Page 45 of Damiano De Luca (The Five Syndicates)
Sally opened her mouth, closed it, then opened it again. “I know what you’re doing.”
If you know what I’m doing, do tell, my brain begged. I haven’t known what I’ve been doing since I fled Devils Ridge. Passing time? Going through the motions? Making excuses not to apologize to Damian until too much time slipped by? Answer D, all of the above?
My pizza no longer appealed to me, and I pasted the most innocent look I could conjure on my face. “Enlighten me.”
“You’re distracting me from my original question.”
And I usually succeeded in drawing our conversations away from things too personal to discuss. I scanned my brain, wondering where I went wrong over the past five minutes.
“Is it a boy?” she pressed.
“When have you ever seen me with a boy?”
“I never see you outside of work.”
Fair point.
I slid my plate away from me and crossed my arms. “It’s not a guy.”
“Then, why are you blushing?”
Oh, Jesus, Joseph, and Mary.
Blushing? Really? This was what I’d meant when I said time outside the mafia had softened me. I passed time by training, so I could still fight and shoot a gun, but I had the emotional fortitude of a preteen popping her L.J. Shen cherry.
“Fine, it’s a guy.” I didn’t elaborate, hoping the bell would ring before she could pick apart my sanity.
No such luck.
“Who? Do I know him? Does he live here?”
“No, no, and no.”
She furrowed her carefully plucked brows. “‘Who’ isn’t a yes or no question…”
“His name is Damian.”
“Hot.” When I didn’t continue, she leaned forward and asked, “Well?”
“Well, nothing.”
“I give great advice.”
“Good to know.”
“Seriously, I could have been a therapist or a life coach or a fluffer.”
“I don’t think that means what you think it means.”
“Fluffer? Someone who fluffs someone else’s ego. What else could it mean?”
“You know how movie sets film multiple takes of a single scene?”
“Yeah, sure.”
“Porn sets do, too. To keep the men hard, they hire fluffers, whose job it is to suck—”
“Oh, my goodness! Renata! We’re in a school.”
