Maddox (The Italian Cartel Book 5)

by Shandi Boyes

  Demi runs her finger down my sudsy nose like I did hers earlier tonight before she shrugs. “Is a free meal not enough for you?”

  When I shake my head, she angles hers to the side, better aligning our lips. I’ve been waiting for this moment for years, so you can imagine my utter disgust when the only thing landing on my lips is the bubbles Demi stole from my hand when my concentration diverted to ensuring my mouth wasn’t as dry as a desert.

  “It takes more than scrubbing a mountain load of dirty dishes to be in my favor, Maddox.” While giggling about my uncomfortable grab of my crotch from her husky deliverance of the word ‘favor,’ she bobs under my arm, snatches up her purse from beneath the massive stainless-steel counter in the middle of the kitchen, then struts toward the exit.

  Yep, you once again heard me right. Hips swinging, tits bouncing, I’m-going-to-come-in-my-pants-like-a-dweeb strut.

  For years, I’ve wondered if Demi Petretti was a tease or a straight-up pleaser. I had no clue she was a bit of both. Don’t misunderstand I’m stoked the years she spent under her uncle’s care hasn’t altered her personality. I’m just praying like fuck her slide from teaser to pleaser isn’t a month-long slip. My gym shorts don’t have a zipper. However, my cock is aching as if it does.

  I push off my feet like the man at the start line fired his gun when Demi warns, “If you want dessert, Maddox, you better hurry. The ice cream parlor closes in ten minutes.”

  “You’ve never seen snow?”

  Demi giggles at the eccentrics in my tone before shaking her head. “It doesn’t snow around these parts, and I’ve never left the state.”

  “Fuck.” I should have a better reply, but I’m truly shocked. Our state is decent in size, but come on, there’s a ton more of them for her to explore. “All right. I don’t think my shock can get any higher, but I’ll give it a shot.” I take a moment to pick my next question in our game of twenty questions. “What is the smelliest thing you’ve ever smelled?”

  Demi screws up her nose while contemplating a reply. We consumed our ice cream, talked more than we did at lunch earlier today, and have taken the longest route possible to her apartment building by foot just to force our date into the mandatory overtime every world’s best date demands, and now we’re on the final stretch. The sun is beginning to rise, and my eyelids are drooping with tiredness, yet the ache of my cheeks is by far the most obvious sign of how much fun I’ve had the past fifteen-plus hours. I haven’t smiled this wide in a long time, and my life is fucking awesome, so kudos to Demi. She not only blew my expectations on dating out of the water, one night with her made up for years of missed opportunities.

  I hope she’s just as smitten, or I’m about to make an ass out of myself.

  I stop summarizing the best way to guarantee a kiss after a first date when Demi answers my question. It doesn’t go in the direction I’m hoping but proves, without a doubt, her uncle is as shady as fuck. “There’s a room in the basement of my uncle’s warehouse. I’ve never been inside, and the smell that creeps underneath the door when I dash by ensures it will remain off my itinerary for eternity.”

  Not even wearing the jacket I draped over her shoulders two hours ago weakens the brutal shiver jolting down her spine.

  She’s quick to brush off her disgust, but I can still see the turmoil in her eyes when she locks them with mine. “You?”

  “Uh…” I pretend like I need a few seconds to formulate a response. In reality, I’m drinking in all the gorgeous features of her face before it’s too late. We’re walking up the footpath of her apartment building. Our date is coming to an end. “It’s a tie between the locker room at Seacoast and Landon’s socks.”

  Demi’s hand shoots up to cover her mouth when her laugh comes out with a snort. “From what I’ve heard, your gym socks aren’t much better.”

  “Ohhh, so you not only eye-fuck me in the gym, you take sneaky whiffs of my socks as well.”

  “What? No!” When she drops her hand from her mouth to my stomach, she steals some of my laughter with a playful two-finger jab to the bottom of my ribcage. “Hopeton is small. Rumors circulate.”

  My teeth grit when jealousy flares through her impressive eyes. My ex-girlfriend, Harlow, always jokes that we’re not together because of my stinky gym socks. Truth be told, we were kickass friends, but we didn’t have the spark needed to make us a long-term couple. We ended things mutually, and we’re still friends to this day, although we may not be if she ruins my chance of a sunrise kiss.

  Even though I’m only holding a pair of twos, I aim to end our game with a royal flush. “Same time tomorrow?”

  “I’m working the lunch shift tomorrow,” Demi replies, assuming I’m referencing the meal we shared at lunch.

  “I know.” I smirk at the shock on her face before hitting her with a playful wink. “But a guy has got to eat.”

  I think I have her, my cockiness won’t allow another response to formulate in my head, so I try not to pout like a soft cock when she says, “Let me think about it.” My life stops circling the drain when she leans in to press a kiss to my cheek. Her lips aren’t where I want them, but the words she whispers in my ear makes up for their detour. “They say breakfast is the most important meal of the day, and the Petretti’s torte makes the need for sleep unnecessary.”

  When she pulls back, I ask, “What time do they start serving that?”

  Please say ‘now.’

  Please say ‘now.’

  My prayers don’t get answered, but considering the early hour, it’s pretty damn close. “Around ten.”

  Demi’s eyes still expose her weariness.

  It’s a pity for her I can’t see it past the hope.

  “I guess I could swing by at ten to test its sleep deprivation reversal capabilities for myself.”

  After dragging my index finger down her nose still crinkled with her earlier jealousy, I hit her with a frisky wink before I spin on my heels and walk away.

  I only make it to the sidewalk before my naturally engrained cockiness kicks in.

  When I turn to face Demi, I smile when the heat of her gaze is authenticated from it landing on my face. My ass was on fire a couple of seconds ago. “If I misread the whole brunch thing, please put me out of my misery. I’m already walking funny, so I doubt wedging a tail between my legs before rejoining you on the porch will make much difference.”

  Her smile makes the sun irreverent. She’s as smitten as me. I’d put money on it.

  “Good night, Maddox Walsh.”

  “It was,” I agree, laughing when she rolls her eyes at my corniness. “Now scoot before I conjure up a way to make it even better.”

  Her hesitation thickens my cock. It’s got nothing on the smile she flashes my way before she darts through the front entry door of her building, though. It’s the smile a man would go to the ends of the earth to see day in and day out. A smile I’d kill for to keep it on her face.

  I’ve schmoozed thousands of people in my lifetime, gained the respect of almost just as many, but nothing compares to the number of times I made Demi smile tonight. There are billions of smiles in the world, but hers are the hardest to earn, and by far, my most favorite.

  5

  Demi

  “Whoa… shit… dammit.”

  As my hands shoot up to cover my eyes, my cheeks turn the color of beets. I guess this is what Maddox meant when he said Sloane wouldn’t be waiting for me to arrive with an angry scowl and the expectance of a bag full of sugar. She’s mad, all right, but it has nothing to do with me ditching her at my uncle’s gym yesterday afternoon.

  She’s pissed I walked in on her and Saint getting freaky in the kitchen.

  The kitchen of all places!

  I eat in there.

  “I’ll… umm… go… ah… to my room.”

  Why do I sound like I’m twelve? I’ve seen women naked before—many of them thanks to the ones forced to prance around my uncle’s house like his wrinkled face doesn’t make them want t
o barf. I’ve just never faced the jungle-like vine Saint is swinging around like Tarzan.

  Don’t read that the wrong way. I’ve seen penises before, nearly as many as I have vaginas. They just weren’t as long as Saint’s and nowhere near as handsome.

  Wind it back in, Demi, you’re getting off track.

  The size of the guy’s penis I lost my virginity to made it seem as if I didn’t lose my virginity. The one man I’ve been with since could have fixed the injustice if he had come after removing his penis from his trunks.

  There, now you know all my sexual history.

  I bet you’re feeling sorry for me, aren’t you?

  It’s okay. I’d rather your pity than share a story similar to how many women in my uncle’s industry lose their virginities. My sexual escapades have been via my choice. Many others, including my mother’s, were not. I don’t know about you, but I’d rather face a dud in the bedroom than a man who paid for the privilege.

  I’ve barely released a frustrated sob into my pillow when the patter of tiny feet filters into my ears. I’m not angry about Sloane’s adventurous locations to have sex. I’m annoyed that the first thought that popped into my head when I stumbled onto their antics was that I could have been doing that with Maddox right now if I weren’t such a chicken. I’ve never wanted something more in my life, yet I left him standing on the footpath like a loser.

  I’d hate myself if my dislike of my uncle left any room for self-loathing.

  Mistaking my sob as annoyance about her sexual exploits, Sloane asks, “Exactly how much did you see?”

  When I sling my eyes to my door, she props her shoulder on the doorjamb. She’s wearing more clothes than she was moments ago, but nowhere near enough to be classed as decent.

  A grin tugs my lips higher when my stink eye causes her to forcefully swallow. “That much?”

  I prop myself onto my elbows before increasing my glare. It’s all an act, but I’m happy for her to think otherwise. “Let me be clear. I’m. Never. Eating. Cucumber. Again.”

  “With your mouth or other parts of your body?” Her last five words fly out of her kiss-swollen lips with a girlie, high-pitched laugh.

  When I gag, she pushes off her feet and races my way. The smell of sweat-slicked hair and skin teems into my nose when she swan dives onto my mattress like she’s diving into the pool at her family mansion. “Saint is—”

  “Inventive with salad, pegs, and… was that your nanna’s scarf I saw?”

  Sloane barges me with her shoulder. “It was.” After waggling her brows long enough to award herself a brand-new wrinkle, she asks, “So how about you? How was Maddox?”

  I stiffen like a board. “Umm...”

  In less than a nanosecond, her face goes from playful to stern. “Don’t play Ms. Innocent Act with me, missy. Everyone was talking about how he raced out after you. I wouldn’t be surprised if your cousins in New York have heard about it by now.”

  She’s being playful.

  Unfortunately, I’m not close to laughing.

  “Everyone saw me with Maddox?”

  Her anger is pushed aside for fret, the panic in my voice the sole cause of her worry. “Not everyone. They just heard him call your name.” Her eyes bounce between mine. They’re full of panic. “Why would it matter if anyone saw you with him?”

  I swallow to soothe my burning throat before replying, “It wouldn’t. I just don’t want to get a name, that’s all.”

  Sloane’s brow gets lost in her curly blonde hair. “A name for bedding one of the most eligible bachelors this side of the country? Girl, that’s a badge you should wear with honor.”

  I agree with her, but not only do I like to argue, she has it all wrong. “We didn’t do anything.” I internally battle myself for nearly twenty seconds before blurting out, “I kind of ditched him on the sidewalk.”

  “He came all the way here, and you didn’t invite him in?” When I nod, Sloane slaps me up the back of the head. “Demi!”

  “I know,” I say with a groan. “I suck.”

  I whack her in the arm when she gabbles out, “If you did, we wouldn’t be having this conversation.” After joining me lying on my bed, she peers up at the ceiling then asks, “You’ve had a crush on Maddox since the fifth grade, so why did you bolt as soon as the fireworks started?”

  She’s a little off with her dates, but since that’s more my fault than hers, I let it slide.

  “It’s complicated,” I murmur, incapable of lying to my best friend.

  She rolls onto her side before hooking an arm around my waist. “Too complicated to halve the burden with your best friend?”

  My sigh is packed with so much disappointment, it rustles one of her springy curls. That’s rare. They’re so thick and dense that usually nothing unkinks them. “Unfortunately, yes.”

  I’ve kept her off my family’s radar as much as I can. She’s never invited to family functions, the only place her contact details are stored are in my head, and even with her paying half the rent on our apartment, her name isn’t on the lease.

  If my uncle can’t threaten me to do what he wants, he will shift his focus to those around me. Sloane is all I have. I can’t bear the thought of losing her.

  The abovementioned exposes how foolish I was to invite Maddox to Petretti’s for brunch tomorrow. My uncle has been conducting business in Italy the past two months, so I’m confident his flight won’t land until well after midday, and Petretti’s is the only establishment he owns that doesn’t have surveillance cameras, but still, I’m taking risks that could end fatally.

  I want to be happy. I just refuse for it to be siphoned from those I love.

  The feeling that I’m drowning on land evades me when Sloane gabbers out, “Five minutes.” When I peer at her, stunned by the sudden flip in our conversation, she winks, then rolls off my bed. “Five minutes of wallowing, then you’ll need to pop your headphones on. The sun is rising, and I’ve only orgasmed three times. It’s time to add some bass to the tingles in my pussy.”

  While doing the worst Beyoncé booty shake I’ve ever seen, she shimmies out the door, closing it behind her. Although I’m in desperate need of a shower, I roll onto my side, hug my pillow, then shut my eyes, where I spend the next four hours pretending I can have both my crush and a life without misery.

  6

  Maddox

  I wake up startled when the buzz of my cell phone vibrates across the coffee table of my friend’s crash pad. He’s out of town, and I promised to water his plants. I wasn’t meant to fall asleep. When I’m dog tired, I usually pass out for a solid eight hours. Since I didn’t have eight hours to burn between ‘dates’ with Demi, I put Diehard on Netflix, pumped up the volume, then guzzled down three cans of energy drinks like they don’t have the ability to kill me.

  That should have kept me awake until next Thanksgiving.

  As luck would have it, my brain is far more brilliant than me. I not only got four hours of sleep, but I also dreamed about Demi the entire time.

  It’s been an awesome twenty-plus hours.

  While scrubbing a hand over my eyes, I use the other to snatch up my cell phone from the coffee table. I’m not shocked when I unearth the identity of my caller. Justine snoops into her brothers’ lives as much as we interfere in hers.

  Justine: Caidyn said you didn’t come home last night. Is there something you need to share?

  As I pace toward the shower, I type out a reply.

  Me: Depends? How high do dirty dishes rate on your naughty scale?

  I add a heap of horned devil emojis to my message.

  Her reply arrives at the same time I reach the bathroom.

  Justine: Aww… you washed dishes for her. Mom will be so proud!

  The rest of my message screen is filled with sickening heart emojis.

  Even while giving myself a mental pat on the back, I roll my eyes like we’re talking in real-time instead of over the phone.

  Me: I’m about to have a shower. Need to
wash the stickiness off my skin. I’ll buzz you later.

  As three dots trickle across the screen, I remove my gym shorts, t-shirt, and trunks.

  Just as I flick on the faucet for the shower, Justine’s next message pops up.

  Justine: Way TMI… but I still expect to be updated on all the deets later.

  I hit the thumbs up button before sliding into the shower, praying like fuck I’ll have more to share than an innocent peck on my cheek after a second date.

  My bristle-covered jaw is drenched with cologne, my outfit is more suitable for a man planning to dine at a high-priced restaurant, and my hair is combed back from my face. I don’t give a fuck what Caidyn says, my suaveness smashed it out of the park this morning.

  After hooking a leg over my bike, I push out the kickstart lever. I’m about to fire her up, but a snarky voice stops me in my tracks. “You should stick with the brooding act. She seemed to favor it over the college jock you played yesterday.”

  Agent Arrow Moses steps out of the shadow of an apartment building’s low-hanging frontage. He’s dressed like we’re not in winter. I guess his moody FBI demeanor makes a coat unnecessary, so I won’t mention the fact he’s peeved as fuck I was a no-show to my fight last night.

  “You know what they say, Ox, the good guys always come last.”

  “I wasn’t playing,” I respond, even with my head demanding for me to keep my mouth shut. “Not with her and not when I tell you if you keep following me like you fucking own me, I’ll be forced to show you otherwise with more than words.” I ball my hands into fists in case the snarl of my words didn’t get my point across.

  Agent Moses whips his sunglasses off his face to ensure I can’t miss the disdain in his slit gaze. “You’re threatening me? A federal agent. I could have you put away for life.”

  “I’m not threatening you.” I smirk when he can’t hold back the bob of his Adam’s apple. “I’m telling you how it is. That’s all you ask of me, isn’t it, Agent Moses? My brutal honesty.”