Chapter Nine
Vince
When I wake up again, Carly is tracing shapes on my bare chest. I’m not sure what time it was the first time she came in or how long we napped—or I napped; I’m not sure if she actually slept or not. I tug her closer with one arm and reach the other one over my head to stretch out.
Carly’s warm smile greets me when I look back down at her. “Morning, sleepyhead,” she says, leaning in and brushing her lips against mine.
“Morning,” I murmur back, my voice still a touch gravelly from sleep.
“Ooh, you have sexy morning voice,” she tells me, running a finger down my chest.
I don’t know how long ago she got up, but she already looks like she’s ready for a damn photo shoot. “What was your idea?”
“Hm?”
“When you came in earlier, you said you had an idea. We got a little distracted.”
Flashing me a naughty grin, she says, “Maybe a little.”
I’m still not entirely sure how I feel about what just happened—or more specifically, how it’s going to complicate my life—so I ignore that and nod for her to continue.
“Well, I don’t know if I want to bring it up now,” she states. “I was going to preface it by saying not to get weird, but now I’m pretty sure you will.”
Smiling faintly, I rub my stomach. “Noted. Go on.”
“Okay, so, you know how Christmas is right around the corner?”
“I am aware of that, yes.”
“And I know you said you don’t celebrate, but I assume that’s probably because you don’t have any family to go back to. Laurel will be off school for winter break so I was thinking about going back to our old apartment and spending a few days with her, but I don’t want to leave you here by yourself, either.”
“Just leave me with another bottle of whiskey and I’ll be fine,” I assure her.
She does not seem impressed by this idea. “I was thinking, what if you came with me?”
“To Chicago?” I cock an eyebrow. “I thought you liked me.”
She grins. “I do like you.”
“Then why do you want me to die?”
“Well, that’s the part you’re going to think is crazy, but stay with me.”
“From now on, when you tell me to stay with you, I’m just going to stop listening and assume whatever you’re saying is insane.”
Jabbing me in the side with her index finger, she says, “Listen. I have an idea. What if you called your cousin and asked him for special permission to come to the city for Christmas? Just to see my family, we would stay far away from yours, and he could even send someone to keep an eye on you if he needed to.”
“Is there some part of ‘exile’ you don’t understand? He will kill me if I set foot inside Chicago’s city limits.”
“But maybe—”
“Nope.” I cut her off, shaking my head. “You’re right, that is a crazy idea. Since I’m sort of hoping to make it to the end of the year alive, I’m not going to do that.”
“I think he knows where you are,” she states. “I don’t see how it’s even remotely possible he doesn’t. And if you reach out yourself to ask his permission, he’ll know you’re not trying to sneak back in like I assume you did last time. Who would announce their presence if they were planning anything crazy? The worst he can do is say no, then you hang up. Couldn’t you call him from a burner phone that he couldn’t trace to ask?”
“Sure,” I say, easily. “And he could say, ‘yeah, Vince, come spend Christmas in Chicago,’ and then as soon as we get there, his soldiers kill both of us on sight because he’s a liar and he didn’t call them off.”
“Okay, well, I figured you would say no to that one so I have a second idea. Laurel could come here for Christmas this year that way you could spend it with us.”
“That is a much saner idea,” I state. “But I don’t want to you to change your plans for me. Go back to Chicago, do your holiday with your sister. I’ll be fine here. Christmas doesn’t really matter to me.”
“But it’s the most wonderful time of the year,” she tells me, looking legitimately distressed. “I can accept a lot of things—descended from a mob family? Nothing you could do about it. Kidnapped a cheating ex? Shit happens. Break into houses sometimes? We’ve already covered this, I think it’s hot. But not celebrating Christmas? I have to draw the line somewhere.”
“I guess this is the end of the line, then,” I say, grimly.
“Why don’t we go out today and buy Christmas decorations? We just need to deck your halls, then you’ll be in the Christmas spirit.”
“That sounds incredibly dirty.”
“Probably just because you went to sleep with blue balls,” she states. “You should’ve let me take care of you.”
I shrug, rolling over and sitting up. I run a hand through my hair, looking round at the floor for the clothing I discarded last night.
“I folded them,” she states, climbing across the bed and sliding off. She goes over to her dresser, grabbing my jeans and T-shirt off the top and bringing them over to me.
“I can’t hang out tonight, I have to work.”
Wrinkling her nose up, she announces, “Work is lame. That’s okay, how about tomorrow?”
“We’ll see.”
She doesn’t respond to that, but I feel her watching me. “Are you going to get weird now?” she asks after a moment.
I stand, frowning at her like I don’t know what she’s talking about. “What do you mean?”
I catch her rolling her eyes at me before I pull my shirt down over my head.
“I’m not new to guys, Vince. This doesn’t have to change anything between us. I already told you I wasn’t looking for more than friendship. Friendship with a bonus orgasm here and there is nothing to complain about.”
“I’m not blowing you off; I just have work and shit to do.”
Since that sounds like bullshit, she takes a moment before deciding to tentatively trust me. “Okay, I’ll go myself and buy Christmas decorations for your apartment then. I’ll come over when you have time and help you put them up.”
“I don’t want Christmas decorations,” I inform her.
This time, she doesn’t argue. I can feel her watching me, but after a minute she says, “All right. Well, I’m guessing you work late so I won’t see you tonight. If you want to hang out tomorrow, let me know.”
---
I know I’m being a bastard. Three nights in a row Carly has shown up on my doorstep to see if I wanted to hang out, and three nights in a row I’ve made an excuse not to.
Since she has been trying and I have definitely been blowing her off, I shouldn’t be surprised when she doesn’t show the fourth night. I have no right to feel disappointed, but I do. Even though I’m keeping my distance from her, I kind of like seeing her, even if just for a minute when I tell her I’m busy.
I feel more relief than anything when there’s a knock on my door, night five. I assume it’s her without even checking, but thankfully it is. She’s not smiling, just neutral as I open the door and lean in the frame expectantly.
“Hey, do you have a stepladder I could borrow?”
“I do not.”
She nods, glancing me up and down. “Don’t suppose you have much need for one, huh? Then could you do me a favor and reach a box for me? When I moved in, I somehow got a box up on a shelf in my hall closet that is now only visible with binoculars. I could use a hand, if you have a minute.”
“Sure.” I figure she’s just luring me out like she usually does, not least of all because it’s 34 degrees outside and she’s wearing a pair of skin tight, navy blue leggings and a white tank top that’s cut off just below her breasts, baring that damn midriff of hers again. Instead of the messy bun she usually wears around the house, her hair is down.
I follow her inside her apartment, closing the door. It’s warm in here but she has to be freezing. She should’ve grabbed a coat, even if she was only going outside for a minute.
Leading me down the hall, she opens her closet door and takes a step back, gesturing to the shelf high above her head. “Right up there.”
Cocking an eyebrow, I have to stand on tiptoe to get a hold of it myself. “Jesus, how did you get this up here in the first place?”
“I’m assuming some sort of levitation?” she suggests. “I had movers help me with the heavy crap though, so it’s possible I asked one of them. Not that they were very tall, either. I called them Mario and Luigi. They both had awful mustaches and both were short. Anyway.” She shrugs, taking the box from me and flashing me a smile. “Thanks for the help, neighbor.”
“That’s what I’m here for,” I tell her, following her back into the living room. She deposits the box on the couch, then heads into the kitchen. Something smells delicious. Even though I’ve been avoiding her, I kind of miss her. She hasn’t asked yet, but I’m thinking of staying for dinner when she does.
I let my gaze wander down her body as she grabs a black spoon and stirs noodles, then grabs a jar of spaghetti sauce and dumps some in a smaller frying pan. Not to be an asshole, but she looks damn good in the kitchen.
“What are you making over there?” I ask her.
She answers without looking away from the stove. “Spaghetti and meatballs.”
“Nana’s recipe?”
Smiling faintly, she says, “You know it.”
She still feels a little distant. I don’t like it. It’s my fault, but I still don’t like it. “Want me to open that box for you?”
Carly glances at me over her shoulder, faintly surprised. “If you want to, sure. There’s a little Christmas tree in there, a tiny one. I want to set it up in my bedroom.”
“I’m surprised you don’t have one up in the living room yet.”
“I buy real trees. Gotta wait a little while longer. I’m not looking forward to lugging it in my apartment, to be honest.”
“We usually went with artificial. Mateo hates the pine needles from the real ones, and the ceilings at his house are so high we always had to get an enormous tree, so there were a fuck ton of pine needles.”
“That’s the first time I’ve ever heard you mention him in a civil tone. I feel like you deserve a gold star.”
“How about a meatball?” I suggest.
“I’ll bring some over tomorrow if I have leftovers,” she assures me.
I cock an eyebrow in surprise, eyeing up the pan full of meatballs she’s coating with sauce. “Big appetite tonight?”
“Uh, no, just expecting company.”
“Oh.” I don’t know why that surprises me. She spends so much time with me lately, I guess she hasn’t really had time to hang out with anyone else. “It Gus, isn’t it?” I joke.
Her smile is a little uneasy. “I have a date.”
My amusement rapidly dissipates. I feel a little like she just socked me in the stomach; I know that’s unfair, I know I have no right, but dread settles in my gut as I reevaluate this scenario. She only asked me to come over to grab a damn box. The dinner is not for me. She wasn’t luring me over here to coax me into spending time with her; she’s just setting up her apartment for a date with some other fucking guy.
I don’t answer for long enough that it gets weird. Since I already offered to open the damn box when I assumed I was getting a dinner invite, I head into the living room to unpack it. I yank the tape off like it offended me, pulling back the cardboard flaps and drawing out a mini Christmas tree. There are little ornaments, a string of white lights, and a length of thick gold ribbon inside.
All I can think about now is some other asshole coming over to her house. Who is this guy, even? Has she been talking to him the whole time we’ve been hanging out? How did she meet him? Was she dating before? Why hadn’t I ever paid attention to what she was doing before she started showing up on my doorstep?
Well, okay, because I had no reason to, but now it feels like there’s an itch inside my brain and I can’t get to it.
I don’t want her to have some asshole over to her apartment. And an apartment date isn’t a first date. Making him dinner at her apartment? That’s gotta be a second or third date.
When I can do so without growling at her, I head back to the kitchen. “Got the tree out.”
“Thanks,” she says, flashing me another little smile before turning her attention back to the stovetop.
I hate how unaffected she is by me tonight. I wasn’t picking up on it before she told me about this goddamn date, but now I’m realizing she’s just being polite. Now she really is just treating me like a neighbor.
“You didn’t mention you were seeing someone,” I state, folding my arms across my chest.
Smiling teasingly, she says, “Well, it’s not my Marine, so I didn’t figure you’d object.”
“But you are seeing someone.”
“I’m not seeing someone, it’s just a date. I’m a single woman; I’m allowed to date men who are interested in me.”
“I didn’t suggest you weren’t.”
“Good,” she says, evenly, glancing at me over her shoulder.
I still feel aggravated over it though, and even though it’s irrational, her insistence that she’s allowed to be doing this rankles even more. “So, I guess all that stuff about how you’re not going anywhere…?” I don’t know how to finish this accusation, but she turns and props a hand on her hip, lifting an eyebrow.
“Still applies?” she finishes. “I’m still your friend. I’ll still come over. I just told you I’d bring you my leftover meatballs if there are any. I won’t disappear on you, but I’m not going to sit by myself in my apartment or live like a nun because you’re blowing me off every night, either. I’m not sure what you’re used to dealing with, but that’s not how this works.”
“You said you weren’t looking for a relationship,” I remind her.
Now she walks away from the stove and moves closer, her hips swaying suggestively, a spark in her pretty blue eyes. She smiles faintly, but it’s not a friendly smile. “I’m not looking for a relationship, Vince.” She’s close now, right in front of me, so she reaches out to trail a hand down my chest, then drag it a little more slowly down my abdomen. She pauses to look up at me through her lashes and tells me, “I’m looking for someone to rip my clothes off, throw me down on my bed, and fuck me until I forget the last asshole who gave me an orgasm is avoiding me like the black plague.” Dropping her hand from my abdomen, she checks the delicate watch on her wrist. “It shouldn’t take more than a couple of hours.”
The prospect of her with anyone else makes me see red. I grab her shoulders, backing her up against the wall. “If he lays so much as a finger on you, I’ll break his fucking arm.”
Half-glaring even as I crowd her, she tilts her chin up stubbornly. “My body isn’t yours to command. I’m a free woman, remember?”
“Don’t play games with me, Mi—”
I freeze, realizing the wrong name almost fell off my lips. All the rage suddenly drains out of me, coldness sweeping through me like a winter storm.
I take a step back.
Carly’s gaze drops, indicating she also has an idea what I was about to say.
I take two more steps back, then I turn on my heel and flee before either of us are forced to acknowledge it.