I wasn’t dying to do all of the above. I couldn’t, though. Not yet. Not until I got rid of Tommy and the rest of his little crew for good.
I looked at the email exchange one more time before I set my phone down and focused on flipping the chicken I’d been making. It was one of those ready-to-cook meals Rosie liked. Well, three of them, since Roc was here and Gabe was on his way. I grabbed my phone again and texted Nico.
Me: you still with Rosie?
Nico: yes
Me: is she on a date?
Nico: she’s having dinner
Me: with a man?
No response. Of course. He was really testing my fucking patience lately. I set the phone down and took a breath before picking it up and texting Adio.
Me: is Rosie on a date?
Adio Shaw: looks like it
Me: with a man?
Adio Shaw: White male, 6’2, 225lbs
Me: you got that from watching them? Are you that close?
Adio Shaw: I got it from the internet. It’s Jimmy Ryan. The guy’s a super star
Jesus fucking Christ. I threw my head back with a groan.
Me: you’re a Jets fan?
Adio Shaw: guilty
I took another deep breath and dialed Nico, because fuck this. He answered on the first ring.
“She’s having dinner with a fucking athlete?”
“Yep,” Nico said, and I heard the smile in his voice. He was also a Jets fan and officially a fucking traitor.
“Where are they?”
“Masseria’s.”
“You’re joking.” I set my jaw to contain my fuming.
“Nope. I’ve been watching them for the last two hours.”
“Two hours?” I screamed.
“Two and a half.”
“What the . . . what kind of . . .” I stopped talking and took a deep breath. “Are they understaffed?”
“Nope. The food was out in thirty minutes, but they’re on their second bottle of wine.”
I couldn’t take it anymore. I hung up and set my phone down, turning back to the chicken.