by Sam Mariano
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.
Chapter Ten
Vince
I give it roughly one hour and four tumblers of whiskey before I haul my ass back over to Carly’s apartment and pound on the door.
It took me a few minutes to get past almost calling her Mia, but she was triggering the same bullshit Mia did and I didn’t fucking like it. Basic reasoning did eventually lead me to the obvious conclusion that this isn’t the same situation, though, and now I realize I’m being kind of an asshole. I mean, I guess I knew I was being an asshole; I just wanted to see if she would put up with it.
She’s tried to spend time with me, she’s tried to be my girlfriend without a title, and when I got spooked, she backed off. We’ve never even been on an actual date, so I have no ground to stand on.
I’m still gonna kick this asshole out of her house. I don’t give a fuck if I have the right or not.
Carly levels me a look to let me knows she’s unimpressed as soon as the door swings open. She’s wearing the same midriff-baring shirt as earlier, but she changed out of her leggings and into a tight black mini-skirt. She looks sexy as hell, and it pisses me right off. “What are you doing here, Vince? You know I have company.”
“Then you know what I’m doing here,” I inform her, shoving the door open and heading inside without an invite.
Sighing heavily, she follows after me. “Vince, come on.”
There’s a man sitting at her table, eating her spaghetti and meatballs smothered in Nana’s goddamn spaghetti sauce. This is fucking unacceptable. I want to hold his face in a pot of boiling spaghetti sauce until it either melts off or he drowns—and that’s not even accounting for the possibility that he’s already touched her. Even a hug, a kiss—I want to rip this dirtbag apart.
Instead, I practice self-control, towering over the table and glaring down at him. This little shit remains seated, staring up at me with wide eyes. His Adam’s apple bobs as he swallows. I point back at the door and tell him firmly, “Go.”
Carly sighs and rolls her eyes at me, but she doesn’t even bother to contradict me. I take that to mean she really doesn’t want this asshole here, either.
“Uh, excuse me,” he says, awkwardly pushing back his chair and standing. He’s torn between not looking like a little chicken shit and being intimidated by me, but he couldn’t look like more of a pussy if he crawled under the table and barreled out on his knees.
Since he doesn’t leave as quickly as I want him to, I lean in a little more menacingly. “I said, get the fuck out.”
He moves away from me, walking around the far side of the table. He looks at Carly. “Should I…?”
“Just leave,” she tells him. “I’m sorry about this.”
“Do you need me to…? Are you okay here?”
“I’m good. Don’t worry about it.”
The guy casts a wary look back at me, extracting his phone so I can see it as he heads for the door.
Since I can see where he’s going with this, I add, “Call the cops and I’ll give you a fucking reason to.”
Carly follows Pencil Dick to the door, quietly assuring him, “I’m really fine. He’s fine. Honestly. Everything is fine. I don’t need a hero. Don’t do anything stupid, just go.”
Pencil Dick is clearly not convinced. Now that there’s an apartment’s length between us, he’s feeling a little less cowardly. “I hate to see a nice girl like you—”
Carly cuts him off, rolling her eyes. “Dude, save it.”
He halts, looking a little insulted, and she closes the door in his face.
She backs herself against the door, watching me for a few seconds, assessing the situation. She must decide she can handle me, because then she pushes off the wall and heads my way.
“You can’t do this, Vince. You had no right—”
“I told you not to have that stupid asshole over here,” I tell her.
Her eyes narrow. She plants a hand on that sexy fucking hip of hers and tells me, “No, you did not.”
“Well, I meant to.”
“My mind reading skills only go so far.”
I want to tell her that’s awfully funny coming from Miss I Can’t Order Myself Popcorn, but she’s showing too much skin and I can’t concentrate. I’m too riled up from the alcohol and the thoughts of some other asshole touching her that have been tormenting me since she told me what her plan was for this evening.
“I don’t like games,” I inform her, taking a slow step toward her, then another.
In response to my movements, she takes a step back, and then another, regarding me with caution. “I’m not playing games. I’m living my life. You’re the one playing games.”
“I’ll show you a fu
cking game,” I tell her, my gaze raking over her body as her back presses against the wall. God, she is killing me with this tiny-ass shirt. I can’t keep from touching her. I try to, I want to, but my fingers just go right to that patch of soft, perfect skin exposed beneath the thin, white fabric. I skim her sides, my gaze lingering on her breasts, then rising to her mouth. Those fucking blowjob lips of hers.
I yank up the fabric of her tank top. She has a black bra underneath, the creamy mounds of her breasts pushed up, begging for my attention.
I yank the fabric down and her perfect breasts bounce free. I bend my head, first running my tongue over her hard, pink nipple, then flicking it with my tongue. Carly inhales sharply above me, then gasps as my mouth fastens around it. She moans as I taste that breast, then sighs when I turn my attention to the other. Her fingers slide through my hair, but then she tugs.
“Get off me,” she murmurs, lowly.
Her pebbled nipples tell me a different story, so I scowl up at her. Since she’s also scowling, I pull away from her breasts and straighten. “Why?”
“Because you’re not treating me right,” she states. “I like you, you know I like you, but I’m not going to get pulled into this game of push and pull. You’re not going to storm over here, dole out or collect an orgasm, then avoid me for a week. That’s not going to be my life. I’m not sure what kind of idiot girl you’re used to fucking with, but I don’t play that way.”
No, I don’t imagine she would have to. Carly’s hot as hell, but she’s more than that. She’s fucking adorable. It’s the adorable that gets me. Anyone could see Mia was physically a ten—Jace Bradford even figured it out, and sometimes that asshole was too high to remember what class he was in—but it was her sweetness, her cuteness that sunk hooks into me. It was her reasonably defending herself against me, someone she hadn’t invited into her life or anywhere near her, and then feeling bad for hurting my feelings afterward and trying to make amends. It was her dumb jokes, her well-meaning, horrible advice, the cute little way her nose would wrinkle up when she got mad at me.
I could sink into the Mia sinkhole right now, but Carly surfaces. Not the Carly standing in front of me right now, annoyed with me, but the Carly I spend all my time with. The Carly who sticks her tongue out at me when I tell her how lame her little “red kryptonite Clark” is, who steals my popcorn but refuses to make herself a bowl, who cuddles with me and pretends she’s only trying to be my friend.
Doesn’t play games, my ass.
I like her games, though.
Just like I liked Mia’s games, until there was a third player.
Just the thought causes me to break out in a cold sweat. What if it happens again? How am I supposed to stop something like that? I tried everything in my power to stop it the first time, and I couldn’t.
It’s not even impossible. It’s unlikely, but Mateo will find me eventually. It’s personal now. He wanted to kill me when I attacked Mia after he did years ago, and she didn’t even belong to him then. Now she does, and I took her anyway. I’ve heard in great detail how he punished the cop who had Beth. That’s not a club I want to join.
What will he do when he finds me? What will he do if I have a Carly? Is he even wrapped up in Mia the way he was before, after four years? It’s hard to imagine. Beth didn’t last that many years, but it’s difficult to imagine Mateo being loyal. Fucker isn’t loyal to anyone.
What if he hurts Carly the way he hurt Mia to punish me again? Torture me before he kills me, demands payment for the tab I opened in Vegas?
I want Carly, but there are so many things that can go wrong. I want many more nights on her couch, with her body snuggled up against mine, watching terrible fucking television and talking about our lives, but I don’t want to hurt her, either. I don’t know how to be with her without hurting her in some way—whether with this bullshit, or the more legitimate kind when Mateo finds me. The cost is too high.
I’m not thinking clearly enough after the tumblers of whiskey, so I must not be controlling my expression. I must be oozing some sort of sadness, because Carly’s irritation melts and she takes a step forward, bringing a hand to my jaw and cradling my face in her hand.
“What’s stopping you?” she asks, candidly.
“I can’t do this.”
Carly swallows, her big blue eyes flecked with sadness. “Why?”
I just shake my head, looking away from her eyes. It’s too much. I can’t explain it all to her, and even if I did, she has that goddamn Mia streak—she wouldn’t believe me. She wouldn’t hear all the evidence of how I can ruin her life simply by caring about her because of my toxic fucking legacy and then agree we should go our separate ways. She would do the stupid thing. The thing Mia did. Try to hang onto me, not understanding the cost.
The best thing I ever did for Mia was dump her, I just did it too late. By the time I did the right thing, Mateo was already hot on our trail. I had already done the damage, I just didn’t know yet.
I can’t watch history repeat itself. I can’t do this again.
This is the fucking worst. A weight on my chest, on my shoulders, everywhere. My heart aches and the sadness coils through me again, but this time it’s not because of Mia. This time it’s because of Carly. This is my destiny now. I can’t escape this. Maybe I should go back to Chicago. Waltz straight up to the gates of Mateo’s fucking house, if I make it that far. Spread my goddamn arms and invite him to finish the fucking job.
At least that way, no one else gets hurt.
“Vince…”
I reach up and brush her hand away. “I’m sorry. You’re right. I had no right to come over here.”
“Just talk to me,” she implores. “Please. Whatever you’re thinking, share it. Don’t keep it in. Let it out and let me help.”
“You can’t help,” I tell her, shaking my head. “No one can. I’m Hellbound and I don’t want to take you with me.”
I turn to leave, but she anticipates the move and gets there first, planting herself against the door, arms spread, like she can stop me. She tips her cute little chin up stubbornly. “I won’t let you leave until you tell me what you’re feeling.”
“Stop being so fucking cute,” I tell her, easily prying her away from the door and moving her out of my way. “It’s annoying.”
“Vince.” She sighs heavily as I open the door, pulling her bra back up and hugging herself against the bitter burst of cold.
“Please, just stay away from me,” I tell her. “It’s for the best.”
“I won’t do that,” she warns me. “I told you I wouldn’t do that, and I meant it. If you’re too fucking afraid to take what you want, fine, but I’m not going to go away. I’m still going to be your friend, whether you like it or not. I’m going to keep coming around. I’m going to keep trying. I’m not giving up on you.”
Her words fill me with a conflicting bundle of emotions—some fucked up soothed feeling, dread, exasperation, fear, but mostly helpless fucking rage.
I spin back around, snapping, “Just fucking listen to me. Why doesn’t anyone ever fucking believe me when I try to warn them? I know what I’m talking about!”
Instead of backing down, she rages right back, “Because I care about you, and when you care about someone, you don’t abandon them to fight their demons alone.”
My eyes widen. “You can’t fight my demons, Carly. Trust me. My demons will fucking obliterate you.”
“No, they won’t,” she argues. “I’m made of stern stuff, Vince. I can withstand whatever bullshit comes with you.”
She doesn’t fucking get it. It’s not her fault. She’s never met my family. They’re an urban legend to her, not a living, breathing threat. She’s aware of their existence, but they’re not real to her. It’s just like when I tried to warn Mia all those years ago, when I refused to date her, but did this half-assed bullshit so I could still keep seeing her.
You don’t understand what it’s like to be dragged into the path of Mateo’s destructio
n until you’re there, and then it’s too late.
My head hangs. A short, humorless laugh escapes me and I shake my head. “Trust me, I’m not worth it.”
Carly steps over the threshold, despite the cold winter wind and her tiny little clothes. She reaches her hand up to cradle my face again, pulls me down until our foreheads touch, and assures me, “Yes, you are.”
Her words fill the cracks in my heart with warmth. My hand moves up to cup her neck, to draw her closer. My lips automatically move to cover hers. I need to let her go, but I need to taste her one more time. Only when she holds onto me, when her mouth opens for me, when it feels like she needs me as much as I need her, it makes it all so much harder.
Kissing her is a mistake. Blood pumps through my veins. Lust threatens to take over. My cock strains against the fabric of me jeans, begging for the warm, wetness I know I’ll find between her thighs. She may have told me to stop, but her pebbled nipples told me she was turned on—she must just have better self-control than I have.
Fuck, now all I can think about is Carly sprawled on the bed, her long blonde hair spread out around her, her little body squirming as I devour her pussy and drain away every bit of that self-control until she’s begging for me.
I break the kiss, break away, and without another word I abandon Carly outside her apartment and retreat to my fortress of fucking solitude.
Chapter Eleven
Vince
Pain throbs inside my skull. The incessant knocking will not go away. Carly will not go away. When I close my eyes, she’s there. When there’s a lull at work, I think about her. When I go to sleep, she fills half of my dreams.
The other half? Nightmares that remind me why I can’t have her.
Instead of going away, she pounds harder. “We know you’re in there!”
We?
Am I hung over? I’ve been drinking too much again. I didn’t think I still got hung over. My body learned a long time ago that succumbing to hangovers would mean a hell of a lot of misery and it gave up the good fight.