Free A Taste of You by Irene Preston

identical.”
    “I want them to be the same.”
    “Okay, don’t fret. You try it.”
    The weight of Carlo’s chin on his shoulder should have distracted him. Instead, it settled something in him. He picked up another piece and folded it.
    “That one is closer. You said Nonna wanted it to be the same as she made it. I should be able to make them all like yours.”
    “That wasn’t what I meant earlier. I just didn’t want you to change the recipe. You make pretty pasta, babe, stop worrying.” Carlo rubbed his check along Garrett’s and kissed the side of his mouth before he moved away. Then he picked up the row of discards and moved them to the semolina-covered baking sheet with the rest, the mangled one included.
    “No, those aren’t—”
    “They’re fine, Garrett. No one is going to be examining them that closely. They’re just going to eat them.”
    They weren’t fine, but Carlo was already packing the tortellini away, carefully layered and covered with a damp cloth to keep them from drying out.
    “We should have made it there. It would be fresher.”
    “The kitchen there is going to be a madhouse. We’ll be lucky to get a free burner to cook them. Grab the brodo out of the fridge, will you? We need to get a move on.”
    Obviously his opinions meant nothing today. Nonna’s birthday, and they were bringing irregular pasta and wine not properly selected for each dish. He gave up and helped Carlo get everything packed.
    And that was the end of that until it was time to tote everything downstairs to the waiting car.
    “Garrett? What the hell is that?” Carlo was staring at the boxes stacked next to the door.
    “The wine. I’m to bring wine, remember?”
    “A few bottles. Not all the wine forever. Take three or four bottles out, and let’s go.”
    “You’re kidding, right? I spent hours picking those out. Which ones am I supposed to leave?”
    Carlo pinched the bridge of his nose. “Let me guess. They aren’t all the same?”
    Garrett shook his head.
    “A red and a white?”
    Did he really think that? “There are going to be dozens of dishes. How could I be sure I brought the right ones? It’s Nonna’s eightieth birthday , Carlo.”
    “Jesus, babe, you are something else. You know that, right?”
    Garrett opened his mouth to argue. He had given in on the cooking and the ugly pasta, but he had definitely been assigned the task of bringing wine and he intended to make sure it was done properly and—
    The indescribable taste of Carlo, more intoxicating than any wine, wiped all the arguments out of his head as Carlo kissed him thoroughly and none too gently.
    “You’re going to make me crazy.” Carlo rested his forehead against Garrett’s. “It’s not fair that you get me so hard when you’re being such a pain in the ass.”
    Garrett thought it was pretty bloody fair, considering he himself had developed midnight cravings for Italian. Not just midnight either. Carlo was pretty much all he thought about lately. He tilted his head so he could suck on the succulent flesh of Carlo’s bottom lip.
    “Wanna be late?” Carlo’s hands were on Garrett’s ass. On his ass, under his jeans. How had that happened? And, yes, please. He desperately wanted to keep them there.
    Carlo tilted his hips, rubbing himself against Garrett in a slow grind. And, yes, that was quite nice, too.
    Garrett struggled to remember what he had been going to say.
    “Birthday.” He shoved at Carlo. “Carlo, we have to go.”
    “Really?” Carlo’s tongue delved into Garrett’s mouth again, distracting him.
    Then Carlo stepped back, leaving Garrett disoriented and off balance.
    “Garrett the punctual. Hell must be freezing over.” Despite the words, Carlo looked oddly pleased with himself. “Come on, let’s get packed up.”
    “Everything?”
    “Yes, all the wine, everything. You don’t think I’d make you leave it after you put so much effort into it?”
    “I’m sorry I’m so much trouble.” He didn’t