Hello LAlaland (Lost in LAlaland) Read Online Free PDF Page A

Yankees!” I tossed in with a flirty wink for the hell of it. Unbeknownst to him, Anthony had influenced a lot of my life, like my love for baseball. Hell, I met Max because I’d taken Walt to the final home game in the Bronx last season. I’d been decked out in my jeans, ball cap, and Rivera jersey, and was ready to send the Yankees into post-season glory. Max had signed an autograph for Walt before tossing me a ball and a marker for my phone number. Thinking of Max reminded me of what Anthony had said at the airport. “Wait!” I exclaimed in sudden horror. “You asked me about Max Guerrero . . . you two aren’t friends, are you?”
    His laughter was uproarious, and my stomach flutter with nerves as I listened. At least one of us had found some humor in this. “Um no, actually. I just know of Max, though I can tell you I’m jealous as hell of him.” I wanted to ask what that was supposed to mean, but he pressed on. “Unfortunately, I threw out my rotator cuff in 2008 during my first game in the big leagues. I had surgery, and the manager and trainers tried to rehab me, but it ended up being pointless. I haven’t thrown a baseball since the day they let me go.”
    I gasped in shock. What an awful way to end a promising career. “Shit, I am so sorry, Anthony.” I don’t know why I never tried to look him up over the years, but it was probably my own pride that kept me from typing his name into a search engine.
    He shook his head and offered me a crooked grin. “Call me Tony. And hey, don’t worry about it,” he reassured me. “It worked out in the long run. I figured out that Mama’s cooking lessons could be put to good use in the culinary world. I opened my own restaurant in New York called La Mia Farfalla .”
    “You’re kidding me!” I exclaimed, placing my hand on his arm. “You own La Mia Farfalla ?” He nodded with a raised eyebrow, wondering how I knew of it. It was one of my favorite restaurants, and since it was only a handful of blocks away from my apartment, I ate there often. “I love that place. Do you and your . . . wife . . . own it?” I asked, allowing my question to trail off suggestively. Step one in the plan was a go—seduction.
    Tony flushed a little, as much as his dark, olive skin would allow. I sat back on my bar stool, sipping my third vodka on the rocks, and let my eyes drift over him. His jaw was strong, angular, and covered in a five o’clock shadow. I’d distinctly noticed it at the airport, and what a jaw it was. It would feel amazing when it scratched my inner thighs, if the plan worked in my favor anyway. Tony’s eyebrows were thick and arched, and the same deep brown as his hair. Speaking of the hair, sweet Lord—it was a masterpiece. Since he was now wearing it a touch longer than the buzz cut of 2002, it was perfectly styled, thick, and luscious. It begged for me to delve my fingers through it and pull at it as he thrust deep inside me.
    “Uh . . . no wife or girlfriend. I was dating an Italian woman, but she was a little too much to handle.” He didn’t need to ask me about my love life—it was everyone’s business according to the tabloids. His blush deepened. Single. Perfect.
    Now, step two of the plan could commence: fuck and conquer.
    I would make him want me as much as I had wanted him for all those years. I was going to take what I wanted from him before going back to my normal, everyday life. This would be my perfect week-long escape. “Maybe the next time you’re in New York, you can stop by the restaurant? Dinner will be on me, of course,” he declared with a grin.
    He hadn’t yet realized that I in fact lived in the Big Apple. “Then I’ll probably stop in next week, if it’s okay with you?” I asked, smirking.
    “You sure don’t waste any time, do you, woman?” he asked. If anyone else had said that to me, calling me woman in that way, I would have walked out just to prove a point. Maybe it was the liquor, but I was content