EIGHT
Lea
Saturday morning meant waking up tired because I didn’t sleep well, then drowning the tiredness in enough coffee to make a college kid cramming for finals cringe. Then I fumbled around my apartment unsure what I was supposed to do with the whole of my day. Normally, I’d just veg out for a while then run errands. But, nerves like a live wire inside, I didn’t feel up to going in and out of stores. Instead, I took every last item of clothing out of my closet and hemmed and hawed exactly how dressed up I was supposed to get for the date.
It was around three when I heard a knock at my door, immediately making my heart fly into my throat until I reminded myself that none of the ghosts from my past would knock gently; they would tear down the fucking door.
I moved through my apartment a little tentatively, sure it was one of two people. One, Barney. But he usually announced himself when he knocked. Or, possibly, it was Shane. And I had an irrational surge of insecurity and indignation at that. He wasn’t supposed to show up when I still had half-up, half-down hair and yesterday’s smudged eyeliner that didn’t want to come off thanks to way too much setting spray. He was supposed to see me all dolled up at five to eight and not a freaking minute before then.
“My arms are breaking out here!” Fee’s voice called through the door, making me jerk back, a slow and confused smile toying at my lips.
“Fiona?” I asked, slipping the locks and pulling open the door.
And, sure enough, there she was. Her arms were breaking because I was pretty sure she had the entirety of her wardrobe in her hands along with a giant rolling suitcase on the floor beside her. “So I heard that you have a date tonight,” she said with a sly smile.
“Word travels fast in this town,” I said, reaching for the rolling bag as she moved into my apartment.
“In this family,” she corrected. “I didn’t, however, get the details. Hunter said it was none of my business. But, well, when does any self-respecting woman ever settle for an answer like that?” she asked, dumping all of the clothes on the pile I already had on my bed. “The problem is, the Mallick men are stubborn and stick together in shit like this so I left Hunt with the girls and came to the source.”
“You don’t watch the cameras at work at all, do you?”
She turned back to me from where she had been making a beeline for my fridge. “The cameras?”
“Yeah, I figured you would have been all over it when you saw Shane show up a couple nights ago.”
To that, her smile went a little wicked as she pushed her long beach-wavy blonde hair behind her shoulders. “Shane came to work? Did you guys do it on the desk or something?”
I snorted. “Um, no. We went somewhere without cameras.”
“Come on. Details,” she demanded, going back to my fridge. “How old is this Chinese?” she asked, reaching for the containers.
“Last night.”
“Perfect. You can’t have a girls day without shitty food. I mean, that’s what I hear anyway. I haven’t had any girl friends before.”
“I know the feeling,” I agreed. I had a few casual female acquaintances, but my friends were generally of the masculine variety.
“I think girls like us have a hard time with friendships in general. But it’s even harder with women. We’re…”
“Prickly?” I supplied, making her head jerk to face me, lips parted a little, brows drawn together.
“Did Shane tell you about that?”
“About what?”
“About the prickly thing with me and Hunter.”
“No,” I said, shaking my head, having no clue what she was referring to.
“Oh,” she said, her smile slow and almost a little blinding. It was a smile of a woman who had known darkness and found her way to the light. Women like that, they smiled like the sun. One day, I hoped to smile that way too. “Then it’s even more awesome that you used that word,” she said, ripping the metal handles off the to-go cartons and sticking them all in the microwave together. “So. What are you wearing tonight?”
“I hadn’t really gotten that far yet.”
“Good. I figured as much. See, the thing is, I like clothes. And I really like going-out clothes. With three little kids, I don’t get out much anymore. I think it makes all my old going-out clothes sad. So I figured I would bring them over here and you could show them a night out on the town.”
I smiled at that, not quite sure what ‘going-out’ clothes meant to Fee because she was standing in my kitchen in a tight red snakeskin miniskirt, a black tank top that was wrapped around her chest and stomach like a bandage, and black stiletto sandals that had to have been at least five inches. I had never seen the woman looking anything less than like she stepped out of a fashion magazine. “I think your clothes might be a little tight and short on me,” I confessed. Though we were somewhat similar in the hip, boob, and ass department, I was taller and just a smidge wider.
“Even better,” she declared as the microwave beeped. “So,” she started, back to me as she looked around in my cabinets for plates which she found and started heaping food onto. “What happened in the place with no cameras? Do I need to have anything professionally cleaned?”
I snorted at that, shaking my head. “We haven’t had sex.”
“Yet.”
Yeah, well, I couldn’t argue with that. The way things were going, I was pretty sure Shane and I were going to do it eventually. Hell, maybe sometime during our date.
“Yet,” I agreed, taking my plate and following Fee who had, in just five minutes, seemed to make herself completely at home in my apartment. She pushed some clothes out of the way and sat up at the top of my bed, legs cocked to the side so she could balance her plate on them, and looking around.
“It’s not as bad as I thought it would be from the outside,” she said, gesturing with her fork. “I know Shane says he has reasons to keep it all crackhead-chic but I don’t think it would kill him to slap a coat of pain on the insides at least.” She turned to me then, green eyes a little more intense. “You don’t really live here, do you?”
Not quite understanding, I gave her a confused smile. “Of course I live here. I have burns from that freaking radiator that turns itself on whenever it damn well pleases to prove it.”
“No, I mean… you crash here,” she explained. “You have your clothes and a couple kitchen essentials here, but that’s it. You don’t live here. When I first moved to New York when I was younger, I lived in a building like this- shitty neighborhood, shitty fellow tenants, shitty super who never kept the place up. But I lived there. My apartment was like my own little slice of sanctuary. It barely even looks like you plan on staying here through the weekend.”
Well, she had a point there. I had tried to not get attached, to put down roots. I didn’t want to feel the pain if or when I had to yank them back out again. “This was a necessary evil,” I hedged. “When I first moved here, I barely had a couple pennies to rub together. This fit my budget.”
“So you’re waiting to level up,” she said, nodding. “Makes sense. You have that ‘I can handle myself’ vibe, but no sane woman wants to live in this neighborhood if she doesn’t have to.”
“I’ve lived in some crummy areas before, but not one where I can literally see prostitutes on a corner.”
Fee laughed. “If you give it some time, you’ll get used to the strange power dynamic in Navesink Bank. You didn’t seem to miss a step when you heard what the Mallick family business is.”
“Did you freak?”
“Ah, no,” she said, twirling some noodles onto her fork. “I met Hunter when he was actively trying to get out of the family business. He just wanted to do the tattoo thing. But even if that was still his life, I don’t think it would have stopped me honestly. There was just something there, you know? I have a dark past and he met me during a pretty gray part of it. He saw me in some pretty unpleasant situations and it didn’t seem to bother him. I never had someone see all my ugly and be able to take it. It didn’t push him away. And I think that acceptance of it helped me to overcome it. Love can be funny that way. I never thought I would be that chick,” she said, shaking her head at herself.
“What chick?”
“That ‘love changed me’ chick. How cliche, right? Can I let you in on a little secret?” she asked, pointing her fork at me. “Women like us, the ‘I got this; I don’t need no man’ women? I think we get so busy living our lives that we aren’t paying attention to the concept of a relationship and the full force of love just completely blindsides us.”
I felt my brows draw together. “I’m not in love with Shane. I barely even know him.”
“I’m just saying,” she shrugged, letting it drop. “So, what is your color?”
“I usually just go for a little black dress for this kind of thing.” In my humble opinion, one carefully chosen LBD could suit you for a multitude of situations. Date? Sure. Job interview? Throw a blazer on top. Funeral? Perfectly suited if you didn’t invest in the clubwhore sort of LBD.
“I mean that’s always the go-to,” she agreed, scooping some rice onto her fork. “But don’t you think it’s sort of the safe bet? Do you really want to be the girl who plays it safe?”
After so many years of fast and loose and dangerous, safe actually did sound kind of nice. “I’m open to suggestions. I just don’t want to look like I’m asking for it.”
“I can do coy. Actually, I think that would knock Shane on his ass. He’s used to the bar sluts in their shorts that the bottoms of their asses hang out of.”
“Any idea where he will take me?”
To that, Fiona smiled a little oddly. “That’s the thing. Shane doesn’t take his women anywhere but his bed or theirs or maybe a hotel if they seem like the clinging sort. This is new for him. But if he’s trying to make an impression, in this town, yeah, he’d take you to Famiglia.”
“Famiglia?” I laughed. “As in… family? That sounds like a mob bar.”
“Close. It’s a mob restaurant,” she said casually, as if that was the most normal thing to find in some mildly coastal Jersey town. “Nothing illegal happens there though. That’s their legit place. It’s nice. Best Italian I’ve ever had and I was a take-away addict in the City so I know all about Italian. And it’s fancy. That’s where he would take a girl on a date if he has any taste. Which, despite appearances, he does.”
“He’s going to bring a date to a nice restaurant on his bike?” I asked, smiling at the idea. “Does he even own anything other than jeans?”
Fee smiled big at that. “See, I like the rough and tough and manly vibe. But let me tell you one thing about these Mallick men, when they clean up, they clean up good. I pretty much have to plan on having a quickie before we leave the house anytime Hunter needs to put a suit on. And Shane has a truck too. Nice big, black one. It should be fun getting up into it in a skirt and heels without flashing him or falling on your face.”
“Love the vote of confidence,” I said, putting my plate on my nightstand, mostly uneaten. “Alright. So, I am your canvas,” I said, standing and throwing my arms out, turning in a small circle for her to inspect.
Fee put her plate down and stood too, an almost shy smile on her face. “This really is as fun as they make it look in the movies,” she declared.
Then she got to work.
She really was something to see in action. She clearly knew more about clothes and what color went with what skin tone and what cut fit what body type better than I could ever learn in a lifetime.
“You can’t be serious,” I said a good twenty minutes later.
“This is the one. Trust me,” she said, holding a dress up to her body. The reason for my lip curl? Yeah, the dress was pink. “It’s not pink,” she objected when I had said just that. “It’s coral. And it is perfect for your skin tone and hair and eyes. Plus, it’s feminine without being all baby pink and obnoxious. Give it a shot. If you hate it, we’ll pick something else, but I think it’s the one.” I took the dress from her and moved into the bathroom, closing the door. “Lose the bra,” she called a second later. “The dress has support and I think your girls are still at the attention-standing stage.”
I smiled, slipping out of my clothes (including my bra, though I never went braless), and shimmied into the not-pink dress. I took a breath and looked in the mirror. And, well, Fee definitely knew what she was talking about. The coral color really set off my slightly tanned skin and my dark hair and eyes. And while the skintight body con style had me a little anxious about the idea of loading up on Italian food with the unforgiving fabric, it did set off my boobs and hips. The straps were a little wider than I thought was in fashion, but I figured was made that way to give boob support. The bodice dipped into a somewhat deep, but thin, V that showed a bit of the skin between my breasts but not nearly enough to be called anything other than classy. Under my hips, the skirt slowly loosened into a handkerchief-style that fell to my knees. Everything about it was casually sensual, not overly sexual.
“Alright, you’ve had long enough. I’m coming in.” Even as she said it, she was doing so, looking me up and down, a slow smile pulling at her lips. “I’m good,” she said with a nod. “Your tits and ass look great. Now, what are we going to do about heels? Black won’t work. White is tacky. Nude, I guess. I packed shoes, but I think your feet are bigger.”
“I think I have a pair of nude heels. They’re nothing fancy, but they’re decent and all but unworn.”
“Okay. Perfect. Hair and makeup?”
“Well, I should probably shower first,” I said and she nodded.
“I’ll leave you to that then. I am going to go out and grab coffee. Then I get to do your makeup. I’d do your hair, but I think it looks perfect in that half-wavy, tousled, bed-sexy thing you always do with it.”
With that, she was gone before I could even tell her that I didn’t do anything with my hair. The way it dried was the way I left it. I stripped out of the dress, laying it over the door to my closet so it didn’t wrinkle, and showered, paying extra attention to shaving and for the first time in my life, kind of wishing I had a bunch of that body scrub and loafa crap that most girls had stored away somewhere.
Forty minutes later, I was sitting in a towel, my hair slowly air drying around my face and shoulders as Fee bent in front of me, carefully applying a thinner layer of liner to my eyes than I usually did and a light coat of mascara. But only after she had curled them each four times. Yes, four.
“I’m conflicted about the lip situation,” she said, going into her makeup bag and pulling out a natural pink shade. “But you’ll be eating first so it will be off before the end of the date when all the fun stuff happens.”
“If,” I clarified.
“Yeah, right,” Fee laughed, sliding the wand over my lips and making me blot. “There. Once your hair dries, it will be perfect.” Then, both perfectly timed and flawlessly ridiculous, Fee’s phone started ringing from her purse in my bedroom. And because it was Fee, it wasn’t any normal ringtone. No, it was a nineteen-seventies porno ringtone. Bow-chicka-wow-wooooow. “Twenty bucks says Hunter either lost one, can’t shut one up, or can’t figure out how to get nail polish out of kitchen tile,” she declared as she went to the other room to answer. “Hey… yeah. Oh, really?” she asked, looking at me, lips twitching. “Yeah, that’s quite a problem. No, I’m not laughing at you,” she said, but she totally was. “It’s not my fault that you let her get a hold of permanent markers, you know. They were in my office which should have been locked like I left it. Oh my God,” she said laughing fully then. “Yeah. Okay. I’m about done here. I’ll be home in twenty. Love you more,” she declared, hanging up and looking at me. “Okay, so no nail polish or screaming, but apparently Becca drew a rocket on Izzy’s cheek in red permanent marker that looks less like a rocket and more like a cock. So, yeah, I need to get home and get that off before anyone else sees her.”
“Oh, the woes of modern motherhood,” I said with a smile.
“I swear to God this shit only happens with my kids. We can’t go a week without a minor crisis. So, do you need anything else from me? Hair clips? Perfume? Condoms?”
I laughed, waving her off. “I think the fishbowl you have full of them in the bathroom at work keeps all of us fully stocked.”
“If you ever need any better birth control than that, I am not above loaning out Becca for the weekend. She’s scared away seven babysitters. Seven. If I keep going through them, every woman in this town is going to get her tubes tied.”
“Lucky for you, she has four uncles and a set of grandparents that seem to have nerves of steel.”
Fee smiled as she grabbed her purse and gathered her clothes again. “Don’t think it didn’t get back to me that you joined Becca’s Boys Stink Club. She said you might be old, but you’re pretty fun. Next time she pulls an Exorcist on a sitter, she just might be darkening your door,” she warned. “Okay,” she said, walking through my apartment and toward my door. “So relax. Don’t get yourself all worked up. Have fun. Enjoy the sex!” she called, closing the door behind her.
With that, I had no more girly bullshitting to help prevent me from over-thinking. So I over thought as my hair dried, as I drank more coffee, then brushed the taste out of my mouth, as I rummaged for my nude heels, as I slipped into them, a pair of nude-colored cheeky undies, and finally… the dress.
Which put me at about eight o’clock.
Never being one to spend an entire freaking day getting dressed and usually just tossing on clothes, throwing in a mint, and heading out the door just shy of the time meant to meet someone, I paced my small kitchen until the ache in my ankles reminded me that the shoes, while pretty, were definitely sitting-down shoes. So then I sat down on the foot of my bed and waited.
Luckily for me, Shane was punctual, saving me from further misery.
I fluffed my hair, grabbed the clutch that Fee loaned me, shook the tension out of my shoulders, and made my way to the door.
And Fee was right again; the Mallick men cleaned up nice.
Shane, stupidly good looking in jeans and a tee, was downright sinfully attractive in black slacks and a black dress shirt. He had on black leather shoes but no tie or jacket. The only things he had on that weren’t black were the expensive-looking watch on his wrist and the statement belt buckle that he somehow managed to pull off. He had also bothered to shave and had on a slight hint of something masculine and spicy that made me want to bury my face in his neck and take a deep breath.
“Fuck, baby,” he said, shaking his head as his eyes did a slow once-over.
The words settled with a warm, liquid feeling in my stomach as I held my arms out a little wide and did a slow turn. “Was it worth all the prep?”
“Didn’t need any prep to start with,” he said, moving inward, his hand going to the side of my hip as he back me against the wall. “But I sure as hell appreciate the effort.” Then, with that, his lips pressed down on mine, ruining the carefully applied lip gloss, but I didn’t care as my hands moved out to grab his arms. It wasn’t his usual brand of kiss- wild and demanding. It was softer, more explorative, just shy of gentle. And damn if my belly didn’t flip over with the sweetness of it.
He pulled back way too soon, but just in time, leaving my lips feeling tingly and my eyes heavy. His hand stroked across my jaw as he pushed back and away from me, wiping the lip gloss off his face. “Alright, let’s get out of here before I say fuck dinner and take you to bed, “ he said, reaching out and putting a hand at my hip, leading me toward the door.
We were almost out the door to the parking lot when he stopped and looked down at me.
“What?” I asked when he didn’t say anything.
“Figure if a woman like you is quiet, something is up,” he said, pulling open the door.
“A woman like me?” I asked, brow raised, refusing to step through until he explained.
“There it is,” he said, pushing into my hip and forcing me outside.
“There what is?”
“That ‘I’ll argue over anything just to prove a point’ shit. Relax,” he said when I opened my mouth to say something, “I wasn’t bitching. I actually like the spunk,” he informed me as he led me to the side of a truck that Fee was, yet again, right about. It was way too high to climb into with any semblance of delicacy. Shane bleeped the locks and opened the door for me, holding a hand out in a show of genuine, old school manners that I actually felt myself blush slightly at as I took his hand, and he assisted me up, allowing me to neither flash him or fall.
He swung into his seat a moment later, turning over the car and reaching to turn down the radio that he left blasting on some late nineties alternative station, Nirvana crooning out of the speakers their haunting unplugged rendition of “Where Did You Sleep Last Night?” that never failed to give me shivers toward the end. I reached out and swatted his hand away, reaching for the knob and cranking it louder. Even with my eyes forward, I caught the smile he gave me before he backed out of the spot and drove us out of the crummy part of town.
About ten minutes later, we pulled into a marina, boats of varying sizes from little fishing boats no more than two people could stand on to luxury yachts all parked in their slots, rocking softly on the tide.
Famiglia was a raised navy blue building with a giant wrap-around deck overlooking the water it was situated over by the huge stilts it was held up by. Everything from the classy wooden sign to the dim interior lighting to the mass of luxury cars in the lot seemed to scream upscale.
“I know,” Shane said, cutting the engine, “it’s weird as fuck to have an Italian place on the water like a seafood place, but that’s Jersey for ya’,” he added, climbing down and slamming his door. I barely had time to open mine before he was there, hand extended again. I was so distracted by the feeling of his hand holding mine that I wasn’t paying attention to where my heels were landing, one slipping off the edge of the step-up bar and making me start to free fall. For all of, say, two seconds before Shane’s free arm flew out and wrapped around my upper thighs. Meaning, just under my ass. He slammed my body into his, knocking out my air for a second as he smiled up at me. “God, I love this fucking truck,” he said, looking devilish, as he put my feet onto the ground.
“Well, now that we got the embarrassing part of the evening over with,” I said, trying to shake off the way my skin seemed to spark from the contact with his body, “let’s eat.”
The inside of Famiglia had less of the sea vibe than the outside, sporting a long, dark wood bar with a wine wall behind it, all the bottles laying sideways so you could read the labels. The floors were dark, wide-planked, shining. The walls were painted a deep chocolate color and the tablecloths were not quite white but not quite beige either, but something in between. Music floated around the room, gently rising over the conversation, slow and bluesy, but in a foreign language. With a name like Famiglia, it wasn’t hard to guess it was Italian. The centerpieces to each of the intimate two-or-four seating tables were tiny little bay leaf plants in glass, understated and classy while hinting at the kind of food served. Toward the very back of the restaurant was a wall of intimate booths that curled into themselves with only small openings to enter and leave from, offering privacy.
Really, it was the nicest restaurant I had ever been in in my life.
“Shane Mallick,” Shane told the short, stacked, black-haired, olive-skinned hostess in a tight black dress.
Her head snapped up a little, like the name meant something, before she gave us a smile. Well, she gave Shane a smile. I was ignored. I couldn’t say I was exactly the jealous sort, but it rubbed me the wrong way when someone eye-fucked the guy I was literally on the arm of. “Of course, Mr. Mallick. We have the booth you requested,” she said, gathering the menus and giving him another mega-watt smile. “Right this way please,” she said, leading us down the side near the bar toward the back wall.
“Of course you’d request a booth,” I said with a pointed brow raise.
He didn’t even bother to look confused. “What? I finally get your stubborn ass to stop avoiding me, you think I am going to sit across the table from you the entire date? No thanks.”
“Mr. Grassi will be over to greet you in just a moment,” the hostess said, still not having looked at me, but checking out Shane like she had never seen a man before.
“Thank you,” I said when Shane didn’t, tone a little sharp and dismissive, making her look my way. Where I expected to see a bit of embarrassment or guilt, all I saw was challenge. She turned and walked away and Shane chuckled. “What?” I asked, taking the menu he offered me.
“Baby, I swear every man in here got half hard from you just walking in. Didn’t see me staring daggers at any of them.”
“Looking is one thing,” I said with a shrug, though I was pretty sure no one had been looking at me that hard. “Eye-fucking is a complete other.”
“Eye-fucking,” he repeated, pressing his lips together like he was trying not to smile.
“Yeah, eye-fucking. It’s a thing. How can you not know you’ve just been eye-fucked?”
He let the smile loose then, shaking his head at me. “You’re a trip,” he said as another figure cast a shadow over our table.
“Shane,” a deep, smooth voice said. It was the kind of voice that could make a woman shiver just from hearing it, the kind of voice that could make a textbook on traffic patterns sound like a serenade. Looking up, I saw first an expensive and carefully tailored charcoal gray suit that fit the man’s long, lean, swimmer’s build perfectly. Further up, there was a face belonging to a statue, all jaw and strong brows. But the eyes, oh, the eyes were what did you in. They were dark, almost black, and framed with thick lashes that Fee had tried to create artificially on me with curlers and mascara. His black hair was pushed back, further accentuating his classically handsome features and perfect skin tone.
“Luca,” Shane said, standing and shaking the man’s hand. “How have you been?”
“No complaints,” he said, looking over at me, expecting Shane to remember his manners.
“Luca, this is Lea. Lea, this is Luca, one of the owners of this place,” he explained, leaving out the little nugget that Fee told me about him being some kind of mob member who ran the docks.
“Lea, a pleasure,” he said, taking my hand and giving it a little squeeze instead of kissing it. Thankfully, because I was sure I would blush and giggle like a schoolgirl if he tried that nonsense. “I am going to send your server over with some wine. And I’m sure my father will be dropping over at some point.” Shane sat back down as the man spoke. “I will leave you to your meal. Lea, welcome to Famiglia,” he said before walking away.
“Did you want me to leave you two alone?” Shane asked, sounding amused.
“Oh please,” I said, rolling my eyes. “He’s too clean cut for my taste. Even if he is in the mob. He just has a nice voice.”
“How did you know he was in the mob?” Shane asked, not bothering to keep his tone low. But, then again, we were in a private booth and the closest table was at least six feet away.
“Fee told me while she picked out my dress today.”
“Fee picked that out?” he asked, eyes dipping toward my chest for the barest of seconds. “I owe her a pair of earrings or something.”
I felt my lips curl upward at the roundabout compliment and the way the words made my insides feel warmer. It had been so long since words from a man’s lips meant to bolster me up instead of trying to break me down. I had started to forget how nice it was.
Just then, the waiter came over and discreetly showed Shane the label of the wine bottle before pouring him a taste which he went through the motions of approving until both our glasses were filled. “I didn’t have you pegged for someone who knew their wine.”
“I swear to fuck it all tastes the same to me,” he said, making me laugh. “But if Luca is sending it over, there’s no doubt that it’s some of the best in the building.” I reached for my glass and took a sip and had to agree with Shane; it all tasted the same to me too. In general, I would take a beer or something hard any day. But there was something nice about a good meal with wine. It felt traditional, normal, so unlike anything I had ever known in my life before. “So, what’s your story, Lea?” he asked as I picked up my leather-bound menu.
I felt my stomach twist as I tried to pretend my hesitation was because of what I was reading, not the fact that I was worried my half-true story wouldn’t be convincing. I smiled, looking up at him from under my lashes, going for flirtatious, hoping to keep him off his game. “I moan and dirty talk men on phones all night. And then I sleep and run errands and hit the gym. That’s about it for my story.”
“What’s your story before Navesink Bank? You’re obviously not from around here.”
I took a slightly deeper breath and nodded. “I’m from California.”
“No shit?” he asked with a smile. “You don’t seem like the yoga-doing, electric car-driving, granola-eating, pacifist.”
“Really? State stereotypes, Shane? You do know what kind of reputation Jersey has across this country.”
“I’m cool with everyone thinking we’re all loud, rude, and in the mob. Keeps all those fuckers from coming here.”
“You really don’t give a damn what anyone thinks, huh?” I asked, envying that slightly. I used to feel that way. Back in the day, before my life got away from me. Even then, away from that situation, I worried. I worried people would see through me. I worried the badass bitch I was would be seen as a mask, that people would see the chinks in my armor instead of seeing the reinforced patches I welded over them, strengthening them. I was constantly terrified that someone would see me as weak, as less because of what I had been through. I cared what people thought, no matter how much I hated that.
“Whose opinion could possibly matter more than my own? If you try to bend yourself to fit other peoples’ molds, you realize real fast that it’s not possible to please everyone. So I do what I want; I talk how I want; I live how I want. I won’t ever fucking regret doing it my way.”
Well, he had a point there. “So you like being an enforcer?” I asked, deciding to be as blunt as he was.
His head tilted, but he didn’t seem surprised. “It was how I was raised. It’s what I know. I know violence isn’t a lifestyle that most people can…”
“I get it,” I said with a shrug. “I’m not naive. I get that there is a need for loansharks. And where there are loansharks, there are enforcers. That’s how it is. It’s not pretty, but it’s necessary.”
“See? That’s what I mean,” he said, pushing his menu to the side of the table, obviously familiar enough with it to not need to look. “Most normal people don’t see it that way.”
“I didn’t say I was normal.”
“Is it going to be butting heads with you all night?” he asked, lips tipped up like he was okay with it going either way.
“Do you really think it’s necessary to know about my past? That can’t possibly help you get into my pants which is obviously the whole purpose of this charade.”
“Baby,” he said, leaning across the table slightly and it took a lot of determination not to shrink back. “I’ve gotten in your pants. And I didn’t need to bring you to a fancy restaurant to do it. And I wouldn’t need to to get in there again. I brought you here so we could talk. If I wanted less talking, we’d be back at my or your place right now… not talking.”
“Why do you want to talk to me?”
“Because I find you interesting. You got something. I don’t know if it’s the ‘fuck you’ you have scrawled over your forehead or the fact that I know it’s there to cover up something else, or the fact that you get on with my family all but effortlessly, or that you’re the hottest piece I have seen in a long ass time. Or maybe it’s all that wrapped up. Whatever it is, I’m into it. And maybe, for once in my life, I’d like to get in your head before I get into your pants. That clear enough for you?”
Yes, well, okay then.
I liked that a little too much. I think I liked it especially because it was not the norm for him. I was the exception, not the rule. It was hard to feel special if you were just a chick a guy like him picked up in a bar, knowing you were just one of many and wholly interchangeable. It was a whole other thing to realize you, for God knew what reason, were the one to make him want more than that.
“Can I get you folks something to start with?” the waiter asked.
Oh, God yes. Anything, literally anything that I could shove into my mouth to make conversation more difficult.
With that, we got the antipasto and a caprese salad to share and I insisted I needed the time between ordering that and it arriving to look over the extensive menu. I didn’t, because the second I saw baked ziti, I was sold. But I made a show of looking it over and bouncing options off of him for opinions. From there, things went a little more smoothly, talking about the food, the restaurant, the other good places in town, and even his family.
By the time the check arrived, I was riding a warm wine buzz, was seriously wishing the material of my dress was a little more forgiving of a giant carb-filled meal, and really, really convinced that not only was Shane trouble because he was hot, he was trouble because he was just genuinely likable. Sure, he was a dick sometimes and a little blunt and hard-headed, but, well, that was my thing. I liked men who knew who they were and were that way unapologetically. And to find out that he wasn’t just a brute, but also very attached to his family, involved with the goings-on in the town, and not completely dim-witted, yeah, my panties were positively screaming for me to take them off already. Hell, right there in the restaurant would even do.
“So you have fun bullshitting me all night?” Shane asked with a disarming smile as he placed his hand at my lower back to steer me away from the table.
My step faltered and I scrunched my brows together at him. “We were talking! That was what you wanted.”
“Lea, we were two minutes from discussing the goddamn weather.”
He wasn’t exactly wrong there. I really was starting to grasp for straws for tame topics. “I’m not great at small talk,” I said, and it was true.
“I didn’t say we had to talk small. You could have given me more. You didn’t. That’s on you, not me.”
“Maybe I don’t like to show my cards to someone who might use them against me.”
“Lea,” he said, grabbing my hips and turning me to face him, pressing my back against his truck. “What the fuck have I done to you? I mean, really. I’m doing shit pretty by the book here. You don’t like this, fine. Tell me that. You just want to fuck, I can give you that. Otherwise, what are we doing here? It’s one or the other, isn’t it?”
“One or the other, what?” I repeated, voice a little breathless. This was mainly because I was finding it hard to breathe properly with him so close.
“You’re either casual with someone or you’re working toward something more than that.”
“You want to work toward something more than that?”
“Jesus, alright, never mind. I’ll let it drop,” he said, releasing me, moving me to the side, and yanking open my door. He held out his hand and helped me up, but it lacked the sweetness that it had before, seeming to only be done because it was necessary to keep me from falling on my face.
“Where are we going?” I asked a couple tense, silent moments later as we drove in the wrong direction.
“Somewhere to figure this all out.”
“Um yeah, that’s not an answer.”
“It’s what I am giving you right now.”
“Shane…”
“Christ, you’re a pain in the ass. I’m taking you somewhere without distractions,” he told me, glancing my way because we were sitting at a red light. “You want to talk, get to know each other on more than a superficial level, great. You just want a good, solid fucking to get us out of the other’s system? Fine too. That’s up to you. But no more bullshit.”
With that, the light changed and his eyes left me and we drove somewhere without distractions. It ended up being about a town over in a giant abandoned parking lot to what must have been some big box department store at one point, many years before.
“Wow. Romantic,” I said with a smile.
“You wanted romance, you picked the wrong brother.”
“Really? Which one is romantic?” I asked, genuinely curious.
“Eli can be a sap, believe it or not. And Ryan.”
“Ryan? With his business suits and restrained personality?”
Shane snorted. “Yeah. He’s definitely the most likely to get pussy-whipped out of all of us.”
“Interesting,” I said, my head snapping over when I heard his door open. Before I could even ask what he was doing, his door slammed and I was left to sit in the truck like a sullen child or go out to him. So I opened my door to find him with his arms reached up to me.
“Come on.”
Come… where? There was literally nothing around. But before I could express that, his hands sank into my waist and dragged me down, shutting my door, and slamming me against it. His mouth crashed down on mine- hard, hungry, teetering on desperate. Just like I expected from him; just like I craved. I found my lips just as needy. My arms went around his neck and his went around my lower back, crushing him against me so hard that it was impossible to take a proper breath. His tongue moved out and claimed mine, my throaty whimper muffled by his mouth as my hands sank into his back hard and I pressed my suddenly heavy breasts further into his chest. Everything else in the world fell away in that moment. All there was was his lips, his tongue, his warm breath on me, his occasional deep growl, the possessive pressure of his hands on my body.
I felt myself start to writhe against him, my body demanding his stop denying it what it most wanted and needed. Then, as if sensing the decision on my part, Shane’s lips ripped from mine. Then I was moving. Meaning, I didn’t move myself; Shane did. One minute, I was plastered against him. The next, my front was pushed up against the side of his truck. His hands moved to my shoulders, sinking in for a second, making me genuinely wonder if he was actually about to give me a back rub. But then his hands whispered down my arms slowly until his palms closed around my wrists and pulled my arms upward until he planted each of my hands on either side of the glass to the passenger window.
“Shane…” I said, my voice slightly more uncertain than I was used to hearing it.
I could see him in the pane of glass, illuminated a bit by the moon and little else. Even in the dark, his light eyes seemed incredibly bright. Then his eyes focused downward.
I heard a zipper.
I heard the unmistakable crinkle of a condom wrapper being opened.
There was no going back.
He wanted it.
I wanted it.
There would be no more fighting.
Not a moment later, his hands went to my hips, pulling them outward toward him. His fingers slowly slid over my ass and down to my thighs, inching my skirt up. And I meant… inching. Tiny bit by tiny bit. Until I was wiggling. Until my hands had curled into fists on his truck. Until I was panting. His fingertips grazed over the exposed flesh and it goosebumped under the attention. The material slid up and over the highest point of my thigh where it met my ass, then up and over until it bunched around my waist.
At that point, I was beyond turned on. My panties were drenched as he slowly pulled them down my legs. I stepped out of them without a thought. Every inch of me felt tense, anticipating fingers on flesh, mouth on flesh, anything, everything.
But what I got was completely unexpected.
What I got made me let out a strangled gasp of shock at the twinge of pain mixed with the rush of pleasure.
What I got was his cock slamming balls-deep into me with one long, impossibly thick thrust forward.
“Fuck. Fuck. Fuck,” I gasped, my fist slamming hard into the side of his door.
His hand moved up and into the hair at the base of my neck, slipping in, grabbing, and pulling back hard enough to smart. “You’re so fucking wet for me,” he growled into my ear, his warm breath making me do an involuntary full-body shiver. His cock was still inside me, giving my pussy a chance to stretch, to accommodate the invasion. “Tell me you want me to fuck you hard,” he demanded.
Oh, God.
I wanted.
“I want you to fuck me hard,” I admitted without hesitation.
Before I could even suck in a breath, he was slamming into me- hard, uncontrolled.
I’d had rough sex before, but it had never felt quite like this- so raw, primal.
His palm landed down hard on my ass cheek, the pain like a spark at the contact then a dull throbbing but before the throbbing even subsided, his hand was hitting another spot, over and over, building the pressure low in my belly, making my pussy clench hard around his cock.
“Oh my God,” I groaned, closing my eyes, focusing on the orgasm that threatened to rip me apart.
Suddenly the slapping stopped and his arm went around my lower belly, pressing in hard, making me feel him all the more intensely. Then he used that leverage to yank me backward hard as he slammed forward with what seemed like all the force in his body, making me take him as deep as my body would allow. So deep that I heard myself yelp at the pinching sensation that was part pain, but so hot that my moans quickly became more like screams and I did nothing to try to control them.
“Come,” he demanded, his voice pure gravel and barely contained. “Let me feel your tight cunt milking my cock.”
His cock slammed forward.
And I came.
Crashed.
So hard, my voice got caught on a strangled cry of his name.
So hard, my pussy felt like it was never going to stop spasming.
So hard, that every time he thrust forward through it, he brought on yet another wave of pleasure.
And my legs gave out.
Gave. The. Fuck. Out.
His arm tightened around my belly, holding up as he thrust into me a couple more times before his body stiffened and he came on a loud hiss, his forehead landing on my shoulder.
Holy shit.
My body felt completely out of control- shaking, trembling, my breath coming out in erratic, unsettling strobe-like huffs.
“Fuck,” Shane growled, his hand slipping out of my hair and folding around my chest above my breasts, holding me against him.
Fuck.
My sentiments exactly.
Feeling slowly came back to my body from the bottom up- my feet, legs, torso, arms. I pressed my heels harder into the ground, trying to hold up some of my own weight as the aftershocks subsided. Shane’s hands released my chest and stomach then I completely lost them. I heard a zipper. Then I heard footsteps. I craned my neck over my shoulder and saw him walking over to one of those ancient garbage barrels in the parking lot and disposing of the condom. He moved back toward me quickly, purposefully.
Meanwhile, I was still a puddle of spent desire.
He came up behind me, hands going around my waist and yanking my skirt back into place. “Ready?” he asked, his voice a little distant.
Ready?
Ready?
Seriously?
That was how he wanted to play it?
Dinner, quick fuck, home by ten?
Well, fine.
If that was how the game was going to go, I was going to fucking win.
“Yep,” I said, adopting my most breezy tone and reaching to snatch my panties off the ground, balling them into a fist, and reaching for my door. I didn’t know if he offered me a hand because I didn’t look for it. I hauled myself up, stuffed my panties into my purse that wouldn’t close with the added contents, and reached for my belt. Shane swung up into his seat, turned on the engine, and jerked the truck into a stomach-dropping turn to head back toward the main drag.
I kept my eyes out the windshield and my hands curled around my purse, trying my best to not do what I really wanted.
Because what I really wanted to do was wait for us to stop at a light, lean over, punch him square in the balls, then hop out and haul it home on foot. Quite frankly, I’d rather get mugged than spend another second in his company.
Which wasn’t exactly fair of me. He had, back at the restaurant, given me a chance to have more than a quick fuck. I had sort-of turned that down. It was my own fault. I had no one to blame but myself that he was being all cold and detached.
That being said, there was no denying the rush of rejection I felt flooding my system. It was silly and unlike me, but it was there in the sour feeling in my stomach, in the way my eyes stung a bit like I was going to tear up, and in the way my heart seemed to be pounding harder than it had been when we were having sex.
The truck barely made it to a complete stop in the lot behind my apartment building when I wrenched the door open. “Thanks for dinner. Feel free to never contact me again.”
I dropped down gracelessly and tried like hell to keep my pace deliberate and not like I was running away. I refused to look back and felt my throat constrict at the idea that he was following me as I stabbed the key into the lock and opened the back door. When I went inside and turned, though, his truck was already gone.
So, yeah.
That was apparently that.
And as I let myself into my apartment, I tried like hell to convince myself that it was for the best.
But there was no denying the weird, swirling feeling in my stomach as I roughly wiped off my makeup, peeled off my clothes, threw on a tee, cleared the contents of my bed onto the floor, and curled in under the covers.
That swirling feeling?
It felt a hell of a lot like disappointment.