A vacationing Nico... who knew? I'd love to see him in jeans and a t-shirt, strolling barefoot on the beach. :P
Another short one, yes, I know, but I'm having a crap night. LOL
A few days later
It was a crisp autumn afternoon in the Hamptons. Beachside, the view was breathtaking. The setting sun shone off the water, sparkling over the waves like trillions of multi-colored diamonds. Overhead, seagulls and other birds sang and squawked, most likely arguing over a small fish or other assorted delicacies. Nico stretched his arms over his head in the padded lounger on the deck and crossed his bare feet at the ankles, breathing deeply. The salty air felt clean and fresh compared to the somewhat stale atmosphere of the city.
He'd shown up at his sister's house a couple of days prior. She'd remarked how tired and hungry he looked, and immediately heated him up a large portion of homemade lasagna with a generous helping of salad. She'd also placed a bottle of red wine on the table, poured them both a large glass, and listened to him as he relayed the frustrating events of the past two weeks… including his involvement with Gabriella Pittman. She'd just patted his hand and told him she understood. He'd felt so grateful.
However, Vittoria was irritatingly intuitive, and asked him several times if there was something else he wasn't telling her. But Nico made no mention of the beautiful doctor who plagued his soul. After repeated attempts to break him, she waved him off to the guest room for a long nap before Guy got home from school.
His young nephew was ecstatic to learn that Uncle Nico was paying them a visit, and nearly knocked him over when Nico had come around the corner with a Hawks jersey and a signed football from most of the team members… save for Terrance King, which Guy noticed immediately. He had been pretty despondent to learn of T.K.'s condition, but Nico assured him that his favorite wide receiver was slowly recovering and was out of danger.
He'd slept for nearly eleven hours that night, and close to ten the next. The morning he left for the Hamptons, Vittoria chastised him for not getting enough rest regularly, but Nico just smiled. How like their mother she sounded, and he reminded her of that fact as he gave her a bone-crushing hug and a big kiss on the cheek.
His stomach growled, and he checked his watch. It was dangerously close to dinner time, so he felt it was time to head into the kitchen to fix himself something to eat. Moments later, a large pot of water for linguine sat heating on the back of the stove, and he turned up the front burner, melting a half stick of butter in the large sauté pan. He smiled to himself as he retrieved a large bag of shrimp he'd purchased that day from the docks. Shrimp scampi was his personal culinary specialty, and he planned on cooking up a wicked batch.
As the shrimp slowly turned color from gray to a peachy pink, he opened a large bottle of pinot grigio and poured himself a healthy portion. As he sipped the pale golden liquid, he found himself wondering if Dani – Doctor Santino, he reminded himself for the fiftieth time – would have liked it. Cursing himself for thinking of her again, he quickly drank down the glass and stirred the shrimp.
After dinner, he quietly and quickly cleaned up the small kitchen and took his wine glass and the half-empty bottle with him outside. Settling his long, lanky frame in the lounger, he poured another glass and sipped it slowly, listening to the sound of the waves.
He knew he shouldn't think about her, but he did. He thought about how fun it might be to cook dinner with her. How much they both appreciated a good wine. How soft her skin always felt under his fingertips. He missed her smile, her laugh. Her tenacious and fearless spirit. He closed his eyes and remembered how warm, sleepy, and sexy she'd looked that morning as she stretched. His loins began to ache as he thought about how she'd feel against him, her arms thrown around his neck, her mouth on his.
His breath began to quicken, and his jeans felt much too tight in the crotch. He squeezed his eyes shut as he tried desperately to push her image from his mind. Concentrate, he thought, and set his glass on the small table beside the lounger, heading to the sandy shore just before him. The sand felt silky and cool underneath his bare feet, and he just stood there, his hands shoved deep in his pockets, looking out at the ocean.
He breathed deeply, letting the salty air cleanse his soul. He didn't know how long he stood there, with the faint moonlight and the soft sand and the gentle breeze. He only knew that he was still in love with a woman who would never be his. So what do I do? he asked himself. Marshall wouldn't let him leave, the bastard. He'd see her constantly, be reminded of the fact that she'd chosen someone else over him, and ignored boundaries she'd thrown up in his face. His head dropped. Ah, but this is my penance, he convinced himself, my penance for the life I've led, the things I've done. At least he was content to know her. She was a good woman, and someone deserved to have her… even if it wasn't him.
Finally, he strode slowly back up the deck and retrieved the wine and empty glass, heading through the kitchen to set them on the counter. As he entered the bedroom, he opened the French doors out to the deck and removed his t-shirt and jeans, and slid between the soft cotton sheets. The pillow felt so cool against his cheek…
The wine, the delicious meal, and the longings of his heart had taken a toll on him. The sound of the waves lulled him into a deep, peaceful sleep, the beautiful doctor with the chocolate colored eyes still on his mind.