All Wrapped Up. Jennifer Drew

she needed to cap off a perfectly awful day.

      NICK OFFERED LIV his arm, but she stubbornly refused it even though the sidewalk was as slippery as a toboggan run. The way she was stomping along, she was cruising for a fall. She was so hostile he had second thoughts about dinner.

      “Hey, slow down,” he said. “No rush to get to the restaurant. The Milano won’t be crowded on a night like this.”

      Maybe he was crazy to take her to a cozy little place. The last thing he wanted was to start something with her. She took life much too seriously for him. Breaking up with her once had been hard enough. He still had residual guilt and absolutely did not want to go through that again. Maybe if she hadn’t been standing there in her office in a lacy bra…

      Sometimes a good memory was a pain. He could recall every important play in a game and write a story about it with minimal notes, but he could also remember the rosy-brown pebbling around Liv’s nipples and the way they used to harden under his tongue. The downy auburn hair on her mound was the softest thing he’d ever touched, and he hoped she hadn’t started shaving it as his last girlfriend had. Bristles were a turnoff, not that he would ever have sex with Liv again.

      “How far is this place?” Liv asked, still sounding angry.

      “Another block.”

      They were waiting for a stoplight along with a few other people with heads bowed against the blinding snow.

      Nick needed to concentrate on the favor he wanted from Liv. She wouldn’t be easy to convince, but instead of planning a good argument, he was remembering her dewy-eyed look after sex. He even remembered the cute little mole on her butt and the bright red polish she’d worn on her toes when they’d celebrated Christmas Eve in the middle of the night under her parents’ Christmas tree. The next day she’d blushed every time he hinted at it, but he’d never unwrapped a package as exciting as Liv.

      She barged past the steps leading down to the Milano. He caught her arm to stop her.

      “Here’s the restaurant,” he said.

      “Ah, basement cuisine. Charming.”

      “You didn’t used to be sarcastic.” He took her elbow because snow had drifted onto the concrete steps, and he didn’t want her to slip.

      “I used to be—” She broke off whatever she’d intended to say.

      He opened the door and let her go ahead of him. Hopefully they could get through the meal without a trip down memory lane. He wasn’t proud of the way he’d broken off their relationship, but it wouldn’t do his cause any good to rehash it.

      The restaurant wasn’t crowded. Less than half of the round tables with green-and-white-checkered tablecloths were occupied. Nick spotted an empty one against the far wall.

      “Okay if we sit over there, Tony?” he asked the lean, hawk-nosed waiter with a white apron tied tightly around his waist.

      “Sure thing, Nick.”

      He guided Liv over to the table, leery of putting his hand on her arm again. Tonight he had to concentrate on getting her help. When he took her coat, he noticed Liv was wearing a black turtleneck like armor under her sweater.

      “He knows you by name?” she asked. “Have you been working in Chicago long enough to be chummy with waiters?”

      “I’ve been at the Post since September. Once people find out I’m a sportswriter, they like talking to me. Everyone in Chicago thinks and lives sports.”

      “I don’t,” she said dryly.

      “You used to love baseball,” he reminded her.

      “I’ve grown up. I don’t have time for games.”

      He was pretty sure she was playing one now, but he didn’t know what the rules were yet. She knew he wanted something from her. If she hated him so much, why was she here? He was a little nervous about it, which was pretty unusual for him.

      Tony came over to the table with spicy Italian sausages standing on end in a basket, a tradition at the Milano, and a small loaf of hard-crusted bread on a wooden board.

      “What can I get you and the pretty lady to drink, Nick?”

      “A bottle of Chianti, unless you’d like something else?” he asked Liv.

      “Whatever you want,” she said indifferently.

      She seemed determined not to enjoy having dinner with him, but Nick liked a challenge. Liv was going to have a good time if he had to do handstands on the table to amuse her. He realized he wanted to please her, and it had nothing to do with his job.

      He sliced the bread and pushed it toward her, then picked up a sausage and chewed it with relish.

      “These are delicious. Try one.”

      She hesitated. Given her mood, he expected a lecture on eating fatty food, but instead she chose one of the meat sticks and delicately nibbled at it.

      “It is good.” She sounded surprised.

      He watched her lips pucker around the finger-shaped sausage. If she was trying to torment him, she’d succeeded. She looked sexier munching the sausage than she had in a skimpy bra, and he was getting hard against his will. He adjusted the tablecloth to make sure it was covering his lap.

      “Try the bread,” he suggested.

      He wasn’t sure how he could persuade her to help him, but he had to stay focused. Liv was pretty much his last chance.

      Tony came with the wine, popping the cork before he set it on the table. He poured an inch of the red liquid into a goblet and handed it to Nick.

      Nick was no connoisseur, but he knew the taste test was part of the ritual. He sipped and pronounced the wine satisfactory, then watched as the waiter poured for Liv.

      “Cheers,” Nick said, raising his glass.

      “Could we see a menu, please?” Liv asked, halfheartedly raising her glass to his.

      “There aren’t any menus,” Nick quickly said. “Tony will tell us what’s good today.”

      “You got a game to cover tonight?” the waiter asked, not concealing his disappointment at their unseemly haste.

      Nick knew a good Italian dinner was supposed to be an event that took hours. The Milano was a great place to bring a date when he was trying to get lucky. A couple of bottles of wine and some groping under the table, and anything could happen.

      That wasn’t why he was here with Liv. She was still the kind of woman who wanted to settle down—not that he didn’t plan to himself sometime in the future, but definitely not now. First he wanted to make a reputation and get a shot at a local column, then maybe syndication or a chance to be an editor. He wasn’t as driven as some reporters, but he was ambitious.

      “My friend has to catch a train,” Nick explained.

      “Yeah, I guess the weather is going to get worse,” Tony said. “Lousy climate for human beings. If the Cubs ever leave town, I’m outta here.”

      “So what do you recommend?” Nick asked, trying not to watch as Liv devoured another sausage with puckered lips and licked away the grease with the tip of her tongue. Lips like hers were wasted on a stick of meat.

      “Prawns in garlic butter and linguini with clam sauce.”

      Tony was telling them what to have, not offering choices, but he never steered Nick wrong.

      “Sounds great,” Nick agreed. “Is that all right with you, Liv?”

      He knew she loved prawns, and linguini with clam sauce was one of her favorites. He was surprised when she rejected the waiter’s suggestions.

      “I’d like a plate of spaghetti with meat sauce and garlic bread. Lots of garlic bread.”

      She