As many of my fellow romance writers and readers, I’m a sucker for a sultry, sex-on-a-stick Italian who knows how to handle his biscotti. Their dark, exotic good looks, the deep velvet of that damn accent, the promises of every Italian lover in history. Casanova anyone?
How are we supposed to resist?
Well, back in my early twenties, I was out at a club called Seville Quarter in Pensacola Florida. Pensacola had a naval air station in town that offered training to many of our ally military services, the Italian Airforce included.
One challenge for me with the Italian men was that I’m 5’9” who loves to where heels, so most places I go, I’m over six foot tall. Many of the Italian Navy Officers I met were much shorter than I. But, this one night, my three girlfriends and I were dancing on the dancefloor, Blue (Da Ba De) by Eiffel 65 blaring over the speakers, when a group of Italian Navy Officers came in. Sweet baby Jesus, there amongst them was a tall, dark, Italian drink of water.
It was as if the clouds had parted, and the sun had shone straight onto him—at 1 in the morning.
And all of a sudden, I was parched.
His name was Lorenzo. And he was everything my early twenty-something fantasies had imagined.
Lucky for me, Lorenzo liked tall women. He and I had hit it off well, talking about traveling the world, decadent foods, grand adventures, and the importance of a tight knit family. What more could a simple American girl want then some time with such an exotic morsel?
Well, after meeting out a time or two, he and his buddy Antonio invited me and a friend of mine to their apartment for an Italian meal made from scratch by the two of them. Holy hell. Yes, please! An Italian man, and he cooks? Be still my heart.
So my girlfriend, Geanie, and I dressed to the nines and headed over to heaven.
The tomato and basil and mozzarella drifting through the half opened kitchen window was mouthwatering, and we couldn’t believe our good fortune. They’d made lasagna—my favorite!
Dinner was amazing. The conversation enlightening, and the flirtation better than any dessert offered. Geanie and Antonio disappeared together, leaving Lorenza and I to relax and get to know each other better.
We talked about everything under the sun, and eventually the conversation turned toward our favorite foods.
Anyone who knows me, knows I’m obsessed with peanut butter. It fills the cracks in the heart. And I can’t get enough. At the mention of the most wonderful creation ever to go into my mouth, Lorenzo made a completely disgusted face.
Oh, no he didn’t.
All of his tall, dark, and Italian started showing cracks. I calmly informed him that peanut butter was my most favorite food.
However, he continued on down his road of shoving his foot in his mouth by telling me that not only was peanut butter the grossest thing on the planet, he didn’t even think it was good enough to feed to his least favorite dog.
Suddenly my Italian fantasy seemed so much less enticing. Not only did he continue to insult my favorite food, he was completely oblivious to the very obvious signs I was giving that he might want to quit talking. The furrowed brow, the sitting as far away from him as I could, the silence.
(My husband never worries about me…except when I’m quiet. LOL!)
But no, this guy just kept it up.
I think I might have been able to live with the fact that he didn’t like peanut butter—more for me, but to be so insulting about it, and then to continue on his tirade even after I made it clear that I loved it, just showed me a side of him that I didn’t enjoy. And that side, made all his other sides less sex-on-a-stick and more stick-up-his-ass.
Needless to say, as much as I like listening to him talk, I know longer cared for what he had to say—Italian accent or not.
I never went out with him again, and I still don’t think he understands why—which was also the problem. LOL!
No one, not even a tall hot, Italian messes with my peanut butter.
My fantasy had grown cold.
MK Meredith writes single title contemporary romance promising an emotional ride on heated sheets. She believes the best route to success is to never stop learning. Her lifelong love affair with peanut butter continues. Only two things come close in the battle for her affections: gorgeous heels and maybe Gerard Butler…or was it David Gandy? Who is she kidding? Her true loves are her husband and two children who have survived her SEA’s (spontaneous explosions of affection) and live to tell the tale. The Meredith’s live in the D.C. area with their two large fur babies…until the next adventure calls.