by Chelle Bliss
I cringe, knowing I was an asshole. “I’m sorry about that. I was having a bad day and didn’t mean to take it out on you.”
“It’s okay. I have those too sometimes.”
He’s sweet, which immediately puts me on edge because there’s no way this hot-as-fuck guy could actually be nice.
“I know I’m reaching with asking you this, and you don’t owe me anything, so feel free to tell me to fuck off, but my career may be on the line.”
I grab on to the door handle, using it to keep me upright. Between the tension on the television and now the hotness at my door, my body feels more alive than it has in months. “What do you need again?”
I want to slap myself. Hard. He’s been at my door for under a minute, and I already sound like the world’s biggest idiot. I’m having trouble keeping up with the conversation, and I wonder what he’s thinking about me.
His hand goes back to his neck, and my eyes fly to his muscle. I can do this. I can pay attention and not gawk at the way his skin moves like it’s begging for me to reach out and run my fingers over the silky smoothness.
“I was wondering if you’d go out with me for a night. No strings attached.”
My eyes snap to his face, but I’m at a loss for words as he continues.
“I’m in a jam at work and wanted to know if you’d accompany me to a business dinner. You’d be saving me big-time. I’ll pay you back, of course.”
I jerk my head back as what he’s asking washes over me. “You want me to go on a date with you?”
“It’s a very public party. I promise to be a complete gentleman and keep my hands to myself.”
“Oh. Well, I…” I don’t know what to say, actually. That was the last thing I expected to come out of his mouth.
Then it hits me. I can hear my mother’s voice playing on repeat in my head, nagging me about finding myself a man. My parents’ anniversary party is coming up, and the entire family will be there. If I show up alone, I’ll never hear the end of how sad it is that little Bianca can’t find herself a man.
We’ll swap. It’s a perfect idea. I’ll do this favor for him and go to his work dinner, but he has to accompany me to the anniversary party.
“I’ll tell you what,” I say, but I can’t believe the words are coming out of my mouth. “I’ll go with you, but only if you go to a party with me.”
His eyes light up, stealing my breath with that damn smile. “Of course. Anything you want. I’m your man.” His smirk gets bigger and I almost die, but somehow, I get through my next statement.
“If I go with you, you’ll need to be my date for my parents’ anniversary.”
“I’m a big hit with parents.”
I find that statement dubious. The man looks like walking sin, built for pleasure. There’s no way any father would like his daughter dating this sex-on-legs beefcake. The moms… They’re a different story. I could see him being a total winner with anyone with a vagina between her legs. This man could probably make the deadest womb come alive, begging to be impregnated.
“When’s your party?”
“This Saturday.”
“I think I’m free,” I lie.
I don’t want to admit the sad truth of my life—that I’m free every night. The only thing I had planned this weekend was to finish bingeing my newest guilty pleasure alone on my couch.
“Perfect. It’s a date, but not a date, then. Let me give you my number.”
“For what?” I ask.
“Um.” He laughs softly and shrugs. “In case you have any questions.”
“I can just walk over and ask.”
“I’m not always home, and I want you to be able to get ahold of me if you need to. Just take my number, please.” He’s practically begging, which I like.
“Hold on.” I turn my back, walking to the couch slowly so I don’t seem overeager to have his number. I’ve tried to seem as uninterested as possible since I met him. I thought I was winning until now.
When I turn back around after grabbing my phone, I catch the hottie checking out my ass. I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t flattered. I’ve done enough squats to be able to bounce a dime off the damn thing without having any jiggle.
He holds out his hand as I approach. “Let me add my number.” He wiggles his fingers before I hand it to him. “Cute,” he says as he glances down at my screen, which has a picture of a man much like him, all muscles and tattoos and very little clothing.
“Just put your number in.” I lift up on my tiptoes to see what he’s doing, but he’s too damn tall for me to see anything.
After a few quick taps on the screen, the song “Sexy MF” by Prince starts to play from the pocket of his gray sweat pants, and my gaze dips to the sound.
Big mistake.
There’s something about gray sweat pants that shows off every inch of a man. Every fucking delicious inch. Between his bare, muscular chest and whatever he’s packing in those sweats, my body’s reminding me that I am, in fact, very much alive and horny as fuck.
“Now you have my number, and I have yours.” He holds my phone out to me, but I’m too taken by his body to move. Namely the extremely visible outline of his above-average cock.
When I bring my gaze back to his, he’s very much amused by the fact that I was checking out his well-defined package. “Just let me know when and where.” I grimace because that sounded way more sexual than I’d planned, but based on the smirk dancing across his lips, he liked it.
“I’ll pick you up. I’ll text you the time as soon as I double-check with my boss.”
“What should I wear?” I suddenly feel panicked.
“Whatever you want. I’m sure you’re a knockout in anything.”
My face heats, and the dull ache between my legs becomes a full-on throb.
Do not go there, Bianca. He thinks you’re a knockout.
“I’ll let you get back to—” he pauses and looks around me at the television screen “—Scandalous Reign.”
“Wait. You know this show?”
He smirks, and I can’t help but stare at his beautiful full lips. “I binged it last month.”
I narrow my eyes, and I wonder, who is this man? No one I know watches this show besides chicks—and, typically, only lonely ones like me.
“I get it,” I say, all the pieces finally clicking together. “You’re gay and need a female date.”
He staggers backward like I punched him in the gut. “What? No. Why would you think that?” He’s looking at me like I have two heads, but it’s the only thing that makes logical sense to me.
A guy like Vinnie could have any woman on his arm. There’s probably a line of bimbos waiting outside right now, wanting a ride on the Vinnie pleasure train. Instead, he’s at my door, the door of a complete stranger, begging me to go to his company’s dinner? So weird.
“Guys don’t usually watch this show, and you don’t need to ask a stranger on a date.”
“My mother and sister got me into that show.” He blushes, and it’s so completely adorable, I nearly go weak in the knees. “What can I say? I’m a sucker for a good romance.”
“So, you’re straight?” I blurt out because I need to hear the words again. Part of me wishes he’d say he’s gay because having a neighbor this hot during my self-imposed celibacy period is bad.
His stare intensifies, and I swear to fuck, his cock twitches in his pants, but I don’t dare look down, so I only see the movement in my peripheral vision. “I’m as straight as they come. I’m all man, baby.”
“I have to go.” I need to get away from him.
Away from his big, rippling muscles.
Away from his magical, jumping cock.
And away from the half-naked body I’ll be thinking about when I touch myself later.
“I’ll text you,” he says with a quick chin lift.
I nod but don’t speak.
I can’t.
There’s nothing I can say that won’t come out sounding all wanton and horny
. My body’s buzzing, my pussy is begging for action, and I know I’m fucked—and not in the way Princess Viktoria is about to be on my new favorite television show.
He just stands there, watching me with those piercing green eyes as I close the door.
“Well,” I say into the emptiness of my loft, knowing what’s about to come out of my mouth is a partial truth. “Thanks, universe. You’ve fucked me.”
4
Vinnie
“What’s with the face?” Angelo sets down a beer in front of Carlos, but his eyes are on me.
I haven’t even made it more than two steps inside the bar, and my brother’s already calling me out. “It’s pretty, isn’t it? You’re jealous, aren’t you?”
He shakes his head before leaning over the bar, chewing on the toothpick which has become a new habit of his. “You look like someone killed your puppy.”
Carlos turns on his stool, glancing at me. “You look like shit, kid.” He’s never one to hold back his opinions. “Girl problems?”
I groan as I straddle the stool next to Carlos and somehow avoid smashing my head into the wood below my hands. “It’s Tracie.”
“That bitch is wackadoo.” Carlos shakes his head. “Sometimes nutty can be good in the sack. You know?”
I do know. There isn’t a person on the planet who hasn’t had a half-insane person rocking the sheets of their bed at one time or another. For a moment, it’s easy to think you can deal with the lunatic because the fucking is so good, but once the orgasm strikes and the nut comes out, it’s time to ditch the shell and choose being alone over the roller coaster ride.
Angelo pulls the toothpick from between his teeth and glares at Carlos for a second. “You’re really fucked up sometimes.” Then he turns to me, and his face softens. “She still pulling shit?”
“She never stopped. I have one final Hail Mary.” Carlos snorts at the football reference, but I keep talking and ignore him. “I have a date for the team party. Coach said I need to be seen in public with someone because Tracie’s been spouting off at the mouth about how we’re a couple.”
“Pushing crazy’s buttons is never a good thing,” Carlo warns before taking a sip of his beer. “You’re poking the bear, kid. Gonna get bit.”
“Is that smart?” Angelo asks, ignoring Carlos too because we both know he’s almost as nuts as Tracie.
I rest my elbow against the bar and drag my hand down my face. “Coach said I needed to do it, so I did it.”
Angelo points at me. “Try not to take one of your bimbos.”
“Give me some credit, will ya?”
He lifts an eyebrow, knowing me better than I probably know myself.
“I found someone respectable to take with me. Someone I haven’t even slept with yet.”
“Oh, this is about to get good.” Carlos smacks his lips together. “Real good.”
“You have anything to add besides commentary?” I give Carlos the side-eye.
He shakes his head, going back to his beer but mumbling something I can’t quite make out against the glass.
Angelo reaches under the counter and grabs a glass, holding it out to me, but I shake my head. “Who’s the woman?” he asks.
“My neighbor.”
“What’s she do?”
“Fuck if I know.” I shrug.
I haven’t even bothered to ask, nor do I care because it doesn’t matter. I needed a rescue, and her name was the first thing that slipped through my lips.
I can feel the weight of Angelo’s eyes as he fills his glass with soda. “I don’t know, kid. I hope Carlos is wrong about this, but you could be opening a whole new can of worms.”
“The coach has assured me Tracie’ll be dealt with.”
Angelo’s about to take a sip, but he pauses with the glass just in front of his mouth. “She’s the owner’s granddaughter, dumbass. How’s he going to deal with her? Family’s family.”
“Yeah, but money’s money, and Mr. Turner is all about bringing a championship to the city.”
Angelo nods, knowing what I’m saying is partially right. But then, he’s right too. Family is family. There’re only so many ways you can deal with a problem caused by someone you love.
“Well, I hope it works,” he says.
“What’s wrong?” Ma says, finally showing her face after she’s been hiding on the stairwell, eavesdropping.
“We know you’ve been listening. What’s your advice?”
She sits down on the stool next to me and grabs my face. “Want me to talk to Mr. Turner?”
Angelo nearly doubles over in laughter.
“What? No, Ma,” I say quickly.
Betty Gallo has no boundaries. She’d do anything for the people she loves, even if it means embarrassing the hell out of them.
“You’ll always be my baby. I can be very convincing.” She smiles, running her thumb down the side of my cheek.
“That’ll go over big in the locker room.” Angelo tries to catch his breath, but he only laughs harder.
I pull her hands away from my face and place them in her lap. “Ma, I got this covered. Really, I do. Let me handle this.”
“I should’ve taken care of that girl after Vegas. Disgraceful,” Ma mutters, shaking her head. “You said you had it handled then, but it seems you didn’t.”
The entire family got their first full taste of Tracie when she showed up at the palatial suite I rented for the draft. Not only did she drop by without being asked, but when my ma answered the door, Tracie had on a trench coat, which was open, and nothing else underneath.
Pop was amused, but Ma had nothing but harsh words, waving her arms in the air as she chased the trust-fund baby down the hallway all the way to the elevator.
“I did, Ma. I’m handling it, but I had to prove myself first. Please, for the love of God, do not do anything.”
“Baby, I’m always going to do right by you.” Ma gives me a sweet, innocent smile.
Doing right and minding her own business are two entirely different things. My mother tends to be cagey with her answers when she’s already cooking up a plan in her mind.
I stare at my mother, totally not amused. “That’s not a no, Ma. Promise me you won’t do anything.”
“Fine.” She sighs. “How do you plan on getting rid of her?”
“Coach’s got it covered,” I tell her. She raises an eyebrow, and I know she wants more. “There’s a team party Friday night. I have to bring a date with me to show that Tracie and I are not an item. Then, he’ll talk to Mr. Turner about Tracie and figure out a solution to make everyone happy.”
Ma doesn’t speak as she moves her head from side to side like she’s having an internal debate. “I don’t know,” she mumbles under her breath. “It could work, but doubtful. Who’s your date?”
“It’s…”
She places her hand over my mouth, stopping me from saying Bianca’s name. “I have the perfect date for you. Emma Claire.”
I gag behind her palm as soon as I hear the name. Emma Claire is a nice girl, but nothing about her is attractive to me. “There’s no way I’m taking Emma Claire.”
My mother smacks my cheek playfully. “She’s a nice girl. Hush your mouth.”
“Isn’t she studying to be a nun?” Angelo asks, knowing our ma is being ridiculous for even bringing up her name.
Ma glares at Angelo. “What’s wrong with that? She’s a good girl.”
Angelo holds up his hands. “Ma, I don’t think professional football players are a good fit for Emma Claire and her prayers. That’s all. She’s too good of a girl for one of those parties.”
“Scrap Emma Claire. It’s not happening, Ma. No one who knows me will believe I’m dating Emma Claire.”
“Fine. Who’s the girl you’re taking, then? Which bimbo is it this time?”
“My neighbor Bianca.”
“Ahh,” she sings. “A good Italian girl.”
“Nope. A spicy Latina.”
“Catholic?” she fires back.
/>
“I don’t know.” I look at her funny because what the hell does it matter what religion she is. “We’re not getting married. We’re swapping dates.”
“Swapping dates?” She gawks at me and then at Angelo like he has the answer, but he only shrugs.
“She’s coming with me to the party, and I’m going with her to her parents’ anniversary dinner.”
“Is that what your generation has come to?” she asks with a sour look on her face.
“I don’t even know what that means. We’re helping each other out.”
“What’s her last name?”
Jesus. I feel like I’m being grilled by a Chicago detective. “I don’t know.”
She glances up toward the ceiling and mutters some Gaelic curse word. “Maybe I should meet this girl.”
Angelo waves his hand to me. “Ma, let the man handle it. He’s a big boy now.”
She grabs my shoulders and stares me straight in the eyes. “This girl could be some unbalanced stalker.”
“Tracie is the stalker, Ma. Bianca is a neighbor who’s made it very clear she’s not into me.”
“She’s playing hard to get.”
“Betty,” Tilly says as she opens the front door of the bar, rescuing me. “Can you help me for a minute?”
“We’re not done,” Ma tells me before she slides off the barstool and heads toward Tilly.
“You can thank me later for the save.” Angelo taps the wooden bar top in front of me.
“She’s brutal.” I shake my head, wishing our mother didn’t always feel the need to butt into our lives.
“She means well, but she gets carried away.”
I nod at my brother. “I better run. I have some shit to do before my shift tonight. I’ll be back on time.”
He lifts an eyebrow, and I know he doesn’t believe me. “You’re always late. You’ll be late to your own funeral.”
“I’ll be here at seven.”
“Six, dumbass. Don’t play games. Tate has ballet class tonight.”
For my niece, I’ll be on time. That girl has me wrapped around her little finger. I don’t know how my brother says no to her because I sure as fuck can’t. Never have been and never will be able to either.