January in Chicago can suck my balls. I’ve lived here all my life and I’m still not used to the cold that finds a way to seep into your bones and freeze you from the inside out. Pulling my beanie on, I lock the front door and head for the Rover. Why the fuck I didn’t park in the garage when I got home from the gym this morning is beyond me. Jumping into the already warmed interior of the truck, I press the button in the steering wheel and give the command to call the Princess.
“Hey, baby, are you on your way back to the gym already?” Frankie asks, her raspy voice shooting right to my cock.
“No, I was gonna see if you wanted to grab some lunch—I’m starving. I’m not going back to the gym until later tonight,” I tell her as I navigate my way down the slushy street.
This close to a fight, I train two, sometimes even three, times a day.
“Oh, that blows, I already made plans with Indie. I figured that you were going to be here training.” I hear the disappointment in her voice.
We spend nearly every free moment together, though I haven’t been able to convince her to just come and stay with me instead of rooming with Indie. Hell, in the two months that we’ve been together, I can’t even get her to admit we’re in a relationship.
“Do you guys mind if I crash your lunch?”
“No, of course not! Do you mind Peruvian?” she asks more excited now that she doesn’t have to choose between the two of us.
“That BYOB place over on Milwaukee?”
“Yep, that’s the one. Is that okay? I can always call her to see if we can go someplace else if you would rather.”
“No, that’s perfect. Do you want me to pick you up?”
“I have a new student that I’m meeting with in a few minutes to go over her competition schedule, so I’ll just meet you there. Indie is probably already on her way.”
“All right. Do you want me to stop and get drinks on my way? I know you and Indie like that ‘porch rocker’ shit. I’ll swing by Binny’s and grab some on my way since I’m not picking you up. Sound good?”
I’m already turning toward the liquor store, not waiting for her to answer. I won’t drink this close to an important fight when I’m training like I am, but the girls can get sloppy if they want to.
“Perfect. Thanks, I have to go, but I’ll see you soon.”
“You got it, baby.” I disconnect the call and turn up the radio when I hear the intro to “The Kill.”
Ten minutes later, I’m jogging to the front door of the restaurant, six-pack under my arm, texting Reggie to make sure that he and Trent are with Frankie. Andrew is still out there under the radar somewhere, and fuck me if he thinks he’s going to get a chance to lay hands on my girl again.
Spotting Indie in the corner of the enclosed front patio, I head over to her nodding at the hostess on the way.
“What’s up, Jones?” I ask as I plop into the cane-back chair opposite her in the vibrant little bistro, plunking the beer in front of her. “I’ve come bearing gifts for letting me intrude on your chicks-only lunch.” Smirking, I whip my hoodie off and pull my dislodged beanie on, pushing it back on my head so it’s slouching. I’m sure I have a serious case of hat head right now…ain’t nobody got time for that shit.
“Hey, punk. I knew you’d be here. You’ve crawled so far up our girl’s ass lately I fear you might grow a mangina,” she deadpans.
How she’s able to say the things she says with a straight face is beyond me.
“Where the fuck do you come up with this shit, Jones?” I ask her laughing.
“Where the fuck do you come up with your shirts?” she scoffs, pointing at my Burnout Tee.
Smiling widely, I look down at my “If you Beard it, they will come” shirt.
“You don’t like my shirt, Indie? I bet Frankie will. She knows all about the power of the beard.” Winking at her disgusted face, I lean so that I’m balanced on the back legs of my chair, waiting to see what crazy shit this bitch says next.
“You’re so gross, you know that, right?” she asks over the cat-eyed glasses perched on her pierced nose.
Shrugging in acceptance, I pop a top on a bottle of beer and hand it to her. I need to butter her up a little for the talk I want to have before Frankie shows up.
“So what the fuck is going on with Flashdance? Why is he still hanging around?” I ask as nonchalantly as I can.
Indie looks at me like I really am as dumb as she thinks I am.
“Why do you think he’s still here, Deacon? It’s not because he’s a fan of The Hitman, I can promise you that.” Snorting indelicately at my stupidity, she takes a swig from her bottle.
Chewing my lip in frustration, I look Jones in the eyes and weigh how I want to ask this next question without sounding like a total pussy. Then I remember who I’m talking to and know it’s useless. She’ll hit me with that “mangina” shit regardless.
“It’s been a couple months that we’ve been together now and she still doesn’t want anyone to know, like it’s some dirty fucking secret or that she’s not really my girl. I’m over that shit to tell you the truth. Do you think she still wants to be with Rico Suave or what?” I bite out roughly.
Putting her bottle down, Indie squints her wide green eyes at me like she’s trying to figure out if I’m serious. She must see that I am, though I’m really not prepared for her answer.
“Stop being such a cunt about it, Deacon. For fuck’s sake, man up!” Shaking her head at me, she huffs out a breath in exasperation.
Indie is the only chick I know that can drop cunts like candy in public for anyone to hear and think nothing of it. I’m pretty sure that the old guy at the table next to us drinking his espresso and minding his own business flinched like someone reached out and smacked him in the face. Looking over at him, I smile and shrug. Ballsy bitch. She and my girl both sound like sailors but look like dolls. It’s kinda sexy.
Looking across the table at Indie, I'm waiting for her to expound on her wicked eloquent non-answer. Before she can though, I see Frankie in gray knee-high boots over black leggings bundled up in her pea coat and scarf hurrying down the sidewalk, Trent and Reggie flanking her on either side. I watch as she sashays her sexy ass through the door, whipping off her glasses that fogged up as soon as she came in from the cold.
I get up and head toward the hostess stand to get my girl.
Smiling brightly, she walks right into me and raises her face for my kiss.
“I missed you,” she says against my lips.
“I missed you too. Your nose is freezing!” I laugh as I circle my nose around hers, trying to warm it.
Looking up at the boys standing there, I ask, “You guys gonna come sit with us or what?”
“No, we just ate, so we’re going to head up to the coffee bar and just chill if that’s okay with you, my man.” Reggie indicates with his thumb the little area set up on the other end of the restaurant.
“No problem. You see where we’re sitting?”
“Yeah, I got it. We’ll be able to see you from there.”
Lifting my chin in agreement, I take Frankie’s hand and start pulling her to our table when she stops abruptly and turns back to look back at the front door. “What’s the matter, baby?” my brows drawn down in confusion.
“Nothing, I…nothing. I just thought I saw someone,” she tells me, still looking out the wall of windows.
I pull her behind me and look for myself, motioning Reggie over as I do. “Who do you think you saw, Frankie? Andrew?”
“I’m not sure, Deac. It was more like I felt whoever watching and then thought I saw him out of the corner of my eye.” She tugs on my hand. “I’m sure it’s nothing. Come on, I’m hungry.” I can hear the tension in her voice, and so can Reggie who’s been standing and listening to us.
Without a word, he slaps my back and heads out the door to check things out, allowing me to relax and focus on getting her to as well. “Come on, your girl is about to stroke out over there,” I joke. She laughs and lets me lead her over to where Indie is waiting.
“Hey, hooker! Where the feck have you been?” Indie asks smiling.
Oh, she could say “cunt” loud enough for the whole damn city to hear but not “fuck”? That one is pushing it, I guess.
“Sorry, I have a new student. We were going over what kind of choreography she has planned for her first showing,” Frankie explains as I help her out of her coat and toss it onto the empty chair next to Indie.
Pulling out her chair, I lean down and kiss her bare shoulder, inhaling her scent before straightening. A lot of Frankie’s shirts hang off her shoulder, sometimes both— they’re sexy as fuck. Just that little bit of skin showing and I’m rock solid every time. She smiles at me over her shoulder as I sit down in my own chair. She takes my hand, placing it on her leg. She looks at ease now that we’re away from the entrance and prying eyes.
“You two are a little nauseating, you know that, right?” Lip curled at us in mock repulsion, Indie picks up her menu.
“Hey, Jones?”
“Hmmm, yes, asshat?” she asks, not looking up from her menu.
“Eat a dick,” I whisper, chuckling as she slams her menu down and looks at me appalled.
“I’d rather eat a puss—”
Laughing hard enough to let loose a snort, Frankie covers Indie’s mouth with her hand.
“That’s enough, you two. I’m starving, and you and your filthy mouths are going to get us kicked out,” she manages to get out in between giggles.
Sticking her tongue out at me, Indie looks over at Frankie all innocent and shit…well, as innocent as a rockabilly chick with colorful ink covering both arms to her elbows and her chest can look, and says, “Yes, Mommy,” before going back to her menu.
“Do you want a beer, baby?” I ask, reaching for one in the center of the table.
“No, not yet. I’m still trying to defrost. I think I’ll have a house coffee first. I wonder which they’ll have today,” tapping her fingernail against her lip and then tugging. I groan inwardly…she’s killing me. She looks down at the specials posted on an insert and asks, “What are you going to get, Indie? That sandwich you always get with the steak and the egg?”
“Yeah. I really should try something else, but I love it,” Indie says, slapping her menu shut. “What are you guys getting?”
I’m just about to answer her when I feel what I’m pretty sure are double-D’s pressed into my back. I lean forward as I glance back to find who I assume is our waitress with her fun bags resting on my shoulders. Why are bitches so crazy? It’s obvious that I’m here with my girl, my hand on her thigh, her tucked in so tight next to me we could literally share a seat. Scooting my chair forward, trying to break contact, I look over at Indie to see if I’m imagining this shit.
“Yo, sister girl. Rein those things in before you leave nipple prints in my dude’s back,” Indie issues in warning.
Clearly I’m not imagining things. Leave it to Jones to draw even more unwanted attention to an already uncomfortable situation.
I clear my throat, ignoring the glares being exchanged by the girls.
“Baby,” I make sure to use an endearment and to not even glance in the direction of the silicone server, “Are you ready to order or do you still need a minute?”
She doesn’t even look my way. Oh shit. Then she starts speaking in rapid fire…Spanish? No. Portuguese? Maybe. She speaks so many damn languages I can’t keep up with her multilingual ass. Before I can even decipher which language she’s speaking, the waitress is scurrying off and a man who I recognize as one of the owners is coming our way. Now I know for sure it was Portuguese…he’s Brazilian.
Smiling warmly, he stops beside our table and leans down to greet Frankie with a kiss to either cheek and speaks to her in Portuguese.
I just look at her as she blushes at his flashing dimples. What the hell is this dude saying to make my girl go all pink? Looking up at him with narrowed eyes, he nods and offers his hand for me to shake.
“Mr. Love, it is good to see you again, my friend. I’m honored to have such a champion in my restaurant and with such beautiful women,” he says smoothly, winking at the ladies. Oh, he’s good. Releasing my hand, he turns his attention back to Frankie.
“So a coffee then?” She nods and thanks him.
He prattles on in Portuguese, then bowing slightly, he takes Frankie’s hand, brushing a kiss to her knuckles.
I still have no idea what in the fuck he’s been saying, but I’m done with the girls looking at him like he’s Channing fucking Tatum. Squeezing Frankie’s leg, lightly drawing her attention, “Princess?” I inquire, eyebrows raised reminding her that the rest of us are lost.
Jumping a bit as if startled, she looks over at me and then quickly down at her menu. She doesn’t have her glasses on so I know she can’t see shit. Plucking them off the top of her head, I hand them to her. She accepts, glancing up at me with a wide smile.
“Do you know what you want, Deac? Marcelo is going to take our order and he wants to pay for our meal.”
Turning to the man who has Indie speechless and my girl flustered—it’s gotta be those fucking dimples—“Thank you, Marcelo, but that’s not necessary. I’m starving though, so I appreciate you taking care of us personally.” I nod in thanks and tell the girls to go ahead with their order.
Once we’ve all ordered, Marcelo heads back to the kitchen, snapping his fingers at his touchy-feely new hire on the way and they disappear through the swinging doors.
“Deacon, are you seriously going to eat all of that?” The thought of all I just ordered has Indie making sick faces.
I sling my arm across the back of Frankie’s chair and laugh.
“Yep. I need fuel, woman. I’m training about ten hours a day right now to prepare for this fight, sometimes more. You burn a lot of calories going at it like that.”
“That makes sense, I guess. You’re totally treating though, you beast. No way am I paying after all you ordered.”
Chuckling, Frankie throws a bottle cap at her, “You weren’t going to pay anyway, heifer.”
“Whatever, bitch, I might have!” Indie says defensively.
Stretching my legs under the table, I watch the girls and can’t help smiling at their conversation and the way they are with each other. I’m reminded once again how thankful I am that Frankie had Indie when I enlisted. These two are thick as thieves and crazy as shit—they drive me insane and love every minute of it. Especially since whatever had spooked Frankie when she first arrived seems to be forgotten.