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Sometimes life throws you a hoop and you can either duck to miss it or you can try to jump through it. Well, let's just say life has been throwing me a few hoops lately. Drama has run my life for the past year and I'm ready to call it a day. It's been nearly a month since a mental cop took me hostage in my apartment and then was shot by my own brother, and that's only a portion of everything that has happened. But, I'm one of those people who is good at denial. The way I see it is if I deny I have any problems, are they really there? I try to plug along doing my denial thing as best as I can.

I live in a three story brick slab of an apartment building on the edge of Lawrence Massachussetts. It's a cold, cloudy day, on the brink of rain, so I'm wearing jeans, a white tank top and a black zip up sweatshirt. My white blonde hair is hanging straight and my eyes are darkened by lots of black and silver eyeshadow.

When I get into the lobby, I find that the elevator is broken, so I run up the stairs. I walk down the hall, digging through my purse for my keys. I instinctively stop at my door and pull my keys out. I'm momentarily stunned by the word 'Bitch' spray painted in bold black letters across my white door. I let out a sigh. Great. Now I have to call the building super and beg him to paint my door. I look up when I hear footsteps approaching me. My brother Dom and his best friend, John Kristaldi walk up to me.

In every womans life, there is a guy who comes along and periodically ruins everything. Mine is John Kristaldi. We've known each other our whole lives and up until a year ago, we hated each other. Now he periodically pops up, shakes everything up, and then pops back out. And it always seems to happen when I have some kind of drama going on. At the moment we haven't spoken or seen each other in a month. I was staying at his place while mine was undergoing renovations. After about two weeks of amazing sex and confusing emotions, I left without saying goodbye and moved back into my apartment. He never called, so me being the stubborn person that I am, never did either. And that's where we're at.

They both take a look at my door and Dom is the first to speak.

"Your fan club showed up, I see."

"Yeah, I guess."

"You know who did this?"

"Not a clue." Honestly, I didn't know where to start. My life is so sketchy it could be just about anyone.

"Anyone threaten you lately?" he asks. I give him a raised eyebrow and he snorts.

"You're right, what was I thinking?"

"What are you guys doing here anyways?"

"I'm leaving for a while. Johnny's driving me to the airport."

"Where are you going? You were just gone for a month." I ask.

"I have business in the Cayman Islands."

"Nice place to have business." I comment.

"Yeah, I'll send you a postcard."

What goes unsaid is the kind of business he'll be doing in the Cayman Islands. Dominic has been a player in the local mob scene for years, and rumor has it he's become the man to call if you need something taken care of. This is where my denial comes in. If I don't think about it, it doesn't happen.

"When will you be back?"

"A week, maybe two."

"OK, I'll see you when you get back," I give him a tight hug, "I love you, be careful."

"You too. You have my cell number. If this gets out of hand, call me." he says, motioning to my door.

"OK."

He turns and walks off. John gives me a look and then nods at me cordially, before turning and following him. I key myself into my apartment and drop my purse on the floor and kick my shoes off, shuffling into the living room. I throw myself face down onto the new beige faux suede couch. An hour later I wake up in the same position. I roll off the couch and wander into the kitchen and open the refridgerator door to see if the food fairy came by today. No luck. That bitch never shows up. I'm contemplating a Pop Tart, when my phone rings. I answer it without looking at the caller ID.

"Hello?"

"Izzy, it's your mother."

"Hi, Ma."

"Do you have dinner plans?"

"I don't know. I was thinking about cooking..." I lie. I can hear her suck in some air. She wasn't expecting that.

"What were you going to make?" she asks.

"Maybe some salmon, or enchilladas." Where am I coming up with this shit?

"Do you have company?"

"Nope, just me."

"Well, I was going to invite you over for dinner. Carmine and Frank are coming too." she says, refrencing my other two brothers.

"Oh gee, I would hate to put the salmon in the freezer....But sure, I'll come over."

"Great. You have fifteen minutes." she says and then hangs up. Shit.

I scramble into my bedroom, yanking my clothes off. Jeans and a hoodie are hardly dinner wardrobe to my mother. I pull on a pair of dark wash skinny jeans and a satiny orange top that is flowy and hangs off my shoulder. I slide on a pair of high heels and then gunk up my hair with spray and scrunch it up a little. I freshen up my makeup and then grab my phone and purse and run out the door.

I slide to a stop in front of my parents house at the exact same time my brothers do. We all get out of our cars and meet on the sidewalk. Frank and Carmine are about as different as two people could be. Frank is the oldest. He's a homicide detective working plain clothes. He's married and has three kids. Carmine is the baby. He works in construction and drives the women crazy.

I hug both of them and then we all stomp up the front steps into the house. The smell of fried chicken wafts through the house and warmth seeps into my skin. I drop my purse at the front door. My father is sleeping in his recliner in front of the television. The swinging door that leads to the kitchen swings open and my mother bustles out. She gives us all hugs and then looks at me seriously.

"I'm sorry you had to put the salmon away, honey, but tonight will be worth it, I promise." Carmine and Frank look at me curiously.

"What salmon, Ma?" Frank asks.

"Your sister was making salmon for dinner, but had to put it away because I called her over here." Carmine starts choking. I punch him in the chest and he starts laughing.

"I'm sorry. It's just so funny...You cooking." he disolves into laughter again. Frank is grinning.

"Boys, stop making fun of Isabelle." our mother says, then turns her back and walks back into the kitchen. I look over at the perfectly set table and then notice something odd. There are six places set. I count again and then a lightbulb goes off in my head. I've been set up.

"Who's the fourth?" I call into the kitchen. No answer. I push the door open and walk in.

"This is gonna be good.” Frank says, elbowing Carm.

“Ma, who else is coming for dinner.” she turns and looks at me.

“Joe Rizzo. And before you say anything, he’s a nice boy. His mother and I ran into each other at the market yesterday and we got to talking. You know Joe is practically running the construction business now?” she says. My mouth drops open.

Joe Rizzo was a big time stud when we were in high school. I was majorly attracted to him back then. These days he works for his fathers construction business and I’ve heard his morals aren’t quite up to par. He’s been married once, no children. I haven’t seen him in years and I’m not excited about it. I hate being set up, especially with my whole family watching.

I close my eyes and count to ten. And then the doorbell rings.

“Well, somebody answer the door. I have to get supper on the table.” my mother says. I turn and look at my brothers who hold their hands up.

“Don’t look at me, it’s not my date.” Frank says. I give him a death glare and stomp out of the kitchen.

“Will someone answer the damn door?” my dad yells from the living room.

“I’ve got it!” I yell back.

I open the door and see Joe Rizzo standing on the front step. He’s taller than I remember. Killer smile, dark blue eyes, black hair falling in waves, curling slightly at his collar and around his ears. He’s wearing a navy blue button up shirt with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows and jeans. He gives me a smile.

“Izzy, it’s great to see you again.” he says, shaking my hand.

“You too.” I say with a tight smile. I invite him in and close the door. I roll my eyes into the back of my head as I follow him into the dining room. My dad comes in just as I do.

“I saw that.” he says quietly.

My mother is positively glowing as soon as she sees Joe. She introduces him to my brothers and then shows him to his seat at the table. I sit down next to him and reach for the bottle of wine and pour myself a big glass. I look at Joe.

“Want some?”

“Sure, just a little. I’m driving.”

“Me too.” I say, as I pour. Carmine has a smirk on his face across from me.

The first few minutes of the meal is spent jostling, passing food around and getting settled. Luckily Joe knows the routine, being from a large Italian family himself. My mother happily asks Joe question after question about his business and what he does to occupy himself. I occupy myself by drinking wine and staring down at my plate while I eat, trying not to bring attention to myself.

“So, why are you still single?” Carmine asks. I almost choke. Silence falls over the table and I can see Frank sweating, trying to keep his composure. Joe stares at him blankly for a moment, collecting himself.

“Well, I guess because I haven’t found the right person yet.”

“Yeah, that’s the same with Izzy. You know she’s been engaged three times?” My mouth falls open.

“I suppose you have to kiss a lot of frogs.” Joe says diplomatically.

“That’s enough, Carmine.” my mother says. She smiles at us.

“Look at them, Frank,” she says to my father, “Don’t they just make the most beautiful couple.” He looks at us for a moment.

“You Italian?” he asks Joe.

“Yes sir. 100%.” My dad nods approvingly. That’s all he needs. God forbid I marry someone with even a hint of Irish or Hungarian in their bloodline.

“Isabelle, are you going to say anything tonight or are you just going to sit there all night like a bump?” my mother asks.

“Pass the potatoes.” I say. Frank hands me the potatoes across the table and I thank him.

An hour later, I walk Joe to the door. My mother coaxed me into some conversation and the evening didn’t go too badly. We step out onto the front steps and Joe turns and looks at me. The whole evening, I’ve been trying to figure out why I’m not attracted to Joe at all. He’s a great looking guy with a great personallity, a good job and a somewhat rough edge that makes me think he might know my brother, Dom. But, I can’t find a spark and it’s kind of concerning.

“I had a nice time. Your family was very welcoming.” he says. He’s holding a brown paper bag full of leftovers.

“Yeah, I did too.”

“We should do it again sometime, maybe just the two of us.” he says.

“I should probably tell you, I’m kind of involved.” he smiles.

“Of course you are. Who’s the lucky guy?”

“John Kristaldi.”

“Ahh. John’s a good guy.” he says in a tone that tells me he doesn’t believe it.

“Yeah.”

“Well, if anything changes, give me a call.” he says. He gives me a polite hug and then walks off to his truck.

I go back in the house, collect my purse from the front hall and then retreive my doggy bag from the kitchen. My mother looks at me with a big smile on her face.

“Well, what did you think?”

“He’s nice, but I don’t think it’s going to work out.” I tell her.

“Why not?”

“We don’t have a lot in common.”

“Isabelle, I’m not going to live forever. I’d like to see my only daughter married off before I die.” she wails, dramatically.

“Ma, please. You can’t force Joe and I to be together, just because that’s what you want.”

“Who do you think you’re going to be with that’s going to treat you good? With job? With a put together life? Huh? You think John Kristaldi’s gonna do that for you?”

“I am not having this conversation with you.”

“You never want to have this conversation. Things are going nowhere with John. He’s never even been to dinner at our house.” I scoop my doggy bag up off the counter.

“Bye, Ma. Thank you for dinner. I love you.”

“I love you too. Say goodbye to your father before you leave.”

I do as she says, then walk out to my car. It’s a ten minute drive back to my apartment and I’m surprised when I get there to find John Kristaldi waiting in my lot. I pull in and get out. He’s leaning against his truck. It’s almost pitch black in the parking lot, but he doesn’t look like the kind of guy who gets worried in the dark. John has always been the guy you wouldn’t want to run into in a dark alley. That is, unless you’re me.

“Where have you been?” he asks.

“My parents. How long have you been waiting?”

“About an hour.”

“I’m surprised you didn’t go up and wait in the hall.”

“I was, but the old bastard across the hall from you kicked me out, said I was loitering.” I grin.

“You look nice.” he says.

“I was on a date.”

“With who?”

“Joe Rizzo.”

“Joe Rizzo is a punk. Ask anyone his company has worked for.”

“Jealous?”

“No. I’m the one you’re going to invite into your apartment at the end of the night.”

“Don’t be so sure.” I say.

“You sound mad at me. I should be the one mad at you.”

“Why?”

“You fucking left without so much as a word.”

“Don’t be dramatic. You knew I was going to leave.”

“Eventually. And I thought we’d get to have a going away party.” he says. I roll my eyes.

“We did enough partying.” I walk away from him, crossing the lot into the building. I can hear his footfalls behind me as he follows me.

When we get to my door, I unlock it, then turn to face him.

“I’m going to bed. Goodnight.” I say, then slam the door. He shoves his boot in the doorway before the door shuts though and pushes it open. I groan and stomp into the kitchen, flipping lights on.

“So, are you going to be Joe’s girlfriend?” he asks, casually. He opens my fridge, peeks inside, then shuts it.

“Probably not.” I say, handing him my doggy bag. He takes it from me and starts picking through it. He pulls out a container of carrot cake and opens it. He gets a fork out of a drawer and starts eating. As I watch him, I realize why I wasn’t attracted to Joe. John has a raw energy like a ticking timebomb. He oozes testosterone and sexual tension. We’ve tried drawing lines and setting boundries with each other, but each time the line blurs, it makes everything more confusing and emotional. So now we’re just circling each other, like chess players, trying to figure out what the other is going to do and how we’re going to react.

He finishes his cake and tosses the container and fork into the sink.

“Good to know I don’t have to kick his ass.” I roll my eyes. He grins.

“I like when you act all mad. It’s cute.”

“Grow up.”

“It is. It’s sexy. You throw your hair all around and stomp your feet. It’s infuriating, but it’s sexy.” I narrow my eyes at him. I don’t want to admit that he looks pretty fucking sexy just standing there pushing all my buttons.

“I think you’ve overstayed your welcome.” I tell him.

“OK, we’ll do it your way, for now.” He starts for the door and I follow him. He turns around, grabs me and kisses me. The kiss is full of desire, lust and lots of tounge. We pull apart and he gives me a sexy grin.

“See you around, Cupcake.”