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“Cincin,” my brothers say in unison, finally caving when my mother’s eyes narrow.

  I chug the champagne, wishing I were buzzed already. Alcohol always seems to make awkward situations like this a little easier to swallow. Right now, I could use a little liquid courage, or as I like to call it, liquid amnesia.

  “Santino.” Uncle Sal’s voice is unmistakable as he comes up behind me.

  I turn toward my uncle with the champagne flute still against my lips and lift my eyebrows. I know this is about to get good.

  Salvatore Gallo has very little patience for his brother…my father. They are complete opposites except for their faces. If I didn’t know better, I’d think they were twins with their salt-and-pepper hair and devilish good looks. But everything else about them is totally different. Uncle Sal is a dedicated family man, where my father cares more about his business.

  There was bad blood for years. They didn’t speak after a falling-out. Tempers have cooled over time, maybe because they’re getting older.

  Just before my father went back to prison, they had made amends and put the past behind them. But then things changed, and the Gallo name was dragged through the mud, chilling the relationship again. But my uncle Sal didn’t let that affect how he treated the rest of us. He knew we were nothing like our father.

  “Sal.” My father’s smiling from ear to ear. “I’ve missed you, brother.”

  Somehow, I avoid spitting my mouthful of champagne all over everyone at my father’s bald-faced lie.

  “You’ve always had great timing,” Uncle Sal says, and his voice is oozing attitude. Standing behind Sal are his children—Joseph, Michael, Anthony, Thomas, and Izzy—waiting for fireworks just like I am.

  My father has always called his brother Sal “elitist.” He thinks Sal not only snubbed his nose at his roots, but the entire family, when he moved away to Tampa. He did, but not because he was too good for us. My dad was the biggest problem, and the pressure pushing down on Uncle Sal by association was tremendous.

  I don’t blame him for leaving. I probably would’ve too if I could have. For years, I thought about changing my name, but I knew it wouldn’t help. In my neighborhood, everyone knew my father and our illustrious past, so there was no reason to go through the hassle.

  I like my uncle Sal and my cousins too. I only wished they’d stuck around a little longer and been part of my life instead of setting off for the warm sand of Florida when I was young.

  My father’s attention doesn’t linger too long on his brother before turning to Aunt Maria, Sal’s wife. “Mar, you’re looking better than ever.” Papa winks at her in a playful way. No doubt trying to piss off his brother.

  “Tino,” Aunt Maria says at her husband’s side, but she’s not amused or feeling the same playfulness as my dad.

  The funny thing is, Aunt Mar is so much like my mother, it’s not even funny. They look entirely different, but goddamn, they’re both bossy and nosy as hell.

  My father’s sister looks him up and down. “Hello, Santino.” Aunt Fran crosses her arms in front of her chest. “You’re looking…” Her voice trails off and her top lip curls.

  Her husband, Bear, wraps his arm around her waist like he’s trying to hold her back and whispers something in her ear.

  In the short amount of time I’ve spent with Bear, I’ve found him oddly fascinating. Looking at him, you’d think he’d be all badass, but he’s just a giant teddy bear—and a complete pervert too. He has my aunt Fran all tied up in knots, which is something I thought I’d never see again.

  After a bad breakup with her first husband, I never thought she’d fall in love again. She was way too fond of track suits and tennis shoes to get much more than a sideways glance from another man. But now, she’s like a different person, showing more skin than I’d ever seen her do before.

  “Fran, you’re a sight for sore eyes.” Papa doesn’t dare try to touch her.

  No other woman, besides my mother, scares the crap out of him quite like his sister. She’s a tiny thing, but man, the mouth on her gives me life goals.

  “I need a drink,” Fran says, glancing over her shoulder at her silver fox husband. “Something stiff.”

  Bear smirks, brushing his lips against her cheek. “Baby, I got…”

  “Don’t say it,” Fran warns as her top lip flattens.

  “What’s your poison, Aunt Fran?” I ask.

  I want nothing more than to drown the insanity that is my family in the bottom of a few shots of whatever she thinks is stiff.

  “Whiskey, baby.” She smiles.

  “I like it when you drink tequila,” Bear whines.

  I bite back my laughter. If she’s anything like me, I lose all common sense and control when I’ve had even a moderate amount of tequila. It’s not pretty, and I am never proud of the way I behave after I’ve spent the night with Mr. Cuervo.

  “That’s why I want whiskey,” she tells him and cocks an eyebrow, but he doesn’t argue.

  “I’ll grab a few bottles.” I place my empty glass on the bar, ready to go back to the harder stuff.

  “My kinda girl,” Bear says with a wink.

  Izzy, my cousin and Uncle Sal’s only daughter, catches up with me as I walk to the other end of the bar, needing a break from my family.

  “You okay?” She touches my arm as I lean over the bar and realize my tits are almost spilling out of my dress.

  “I’m great. Just fucking peachy.” I adjust my strapless bra which is digging into my skin and silently curse Delilah for her ugly-ass choices in dresses.

  “I’m here if you want to talk,” Izzy says.

  My cousin is nothing short of perfect. Her skin is flawless, her hair is spot-on, and her outfit is to die for. But all my cousins are perfect, especially Sal’s kids.

  Meanwhile, I’m in a hideous strapless chiffon nightmare with so many ruffles on the front, I might as well not have tits because no one can see through the layers anyway.

  “Thanks, Izzy. I’d rather not talk about him. Let’s talk about you instead. I’ve heard some pretty interesting rumors.”

  “Rumors?” She raises her perfectly shaped brown eyebrow and smirks. “Like, what kind of rumors?”

  “I hear you have quite the man on your hands. I don’t know how you do it. I mean, if some guy bossed me around, I’d probably knee him square in his junk.”

  I keep my response tame so as not to hurt her feelings. I don’t know how much she wants to share, and honestly, what she does in the bedroom is none of my damn business.

  Izzy laughs, covering her lipstick-stained mouth with her hand. “It’s not what you think.”

  “He doesn’t boss you around and tell you what to do?”

  She waves me off. “Only in the bedroom. But everywhere else, I’m the boss.”

  The bartender walks over and glances at us, perking up a little even though he’s got one foot in the grave. “What can I get you, ladies?”

  “Three bottles of whiskey. Top-shelf.”

  “Three?” He leans forward like he didn’t quite hear me right. “You sure?”

  I nod and hold up three fingers. “Three.”

  “It’ll be a moment,” he says before disappearing.

  “A man better give me a whole lot of pleasure for him to tell me what to do in the sack.”

  “He does.” She’s beaming, and part of me hates her just a little bit more. “And it’s not as bad as you think.”

  It’s my turn to raise my eyebrows and stare. “I can’t wrap my head around it.”

  “You haven’t known pleasure until you completely surrender. You should try it sometime.”

  I want to tell her to fuck off, but I can’t. She looks entirely too happy, and her husband is a fine specimen of a man. He could probably make me drop to my knees and beg for an ass-whoopin’ too. He’s that good-looking. They make a perfect couple with all their perfectness.

  It’s irritating.

  “Here you go,” the bartender says, saving me from saying something
I’m almost sure I’ll totally regret.

  “Ready?” I ask her, grabbing the bottles, and dip my head toward the two stacks of glasses the bartender slides across the bar.

  She scoops the glasses into her arms and follows me toward the tables where my cousins have already made themselves comfortable.

  Our parents aren’t there. They’re on the dance floor, putting Fred and Ginger to shame.

  “We’re not waiting for them,” Morgan, Fran’s son, says as he grabs a bottle as soon as I set the whiskey down on the table.

  “Never thought I’d see the day when they’d all be in the same room again.” Joe, my cousin, ticks his chin toward the dance floor as he kicks back and takes the glass of whiskey Morgan hands to him. Suzy, Joe’s wife, is at his side, curling into her husband but not drinking.

  “It’s crazy.” Michael, Joe’s brother, leans back and shakes his head.

  I stare at my cousins, wondering what life must have been like for them. Here, there’s only us, but there in Florida, they have each other. We used to have Morgan, but that was before my cousins lured him away from us with promises of warm winters and an amazing job.

  I hate them all just a little. I shouldn’t, though, because they’re family. But it’s hard not to feel that way. They’re all happy and tanned, not looking as pale or miserable as my brothers and me.

  “It’s weird, right?” Morgan holds a glass in front of his lips and pauses. “But the night’s early. There’s plenty of time for bloodshed.”

  2

  Daphne

  My legs wobble as I stagger away from the dessert table after consuming more cake than should be allowed for one human being. Walking gracefully is damn near impossible after the amount of whiskey I’ve already consumed and the ridiculously high heels Delilah made me wear.

  I’m making my way through the sea of wedding guests, concentrating a little too hard on each step, when my heel catches. I start to tumble forward and let out a loud screech, knowing I’m about to face-plant onto the dance floor in front of everybody.

  My arms flail around, and I’m cursing whiskey for making this all possible as I fall forward. Just as I brace myself for impact, trying to avoid smashing my face, strong arms wrap around my waist and haul me backward.

  I blink a few times, staring at the dark green carpet a few feet in front of me where I was no doubt going to land with my dress flipped over my head, letting everyone know I didn’t bother with underwear.

  My heart’s pounding as my back collides with a warm body, and I gasp. “Easy there.” The man holds me tightly, saving me from what would’ve been one of the most embarrassing moments of my life. His voice is so deep, my skin prickles the moment he whispers in my ear.

  “Shit.” I grab my chest, trying to calm myself after my near-death experience. Okay. Maybe I’m being overdramatic, but at the very least, falling on the ballroom floor in front of the three hundred guests is something I never would’ve lived down.

  “I got you,” he says, and this time, the deep honey sound of his voice sends goose bumps streaming down my skin as if a line of dominoes has been tipped over.

  His arm is around me, hand gripping my hip on one side, holding me so damn tight I can barely breathe. I turn, glancing over my shoulder at my savior, wondering who the mystery man is, and praying like hell he isn’t a cousin.

  That would be awkward.

  But instead, I’m met by a pair of honey-brown eyes the color of sin and everything unholy. We’re face-to-face, his front to my back and his arm still holding me close.

  My mouth moves, but nothing comes out. I’m too lost in the way his eyes seem to pierce my soul.

  “Are you okay?” the dreamboat asks.

  I gawk at him and do nothing to put space between us. All I can do is nod. I don’t trust myself to speak without sounding like a prepubescent schoolgirl, and I sure as hell can’t seem to walk without totally embarrassing myself either.

  His cheeks rise, almost touching the bottom of his eyes, as he stares at me…laughing. Every ounce of mortification I may have felt vanishes instantly, and the dreamboat doesn’t seem as hot anymore.

  “You can get your hands off me now,” I tell him as I narrow my eyes.

  How dare he laugh at me. You can’t save someone and then laugh in her face at the hilarity of the entire situation.

  “Don’t be that way,” he tells me, as if I’m being completely unreasonable, which I’m not.

  “I’m not being any way. Thanks for the save, but you can let go of me now.” My teeth grind together, and my body goes rigid.

  He tightens his hold and puts his mouth near my ear. “Bella,” he whispers. “Maybe I like the way you feel against me.”

  My body betrays me as I practically shudder in his arms because, damn it, I like the way I feel in his arms too.

  The deep musk of his cologne permeates the air around us, filling my senses with everything dreamboat. His thumb strokes just below my rib, slowly moving up and down, doing nothing to make pulling away from him any easier.

  “Want to get out of here and find someplace quiet to talk?” he asks.

  I turn my face toward him again, bringing our lips so close we’re almost kissing. I want to ask him if that line works for him, but I don’t. There’s no doubt in my mind his words sure as hell do work for him.

  The whiskey doesn’t help me make a rational decision. I should say no. I know that. I should tell him to kick rocks and leave me alone because we’re celebrating my brother’s wedding and I’m the maid of honor. But tonight, with the way he’s looking at me and the heat his body is throwing, I quickly say, “Yes.”

  Plus, there’s the whiskey.

  Dreamboat smiles.

  I pull away, getting a better look at his face. It’s sheer and utter perfection. His honey-brown eyes are only the beginning of what I’d call insanely hot with a dash of let-me-ride-that-face sexy. His square jawline is dotted with just the right amount of stubble to tickle my inner thighs, and his full lips are made for kissing.

  This was the first wedding where I didn’t expect to hook up with anyone. Every person in the wedding party was related to me in some way, which left the guests. With hundreds of relatives and people from the neighborhood, I didn’t see any orgasms on the horizon when the evening began. But now there’s Dreamboat, filling the void of what very well could’ve ended up being a lonely and miserably drunk night in my hotel room.

  Dreamboat licks his lips. I can’t stop myself from watching the slow, torturous path of his tongue across his mouth. I should ask his name, but in this moment, I don’t really care. He could be named Clyde, and I’d still roll around in the sack with him for a night.

  That’s the thing about one-night stands…details don’t matter—actions do. And based on the way he’s holding me and his eyes are blazing, I’m fairly certain he’d be nothing short of spec-fucking-tacular in the sack.

  No one notices as we slip into the hallway. Dreamboat’s hand is on my back, guiding me through the lobby. I steal a glance his way, risking falling on my face again.

  He’s staring straight ahead with his chin up, oozing confidence and a whole lotta swagger.

  The tailored suit hugs his body in all the right places and is loaded with muscles.

  “Wait, I can’t just leave like this.” I turn to him when we’re within feet of the hotel bar, rethinking my stupid decision after coming to my senses. “It’s my brother’s wedding, and I’m the maid of honor. I can’t just ditch everyone.”

  Dreamboat doesn’t even flinch. “You go back. I’ll wait,” he tells me.

  My stomach flutters with the way he’s looking at me and the promise of the pleasure he’ll no doubt deliver. “Don’t do that. It could be hours. If we’re meant to be, we’ll see each other again,” I tell him, drinking in his rugged handsomeness as I step backward and somehow don’t end up on my ass.

  I’m clearly intoxicated because who says that kind of ridiculous crap.

  The answer wo
uld be me when I’m plastered.

  I leave him standing in the lobby and march away on shaky legs, fanning myself as I head straight back to the ballroom without so much as a backward glance.

  The wedding’s still in full swing when I step through the double doors. Aunt Fran is dancing on top of the table near the doorway, and a small crowd has assembled to watch her impressive moves. Bear’s laughing and trying to get her to come down before the wobbly table collapses, but she bats him away and twists her hips wildly, not giving two shits.

  “Happens every damn time,” Morgan says as he comes to stand next to me. “She can’t hold her liquor.”

  We stare at his mother, but I can’t stop smiling. “I like your mom. Cut her some slack. Someday we’ll be old too, and I hope we have enough energy to do that.” I motion toward her as she squats down, shaking her ass like she’s in a rap video and totally dropping it like it’s hot.

  “So fucking embarrassing.” Morgan covers his eyes with his hand and groans before wandering away.

  “Will the bride and groom please come to the dance floor? You know what time it is,” the DJ announces, turning the attention away from Fran.

  I hate this part of the wedding. There’s something so archaic about the throwing of the garter and the bouquet. All the single people at the wedding line up like cattle, exposing our lack of love and our desperation to get hitched someday, with everything hinging on catching an object we’ll throw in the trash the next day.

  The guests cheer as Lucio and Delilah make their way to the dance floor, holding each other’s hand as they walk. They’re so happy and so in love, I’m almost a little jealous. I always thought I’d be married by now. I never for one moment figured Lucio would get hitched before me. The man swore off relationships from the day he discovered pussy, but here we are… at his wedding.

  Michelle spots me from across the room and makes a beeline in my direction. The ruffled mess Delilah calls a dress looks so much better on Michelle. Her tiny waist and big tits are no match for the layers. And her blond hair, pulled back in a tight bun, shows off her long neck line, her soft facial features just adding to the perfection. “Where the hell did you go?” she asks and points toward the hallway.