Chapter Thirteen

Joslyn

As much as it kills me to admit it, I actually enjoy having Troy around. Not because I need a man, or anything ridiculous like that…but because, despite the fact that he’s a giant lunkhead, he’s not a bad lay.

Who am I kidding? He’s the best lay of my life. Shiver-inducing images of him fucking me in every way possible jolt my body into lust mode. I’m just using him for his huge cock and what he can do with it.

At least, that’s what I tell myself when morning rolls around, and he’s still in my bed, lounging like he owns the place.

“Hey.” I jab his muscular, toned ass with my big toe. “This ain’t a bed and breakfast.”

Troy yawns in my face and rolls his eyes. “Yeah, yeah,” he mutters under his breath as he sits up and stretches. He’s still naked, and I have a hard time tearing my gaze away from his smooth, muscular chest.

Damn, woman, stop staring, I urge myself, finally turning around and pulling on my favorite Lululemon purple yoga pants and a black sports bra that I know makes my breasts firm and full. When I’m dressed, Troy whistles.

“What?” I ask, putting my hands on my hips. “What is it?”

“Nothing.” Troy grins and gives a little shrug of those massive shoulders. I contemplate jumping back into bed and licking them. “Just thinking that you look good enough to eat. Want a morning quickie?”

I bite the inside of my mouth, so I don’t flush. Before I can even think about what I’m asking, the words tumble out of my mouth, “So, want breakfast? I mean food, that is?”

“What?” Troy snorts and makes a show of pinching himself. “Did I really just hear you ask me if I wanted to get breakfast with you?”

“Well, yeah.” I’m stammering and feeling more than a little flustered. Think, woman, think!

“IHOP?”

I draw myself up to my full height and shake my head. “Absolutely not.” I revert right back to be Fierce Warrior Joslyn, not Lust-Struck Joslyn. “If we’re going to train together, I can’t have you eating that garbage. We’re getting something healthy – low carb, high fat, and moderate protein.”

Troy rolls his eyes. “I knew it was too good to be true,” he says, rubbing his flat abdomen. I frown as he stares at me. “She’s baa-ack.”

“What?”

“Miss crab cakes.” Troy pulls his shirt over his head and reaches for his shorts. “I knew fantasy Joslyn was just a pipe dream. And pancakes loaded with blueberry syrup sound really good right now. And just so you know, once you’re out of my sight, I’m going to hit the café at the Armónico and have Dixie fetch me a short stack.”

I wrinkle my nose, and a lie flows like butter from my lips. “I never had a sweet tooth.”

Troy snorts. “They have savory crepes, you know.” He puts on a terribly fake French – or maybe it’s Spanish – accent and taps his chest, right below his collarbone. “Eef Madam would pree-fer a more…sopheesticated meal.”

I groan and slap my head with the back of my hand in mock affront. “God, enough already,” I snap back. “Although crepes do sound good. I only let myself have carbs twice a week. I had fries with my dad the other day.”

I’m not sure how – or why – but twenty minutes later, Troy and I are seated in a sticky vinyl IHOP booth. A stack of chocolate-chip pancakes drenched in syrup sets in front of Troy, and a nearly empty plate in front of me.

“What?” I tease, reaching over and stealing a bite of his pancakes with my fork. “Eyes bigger than your stomach?”

Troy meets my gaze and smirks. To my annoyance, I actually blush.

“What?” he asks, all innocence. “I ate a whole plate of bacon and eggs. Not my fault I can’t handle all those carbs.” He raises a teasing eyebrow at me. “After all, you did say they were bad.”

“This whole thing is bad,” I say, gesturing around.

“But it’s so bad it’s good,” Troy replies. “Live a little, woman.”

He grins at me before taking a huge forkful of pancakes into his mouth. Syrup drips down his chin and for a terrible, terrible moment, I’m almost tempted to lean across the table and lick it off.

“Yeah, yeah,” I mutter. “I guess we all need our cheat days.”

Troy takes a long drink of orange juice and shakes his head. “We do. What’s your favorite?”

“What?”

“Your favorite cheat meal,” Troy asks. “What do you pig out on when no one else is around?”

I glare and lift my chin in mock superiority, but I can’t stop the little smile from appearing on my face. “For your information, I never pig out on anything.”

“Oh, come on, everyone has one thing they can’t resist,” Troy teases. “And I bet yours is something crazy. Lemme guess – Baskin Robbins? A big bowl of ice cream with gummy bears and chocolate chips and caramel syrup?”

“Oh, god.” I shake my head as I laugh in his face. “No! What did I say about the sweet tooth?”

“Okay, fine, Pizza Hut – an order of Buffalo wings and cheese bread and a whole medium pizza to yourself?”

I wrinkle my nose. “As much as I hate to admit it, that’s a lot closer.”

Troy grins. “Come on, big tough lady. Tell me.”

“You’re so annoying. A gentleman never hounds a lady about her diet.”

“But you’re having fun,” Troy replies. “Aren’t you? Stepping on a limb. With me, your very own personal lunkhead.”

I bite my lip, chewing it raw because he’s hitting way to close to home. “Yeah,” I mutter. “I guess I am.”

“Well, I’ll tell you mine. I go straight to In-N-Out, and get two double cheeseburgers, Animal-style. Oh, and fries too. Definitely fries. And on the way home, I get a six-pack of beer.”

I raise an eyebrow. “That doesn’t sound so bad. What kind of beer?”

“Chick Beer.”

I burst out laughing. “Oh my god, seriously?”

Troy manages to look offended. “Yeah.” He puffs out his chest, and I stare at it, wanting to touch it. “I mean, I do need to watch carbs…after having all those fries. Although, when you’re as tall as I am, that helps with weight control. And I’m really active with my job chasing card counters all over the Armónico.”

By now, I’m giggling so hard that I feel like I’m about to pee in my leggings.

“It’s good.” Troy tosses his head, then puts his pointer finger to his nose like a bespectacled college professor. “I mean…for beer that comes in a pink bottle.”

Something about his restraint makes me laugh even harder. By the time I manage to cover my mouth, other people stare.

“So, now you gotta tell me yours. It’s only fair.”

My phone buzzes on the table and I glance down to see ‘Dad’ scrolling across the screen.

“Hold on,” I say, still laughing. Picking up the phone, I swipe open the call and hold it to my ear. “Hello?”

“Hey, pumpkin,” Dad says. “What are you up to?”

I glance at the little that’s left on my plate. “Oh, nothing, just finishing up breakfast. Is everything okay?”

“Sweetie, I need to talk to you.” I don’t like the serious tone of his voice. Nothing good ever comes of the ‘we need to talk’ convo.

“I just ate, but I could meet you at the Greek diner for an iced tea.”

“No,” Dad says, so quickly that it makes my heart skip a beat. “No, not there, Jos.” He clears his throat. “Sweetheart, this is really important. Can we meet at your place?”

My chest grows even tighter. “Sure, yeah. Is ten minutes okay?”

Dad doesn’t reply, and I feel a pang of alarm travel up my spine.

“I’m already there. I’m in my truck, in the driveway.”

Without even thinking about it, I leap to my feet and grab my bag.

“Hey.” Troy spears me with a concerned look. For a heartbeat, I wish I could stay and ease his mind. Maybe even lean on him for more support. “What’s going on?”

Fumbling in my wallet, I grab a twenty and throw it down on the table. “That should cover me. Sorry, but I’ve got to go.”

Troy tosses the money back at me and stands up, his mouth open. Then he stops. Something about the look in my eyes must have changed his mind, and he clamps his lips together. I realize I’ve unwittingly emasculated him again, but I don’t have time to deal with it. My dad comes before my one-night stand. He nods and gives in.

By the time I dart out the door, Troy’s practically gone from my mind. I hop in my car and speed out of town, away from the Vegas Strip. When I get home, Dad’s still sitting in his truck. He looks relieved to see me, and somehow that just makes me feel worse. Dammit, I hope he’s not really, really sick.

“Hey.” I pull open the door. Before I can hop inside, Dad shakes his head.

“Let’s go inside, pumpkin,” he says. His forehead creases with worry and I notice big dark bags under his eyes.

“Okay.” My stomach falls to the vicinity of my feet. Leading the way into my house, I grab two bottles of water from the fridge and pass one to Dad. We sit down on my couch, and I bite my lip, shifting my weight as I pause to hear whatever horrible thing my father needed a face to face meeting to say.

“Sweetie, I need you to be careful. Can you promise me that?”

I frown, because that’s not what I expected. This isn’t about me. And it’s almost a little too little, a little too late. Some asshole has already tried to snatch me from a busy Starbucks in broad daylight. But he can’t know about that, and I’m sure as shit not going to reveal it. “Dad, if you’re talking about Troy, I–”

“Troy?” Dad asks as he plays with his bottle of water, passing it from one hand to the other. “I don’t know any Troy. I’m talking about Dante.”

“You mean Dante Giovanetti? What about him?” The name sends a shiver down my spine. Dante’s as well-known with Vegas locals for his criminal activity as for his award-winning casino. “What happened, Dad?”

Dad presses his lips together and gives me a mournful look. “Sweetheart, I know you hate talking about this, but when you were younger, the incident that occurred…” He trails off, and for the first time, I find myself wondering whether or not my dad is really as strong as I’ve always thought.

Did he betray me then? Is he doing it again now?

No, that can’t even be close to the truth.

“When I was kidnapped?” I try not to wince at the mere mention of the incident.

“Yes.” Dad takes my hand and squeezes it. “It happened because of Dante.”

For a moment, I’m worried that I’ll pass out. I grip the side of the couch with my free hand and try to take a deep breath. Stars float before my eyes as my dad’s voice echoes in my ears. Dante, Dante, Dante…

“And I tried so hard to protect you.” Dad’s voice cracks, but he clears his throat and stares into my eyes, trying to convince me of his sincerity. For the first time in my life, I’m not so sure. My entire universe quakes beneath me, threatening to open up a fissure so large, I’ll fall into the black abyss. And I fucking don’t like the dark. “And you’ve grown into such a beautiful, strong, smart woman…but there are still bad men in the world, Joslyn, lots of bad men.”

I nod slowly, feeling dazed. I’ve dedicated my entire life to blocking the vicious acts of bad men. From myself and every other woman in my sphere of influence.

“And it kills me to say this, but I won’t be able to guarantee your continued safety now. Joslyn, I need you to be safe and alert – more so than you’ve ever been.”

Tears fill my eyes, and I nod, thinking back to yesterday. Dante tried to nab me again. But after my mind races, I decide telling my dad about it doesn’t answer anything. He’ll only get himself too involved to the point where his own safety will be placed in jeopardy. He’s too old and fragile to tussle with the likes of Giovanetti.

“I will, Dad,” I whisper. High alert doesn’t even come close to how I’m going to be moving through the world from this moment on. If Giovanetti or any of his thugs come at me, they’re going to be missing their balls. “Are you okay?”

Dad sighs. For a moment, I think he’s about to confess something horrible. But then he nods. “Yeah, sweetheart. I’ll be okay. As long as you’re okay, I’m okay.”

“What’s going on?”

“I shouldn’t tell you,” Dad says.

“Dad, you’re already here.” I squeeze his hand. “I promise, I can take it – no matter how bad it is.”

He’s silent for so long, I’m not sure he’s going to answer. His voice is raw when he does. “I’m being forced out of the Nevada Gaming Commission.” In that moment, he sounds like an old man. “And as you can imagine, Dante’s not taking the news well.”

I struggle to interpret his meaning. “Fuck Dante. He’s never been good to you, and he’s an evil man.”

Dad sighs, slapping his hands on his knees. Although I can’t really understand the stress of being on the gaming commission, I’m smarter than my dad thinks I am. “Pumpkin, it’s not that simple. Dante’s putting pressure on me not to retire, but the commission wants someone new, someone younger.”

A knot of dread begins to swell in my chest.

“And what happens if you’re forced out?”

“They could attack me; they could attack you. Again.” I know he’s referring to Dante and his gang of thugs, but somehow ‘they’ is even more chilling to my ears than Dante’s name. Just how far and deep is the man’s evil reach? And what have they made my dad do?

I take a deep breath and nod. “Okay,” I say softly as I try to process it all. “I can take care of myself, Dad. I promise.”

“Joslyn, I know you’re an adult, but you’ll always be my little girl.

For a moment, I’m filled with such strong affection for him that I want to throw myself in his arms and cry. I remember him at the scene of the crime. My kidnapping. My dad on his hands and knees for hours, searching for my toe in the hopes that it could be surgically re-attached. He wouldn’t stop until the crime scene investigators told him he’d be arrested for evidence tampering.

What had Dad agreed to do in order to get me back?

I shiver at the thought.

But I can’t cuddle myself into my dad’s solid chest and cry. I may not know the particulars of what’s going on, or why, but I know that I have to be strong. And part of being strong is making sure that my dad never worries about me again, for any reason. Besides, I’ve always hated crying. It makes me feel weak…and that’s one thing I never want to feel again in my life.

“I promise, I can take care of myself,” I repeat, holding my hand up in the air. “I swear.”

Dad nods, looking faintly relieved, and I’m guessing that he’s glad to have everything out in the open. But now I feel worse than ever. I’d never thought it would come to this – a day when I realize that my dad is just like everyone else on earth…strong, yes, but not infallible. A bittersweet taste lingers in my mouth, and I fight back tears of distress, but I know I have to pull myself together and stay strong.

I pat my father’s knee. “Dad, you don’t have anything to worry about. And that’s final.”

I guess this is part of growing up, I think as my dad pulls me into a close hug. But no matter how many times I repeat the sentiment in my head, it doesn’t make me feel much safer.