La Famiglia Page 3

  That got a chuckle out of him. “You do, eh?”

  “Yes,” Lucas said. “Mom and Munny are making me go to Disney World, and they got that condo on the beach, remember?”

  “Oh, I forgot.” In order to keep things clear, Lucas’s lesbian mothers, Bunny and Karla, referred to Bunny as Munny. Their idea of Mecca was Disney, and Lucas went with them every year for an absurdly long vacation. He pretended to hate it, but Forrester knew he frigging loved every second of it.

  “It’ll be all jumbo turkey legs, Mickey Mouse, lame-ass rides, and character breakfasts,” Lucas complained. “I won’t get to have any fun at all. Munny will see to that. She’s really ragging on me about drinking again. Now she says alcohol causes throat cancer. And I keep finding AA pamphlets in my bathroom.” He had his moms’ entire basement set up like an apartment, complete with a kitchenette and bathroom. “Come party with me. I’ll be gone a whole month.”

  “I don’t know, babe. I’m really tired.” Forrester wasn’t in the mood to drive back to Shiloh if it rained, then be squished inside a club like cattle, jostling and pushing to attract the shirtless bartender’s attention for a drink before going back out on the dance floor to gyrate and dry-hump with the rest of the squirrels looking for nuts. Though, after Scott’s sexy reading and all the flirting with Kyle, Forrester was horny. But just not for any ol’ guy.

  He was horny for Kyle.

  “Why don’t you drag Holly along?” Forrester suggested. “We’ll go get dinner or something before you go.”

  “Ugh, fine, party pooper. Is she there with you? Ask her if she wants to go.”

  “Lucas wants to know if you wanna go out tonight?” he asked Holly.

  “Already planning on it. Rachel’s friend is having a birthday. We’re meeting up at Reverends, then going to the Flames.” She raised her arms up and did a quick dance move. Rachel was Holly’s roommate, and they were always up for a party.

  He chuckled and shook his head. Never in all his life would Forrester have expected a gay nightclub to open in Shiloh. But with the university students, it actually drew quite a crowd. The Flames wasn’t a big place, not like clubs in Columbus’s Short North. It was just an old laundromat across the street from Reverends, converted into a dance club, with male strippers every Thursday night and drag shows on weekends.

  “Holly said she’ll be there,” he told Lucas.

  “You sure you don’t wanna come?”

  “I’m sure. If the game is canceled, I’d rather stay here, get some takeout, and be by myself for a few hours. You know I don’t get any peace and quiet at home.”

  “Yeah, I do. Well, if you change your mind, you know where I’ll be. Laters.”

  A crack of lightning cut across the sky, confirming his decision. Being here in his store while it stormed—by himself—with a cup of tea and a good book?

  Now that sounded like an amazing night.

  He’d been excited about the Flames opening—at first.

  A new gay club could give a closeted guy in BFE better dating options than hookup apps and a tiny dive bar. But it had simply been more of the same. He’d be twenty-six in two weeks. Time and life had tarnished the glitter of the scene. Yes, the dancing was always fun, but the meat-market atmosphere of clubs just felt so disingenuous. Even before he left Columbus, his youthful exuberance for nonstop drinks, guys, and parties had faded into more mature desires.

  Forrester wanted a real boyfriend, not just another hookup.

  He always imagined he would meet the love of his life in college. They would move back to his hometown, come out and face the drama with la famiglia together, then open a quaint bookstore in Gilead and live happily ever after.

  Well, two out of three ain’t bad.

  Chapter Three

  FORRESTER HANDED the pizza delivery guy cash and a tip, feeling bad for the kid as he hunched up and ran to his car, feet splashing in the puddles. A big storm had moved through the region, hitting the sleepy little village on the muddy Shiloh River just before closing time, and it wasn’t likely to let up anytime soon. He’d ordered a deep dish from Mama Rosie’s because they were the only place in Gilead that delivered. Rosie was a shirttail cousin of some sort, but Forrester didn’t really know her well.

  Pepperoni pizza in one hand, he checked the Closed sign and locked the door. A loud burst of thunder echoed outside. Humming to himself, he set the box on the bar, opened it, and then fished out a Coke from the cooler. As he waited for the pizza to cool, he drank some pop and scrolled through his texts and missed calls.

  His brothers had blown up his phone while he’d been working, asking if he still planned to hang with the rest of the team for beer and pizza even though the game had been canceled. After a string of messages from Tony, a couple from Joey—including a naked lady meme—the last was from Dino: U coming Frankie or what?

  Sorry, got plans.

  Grinning, he picked up a slice and bit into it. Mmm, good plans.

  No need to respond to the other messages. One Giordano would spread the news well enough.

  Forrester couldn’t think of anywhere else he wanted to be but his bookstore. Now that he had food and had swapped his contacts for glasses, he could hole up here all night and listen to the rain pelt the building.

  He loved being alone in his bookstore. The cozy chairs, the smell of books and coffee, and the blissful quiet, always left him at peace.

  As a kid, Gramps used to regale him with tales of all the famous authors who had come into his bookstore in Chicago. That instilled love of books had led Forrester to a job in a big chain bookstore during college. He’d moved up to management, transferring to the branch at the Shiloh Mall when Dad died. He’d worked there right up until it closed, then he’d opened A Novel Idea. Growing up in a loud Italian family, Forrester had discovered bookstores were like his own personal Fortress of Solitude.

  “I love your family,” Gramps used to say. “But I don’t know how you put up with all that noise.”

  Yeah, neither did Forrester some days.

  After he ate another slice, he sent Ma a text.

  Don’t worry about me, I’m staying @ the store cuz I don’t feel like driving home in the rain.

  It didn’t take long for her reply. I don’t like you sleeping in the store. Am I going to see you tomorrow?

  Prolly, he told her, not wanting to commit to anything.

  The store was closed Sunday in the off-season, so maybe he would just be lazy all day tomorrow too.

  Checking out different apps, Forrester searched social media for Kyle while he ate. Hoping to send him a message, connect outside of the bookstore, he was disappointed once again when he didn’t find anything anywhere. Since Forrester mainly used Instagram and Snapchat with usernames la famiglia wouldn’t be able to figure out—they were restricted to his Facebook—maybe Kyle had a strange username too.

  After killing more than half the pizza and downing two Cokes, Forrester put his phone aside and made himself a cup of tea. English Breakfast with a dash of cream and two teaspoons of sugar. Gramps had turned Forrester into a tea drinker. Much like the bookstore, the tea brought back pleasant memories of the one family member he’d never had to pretend around.

  Not for the first time, he wished he’d come out to Gramps, but he’d only been seventeen when Gramps died. Might have made it easier to tell the rest of his family if Gramps had been at his side, though.

  Add that to the list of if-onlys.

  Steaming brew in hand, he grabbed the new S.D. Howe book and settled in the window seat where Kyle had lounged earlier. He didn’t want to dwell on the past. Rather he just wanted to have a relaxing evening. The rain splattered the window in waves and soon Forrester was lost in the story.

  By the time he finished five chapters and his tea, the rain hadn’t let up. Book in hand and still reading, he walked behind the bar and topped off his cup with more hot water, cream, and sugar.

  Just when he sat back down, a pounding on the door startled him.


  Kyle stood on the stoop, huddled under the awning with a box in his hands.

  Recalling himself, Forrester rushed to unlock the door, splashing hot tea on his wrist in his haste to set his book and cup down. The moment he opened the door, a crack of lightning tore through the sky, and the gale almost ripped the handle from his grip. Rain splattered his glasses.

  “Hey, come on in,” he said, holding tight and gesturing a drenched Kyle inside.

  Kyle stomped his wet boots on the mat. “I saw you in the window, and the lights were on. I brought those books. Aren’t you still open?”

  “Off-season. We close at five.” He pointed at the sign, trying to ignore how sexy Kyle was, all rain-soaked. Most of the little shops in Gilead rolled up their mats at 5:00 p.m. and closed Sunday and Monday during winter hours. But come the weekend of Memorial Day, they would be open seven days a week, nine to eight, until the town’s famous Applebutter Fest in October.

  “Sorry. I guess I can come back another time.”

  “No!” Forrester grabbed his arm so quickly Kyle jumped. Realizing his reaction had been extreme, he let go. “It’s raining like mad out there. And it’s not even late. You’re already here. No sense carting the books home now.”

  Kyle smiled. “You sure? I don’t wanna be a bother.”

  You could never be a bother, Forrester wanted to say when he caught sight of those dimples. Instead, he locked the door. “I’m here, you’re here. It’s all good.”

  Really, really good.

  Shaking the water from his nylon jacket, Kyle threw back the hood, rivulets of water trickling down his cheeks. He gave Forrester a toothy smile. “Thank you, Forrester.”

  Say my name again, please!

  Forrester used the hem of his shirt to dry his glasses, not wanting to take a second longer having Kyle out of focus. When he replaced his glasses, he swore Kyle had been looking at his stomach.

  “I didn’t know you wore glasses.” Kyle placed the large box on the checkout counter, hefting it as if it weighed nothing.

  “It’s my Clark Kent disguise. I’m shocked you recognized me.”

  Kyle laughed.

  Though Forrester only had to count the books, make an account profile in the computer, and give Kyle a store card, this was the first time they’d been alone in the bookstore. “Want me to take your coat so you can dry off?” Forrester offered.

  “Thanks.” He shrugged out of the jacket, then began brushing water droplets from those thick, almost hairless arms.

  At the sight of the luscious male body wrapped in a snug black T-shirt and sexy faded jeans, the familiar churning sensation began in his balls. But he kept control of himself as he carried Kyle’s coat toward the hooks on the wall. Unable to resist, he took a deep inhale of the garment before he hung it up, feeling the scent all the way to his groin. Kyle smelled good. Did he wear cologne or could it just be his skin?

  Ignoring his body’s reaction, he turned his attention to the books.

  Right on top sat a copy of Visitor in the Wood.

  He swallowed hard. “You’re trading this in?”

  Kyle shook his head, smiling. “No, figured I’d loan it to you.”

  A surge of confidence and hunger whipped through him. “But I thought we were going to read it together?”

  “I’m game if you are.” Kyle grinned. “Unless you have other plans tonight?”

  “Uh, um… no plans.” His heart skipped, and his cock stood up and paid attention. He let out a breathy chuckle. “How about I put the books in the computer first?”

  “Sounds good.”

  Hands trembling with anticipation, he set the erotic book on the small counter behind him, where his permits and LLC were displayed above the credit card machine and a framed photo of a younger Gramps in his bookstore.

  “I’ve been meaning to ask,” Kyle began. “Whose picture is that?”

  Forrester smiled, both grateful for a reprieve of the sexual back-and-forth and because the picture always made him smile. “That’s Gramps, my mom’s dad. That’s his bookstore in Chicago, called A Novel Idea. Naturally, when I opened mine, it had to have the same name.”

  “That’s cool.”

  “My grandpas actually introduced my mom and dad to each other,” Forrester said as he began to remove Kyle’s books and assemble them in alphabetical order. But it was all he could do not to shove them to the floor and dive across the counter and kiss Kyle.

  “Really?”

  “Yeah,” he went on, trying to distract himself from his X-rated thoughts and ignore the intense way Kyle watched his mouth as he spoke. “My dad’s father was a famous psychologist back in Italy. Doctor Dino Giordano. In the forties, he brought the whole family—wife and seven kids—to America when Shiloh University invited him to give a seminar. Mussolini was still in power, and the war was going on, so he declared refugee status, and they never left.”

  “Giordano?” Kyle repeated. “As in the Giordano Building at the university?”

  He smiled proudly. “Yup, but I didn’t know him. He died before I was born. He met Gramps in his bookstore when he was visiting Chicago. They became friends, and then Ma and Dad met and got married. Then they moved here. All seven Giordano kids had settled down in Shiloh, and then Ma’s sister and parents followed her here. That’s why there are so many of us Italians running around.” You’re babbling again!

  “Mystery solved as to why I’ve had the best Italian food in the middle of Ohio. And you’re related to most of them, it sounds like. You’re lucky to have such a big family.”

  “A big noisy family, which is why I’m in the bookstore after hours. A man needs some peace and quiet, ya know?” Forrester examined Kyle’s books. “Jeez, you got quite the collection.” He ran his hand over the spines and smiled when he saw the Legends trilogy about the twins from the Dragonlance series. “I haven’t read this since high school.”

  “And they’re all in good shape just like I promised.” Kyle gave him a small grin, then looked at the New Releases shelf beside the register.

  Reprieved from Kyle’s intense stare, Forrester flipped on the computer, casting glances at him. Kyle picked up a book, read the blurb, then replaced it on the shelf. He straightened it in line with the others, leaving things better than how he found them.

  “I’m sorry to put you out like this,” Kyle offered.

  “You’re not putting me out at all,” Forrester told him, glad his voice sounded somewhat collected.

  Those hazel eyes boldly watched his face. “You sure? No one likes to work on a Saturday night.”

  Clearing his throat, Forrester pushed his glasses up his nose and pointed at his pizza. “I’m not really working. Just hanging out. Where do you work?”

  “I’m an assistant for the county prosecutor.”

  “Like his secretary?”

  “No, I’m a lawyer who helps the county prosecute the bad guys.”

  Forrester whistled. Life didn’t seem to hold Kyle back one iota. “That’s impressive.” And probably why Kyle wasn’t anywhere on social media. Jobs like that were strict.

  Coming from a patriarch with university buildings named after him, education had been important in their family, especially because Dad had been dyslexic—not that anyone knew what that meant back then. A union plumbing job had been how he supported their family. Dino and Joey took after Dad and were mechanical but not good at school, which was why they gave him so much shit about loving books. Tony, on the other hand, was on the Shiloh PD working on an MBA. When he got it, his head would get that much bigger.

  Kyle eyed him with playful suspicion. “What? No lawyer jokes?”

  “Maybe if you said you had fake neck braces in your trunk. But that sounds pretty prestigious.”

  “Far from prestigious, it’s Shiloh.”

  “Yeah, but having your law degree is cool. I have my bachelor’s in business from OSU.”

  “I never would’ve guessed you for a Buckeye.” Kyle gestured around the shop to
the Ohio State pennants randomly displayed between book posters, the team O on the chalk sign selling buckeye candies, and the scarlet and gray coffee mugs.

  “Too subtle for ya?” Forrester gave the Brutus bobblehead on the counter a wiggle. Ohio State fans were not known for their discretion.

  Kyle chuckled. “You Buckeye fans are way too intense.”

  “I’ll take that as a compliment.” Smiling, he entered another book into Kyle’s account.

  “I’m glad you were here tonight.”

  When he heard a change in Kyle’s voice, Forrester looked up in surprise.

  Kyle’s little finger twitched against his thigh. He threw Forrester a quick smile, which did not reflect in his eyes.

  His heart lurched, unsettled by what he saw in his countenance. Sadness? Loneliness? He didn’t feel right ignoring it. “Something wrong, Kyle?”

  “My mother died. Not today,” he amended when Forrester’s brows shot up. “It was years ago, but this weekend is usually rough on me, ya know? So thanks for not kicking me out.”

  “I’m sorry.” Unsure what else to say, Forrester fussed with the books. Dealing with grief was not something he’d been schooled in. When Gramps died, Forrester had been devastated, but he’d only cried in front of Ma and Nonna. Then after Dad’s funeral, he and his brothers had fixated their attentions on their father’s ’67 Shelby Fastback. Rather than cry, the Giordano boys had told stories and wrenched on the car, checking the oil and hoses. Any tears had been brushed away with remarks about dust in the eyes.

  God forbid you act like a pussy and let someone know what you’re feeling.

  “She died from breast cancer when I was in college,” Kyle continued.

  Cheeks warming, Forrester fiddled with the book in his hand. “My dad died when I was in school too. Heart attack.”

  Tears brightened Kyle’s eyes. “It sucks, don’t it?”

  Overcome with a sudden desire to reach out and hug him, to ease the grief and loneliness in those hazel eyes, Forrester placed his hands flat on the desk. “How about a cup of tea?”

  “Coffee?”