Free Family Man by Marie Sexton, Heidi Cullinan Page B

might actually matter.
    “He’s picking me up at six.”
    She glanced at the clock and tsk ed her tongue. “You better start getting ready. You don’t want to keep him waiting.”
    Translation: You don’t want to have to let him in the house.
    “You’re right.”
    A short, cool shower, and I didn’t even let myself jerk off. I wanted to savor the lingering sense of arousal that Vin had kindled in me. I dressed quickly. I assumed our “not date” would be casual, so I didn’t dress up. I chose clothes I might have worn to the club if I’d actually been cruising—tight jeans with some strategically placed holes and a silky soft V-neck shirt that hugged my skin. Not like I had huge muscles to show off, but a slim waist and a perfectly flat stomach could be just as appealing to the right man. I hoped Vin was one of them. My one true vanity was my hair, which had to be exactly the right kind of messy. I fussed with that until the doorbell rang at four minutes to six. He was nothing if not punctual.
    I rushed into the living room, ready to head off my mother in case she’d thought to answer the door, but she was still sitting on the couch, swaying in her seat, staring blankly ahead. She clutched something in her hand, something small that I couldn’t quite make out, something smaller than a fifth. I assumed it was a travel-sized bottle she’d picked up from the corner store.
    I turned away, trying to put her out of my mind.
    “Bye, Gram!” I called out. “Don’t wait up.” With any luck, I’d be home late.
    I opened the door and found Vin looking like some kind of uber-Italian Rico Suave. Jesus Christ, he looked like fucking sex on a stick. Not only that, but he looked nice . Not casual nice. Date nice. I half-expected him to offer me a corsage. Mister “this isn’t a date” Vin Fierro was pressed and ironed, his hair combed, a gold chain glinting at his open collar. For all of his words of denial, this apparently was a date.
    A date for which I was embarrassingly underdressed.
    He raised his eyebrow at me in that smartass way of his. “You ready?”
    Fuck. Now what? On a good day, I would have invited him in while I ran to my room and changed, but that would mean having him see my mother. He’d feel compelled to make small talk with her. She would blink blurrily at him. When she spoke, her words would come out jumbled and incomprehensible. She would be, in a word, unbearable.
    “Umm…” I looked down at my clothes, trying to decide how rude it would be to ask him to wait on the porch while I changed. But then I looked up at him again.
    He was staring at me. Not at my face, but in the general vicinity of my waist. A slow blush was creeping up his cheeks.
    Maybe I wouldn’t change my clothes after all.
    “Give me one second,” I told him.
    I ignored the confusion on his face as I closed the door, leaving him standing on the porch. I ran to my room and pulled open my closet. A silk scarf my Gram had bought me went around my neck. My one sport coat went over it all. Leather shoes replaced my Converse.
    A glance in the mirror and I decided it would have to do. Yes, Vin looked like the ultimate personification of Italian machismo, and I looked like a poster boy for the ACLU. What did it matter?
    After all, this wasn’t a date.

Chapter Ten
    Vince stared at the closed door to Trey’s brownstone, battling confusion and beating back panic while the tips of his ears heated. The latter gave him something else to focus on, and he touched them self-consciously, first the left and the right, worrying they would be so red that Trey would notice. He peered into the glass beside the door, seeking out his reflection to check the state of his ears for himself.
    He saw, merged with his monochromatic reflection, a pale, haggard female face surrounded by thin and scraggly blonde-gray hair peering back at him. Frowning, Vince crouched down and squinted, wondering who in the hell it was. Before he could identify her, he