Page 96 of Someone Exactly Like Me (Wounded Hearts 1)
I need you now. I’m so confused about what to do with this woman. My feelings for her grow stronger the more time I spend with her, but she leaves soon. And I don’t know how she feels about me. There’s chemistry, but I know she’s scared.
She sees me as nothing more than a playboy. I have been, Dad. You wouldn’t be proud of me. I turned into the kind of guy I always despised. The kind of guy who uses women for sex but will never give them my heart. Ana ripped out my fucking heart, chewed it up, and spit it at me. I let her destroy me. I don’t want that kind of pain ever again. So, I shut off my heart, my feelings. But I can’t keep myself from Destiny. I can’t. I have to prove her wrong. I used to be a one-woman guy. I want to be the man I once was. For her, I can be and I will be. I want to give my heart to her. Fuck, I’m scared. Help me, Dad.
Sucking in long and deep, I hold the smoke in, a little longer than I should, then release it through my nose, blowing the last remnants out my mouth. I shift my gaze to the sky before going in to get Destiny. When I stand up to go into the house, she’s sitting on the end of the sofa, clutching her computer, watching me. I sit back down and wave her toward me.
“Come here,” I say, patting the top of my thigh when she comes out.
I wasn’t sure she would, but she approaches me and sits on my thigh.
“I’m writing a song for you.”
“For me? Why are you writing a song for me?”
“Because it came to me and now I have to write it.”
“Can I hear it?”
“No. It’s not ready yet.”
“Okay.” She pauses. “You seemed very far away just then. Were you writing lyrics in your head?”
I shake my head, looking down into her lap. “No.” Lifting my head, I meet her eyes. “I, talk to my dad a lot when I smoke.” I shrug my shoulders and shake my head again. That must sound ridiculous to her.
With the touch of an angel, she places her hand on the side of my face, locking her gaze on me. “I know you feel closer to him when you smoke. But you can feel close to him in other ways. Ways that aren’t harmful to you.” She moves her hand to cover my heart. “He lives here, and he’llalwaysbe here.” She gently presses against my heart. The intensity of her gaze nearly brings tears to my eyes. I swallow the lump in my throat and push back unshed tears.
Rising from my lap, she pulls out a chair and opens her laptop. I go inside and grab my notepad, pen, and guitar, ready to let the lyrics and notes fall into place.
Destiny
On the way to his mamma’s house, my stomach churns. Not only does it feel strange going to meet his mom, but I have a feeling I’m not going to know ninety-nine percent of what’s going on.
When he opens the door, the smells of fresh pasta, baked ricotta cheese, and buttery garlic fill my nose, making my mouth water. We enter through the living room, sparsely decorated with a vintage sofa and chairs that are covered in a faded green and red vertical-stripped fabric. Voices chatter in the room beyond where we entered and he leads us there. As we walk into the kitchen, we’re met with a surprise, well a double-surprise.
“Ay, bro. I didn’t know you’d be here.” They kiss on the cheek then hug with a loud, manly pat on the back. “Angelina.” He kisses her on each cheek. “And my favorite nephew in the whole world.” He picks up the little boy in his arms and nibbles on his cheek as he growls. The boy giggles in delight. Putting down his nephew, he introduces me to each of them.
I receive and give cheek-kisses then squat down to the little boy’s eye level. “Hello. It’s nice to meet you, Franco.”
“Hello,” he greets me. “It’s nice to meet you, Destiny.”
When I stand up, Nicco’s mamma is waiting patiently.
“Mamma.” Respect mixes with joy in his voice.
She wipes her hands on her apron and reaches up to cradle his scruffy face in her hands. Bending down, he kisses her on each deeply wrinkled cheek.
“Mamma, questa é Destiny.” He places his hand on my shoulder. “Destiny, this is my mamma, Antonietta.”
“Ciao, Antonietta. Thank you for having me.” I smile.
He translates for me, she smiles and nods, then comes in for the cheek-kiss. I guess that’s a good sign. Once we release, she says something as her hands fly around.
Whatever she said makes him laugh. “Mamma.” His tone shifts to playfully reprimanding.
He must see the puzzled look on my face. “She says you need to eat pasta, lots of pasta.” He chuckles again.
All I can do is smile politely.
“Don’t forget about me,” Giovanna sings her flirtation while batting her lashes at him.
