Submitting in Vegas

by Sam Mariano

  “She’s pretty,” I murmur, hating how wounded I sound.

  “No, she’s not,” he says dismissively.

  “Really pretty. Don’t lie.”

  “I’m not lying,” he insists. “If I know one thing, it’s beautiful women. She’s common. Nothing special. Your new ex-boyfriend is an idiot.”

  “Yeah, well, you didn’t go through all her photos like a psycho masochist. I can show you, if you want. She’s fucking pretty.”

  “I don’t need to see more pictures. I’ve seen all I need to see. Forget about her. She doesn’t matter. Neither does he. Kick him to the curb. You’ll find someone better.”

  I shake my head, not so much in disagreement, just confounded by the bullshit of my life right now. “I can’t believe this. I can’t believe I didn’t see it coming. There’s a picture of them together a month ago. A month ago. She didn’t tag him in that one so I didn’t see it before, but… I mean, it was out there in the universe. They were together a month ago, and every night he just came home like… like everything was fine. He blindsided me. How did I let that happen?”

  Rafe kneels down in front of me now, drawing the pocket square out of his suit pocket and handing it to me. “It happens to the best of us,” he says gently. “I’ve been cheated on, too. Didn’t feel great. Look at me, still here. You’ll survive.”

  I roll my eyes, looking up at him as I dab the cloth under my eyes. “Who would cheat on you?”

  Rafe smiles faintly and shrugs. “Some people just aren’t made for fidelity. They get bored, they move on. That’s life. It’s not the end of the world, just the end of that relationship. Guess what? There are plenty more out there. You’ll be sad for a while, then you’ll be okay, and eventually you’ll be with someone a hell of a lot better than this moron. You’ll be glad he weeded himself out of your life.”

  “Maybe,” I murmur, noncommittally.

  “Take my word for it,” he says with undue confidence—but so much of it, I can’t help believing him.

  He’s just being nice. He doesn’t know me. He’s seen me in passing a few times at the restaurant, and now he’s forced to deal with this sobbing, emotional mess because the man needed to grab oil for a fryer. Poor guy.

  Nodding my head, more to free him of the obligation of standing here offering me comfort than anything, I say, “Yeah, you’re right.”

  He remains hunched there for a minute watching me, but I don’t raise my gaze to his. As if he can see I’m not convinced, as if it matters to him, he stays here with me.

  “How about this,” he says. “Tell me how I can make it better. I know I can’t make the pain go away, that’s gonna take some time, but what would make you happier right now? What would lighten your load?”

  “Someone punching him in the face,” I mutter.

  “I can arrange that,” he says easily.

  “Alison Marie hating his stupid face. Breaking his heart the way he broke mine.”

  Rafe nods in consideration. “Doable.”

  “Never seeing him again, ever.”

  “You live together?” he asks, reviewing the facts.

  I nod my head, looking at the damp, semi-destroyed cloth I’m wringing. Now it has mascara stains all over it. Those might not come out. He shouldn’t have given me this pocket square. There are literally cloth napkins five feet away.

  “How about I move him out?” Rafe suggests.

  My startled gaze jumps to his. “What?”

  “I’ve got dinner plans, but you’re closing anyway, right? How about you give me your address and apartment key, and after I eat, me and a persuasive friend of mine will go to your apartment and assist this asshole in vacating the premises? He’ll be gone before you get home.”

  “I couldn’t ask you to do that. He isn’t home anyway.”

  “So, we’ll move him out without his help.”

  “You don’t know which stuff is his,” I point out.

  “He doesn’t have stuff anymore. He surrendered it all when he cheated on you with Miss Two Names. If he has questions, I can explain that to him. I’ll take a box, throw anything that looks like his into it, and then I’ll deliver it to him at Alison Marie’s place. I can get her address pretty easily, just give me your phone. Then maybe my friend and I will have a little chat with him, let him know you’re over and he shouldn’t come around again, just in case he’s confused you for someone who’s going to put up with this shit. Maybe then I’ll tell Ali who to call if she’s looking for a real man. Slip her my number on the way out.”

  At that, I grimace. “Ew, I don’t want you to sleep with her.”

  Amusement warms his handsome features. “I won’t. But she doesn’t need to know that until she’s already ditched his ass.” Spreading his hands, he says, “Look at that. I just made all your wishes come true. You have an apartment all to yourself, no more loser boyfriend with a broken nose and not much else to his name, and he’s suddenly been dumped by his slutty new girlfriend for a much bigger fish. You win the break-up.”

  A little bubble of hope expands in my chest. “You wouldn’t really do all that for me.”

  “Sure I would,” he says easily.

  “Why?”

  He winks at me like a rascal. “Sounds like a fun Friday night.”

  “You could get in trouble,” I tell him.

  Now he rolls his eyes. “Yeah, okay.”

  I shrug, fiddling with his pocket square. “I’m just saying. You can’t go around breaking noses and intimidating cheating assholes without repercussions.”

  “Sure I can,” he assures me. “Your little shitstain ex-boyfriend can’t touch me.”

  I know that’s true, and even though I don’t condone violence, I can’t deny the little burst of delight that courses through me as I look up at him again. Of all the things I thought might come out of this awkward encounter, Rafe Morelli riding off into the night to defend my honor was not one of them. “It would save me some time…”

  “And bring a smile to your face?”

  I nod my head, a little shyly.

  “Then it’s done,” he says easily, standing upright and holding out his hand. “Apartment key.”

  “I can’t believe you’re seriously going to do this for me,” I say, reaching into my apron for my keys. “You’re like a genie in a bottle.”

  His dark eyes dance with amusement. “You must’ve rubbed me the right way.”

  My jaw drops open.

  “Sorry,” he says immediately, shaking his head. “You work for me. That was inappropriate.”

  So are the mental images I now have of rubbing his dick. Well, at least those are nicer than the cozy images of cuddling with Nate on our stupid fucking couch.

  Clearly unsure whether or not I took him seriously, he adds, “Also, I’m in a relationship, so I didn’t mean…”

  Seeking to rescue him from his inadvertent, obviously not that serious advance, I inform him wryly, “I wasn’t thinking about fucking you, I was envisioning you listening to Christina Aguilera.”

  A burst of surprised laughter later, he smiles wryly. “And that didn’t make you want to fuck me? Weird.”

  I nod my mock-agreement. “It’s all very manly. My self-control is most impressive.”

  “I hope I’m at least shirtless and pumping iron. That’s the only way I listen to my X-tina.”

  Snorting with amusement, I can’t help grinning. “Well, you are now. And there’s a bikini-clad babe standing by with a protein shake, so no worries. Very masculine.”

  “As long as the douchiest douche at the frat house would be impressed, then I’m happy.”

  Grinning, I can’t help voicing my surprise. “You’re funny.”

  Flashing me a truly devastating smile that plants hooks in my heart, he says, “What, bad guys can’t be funny?”

  His smile may plant stakes in my heart so he can set up camp there, but his words rob me of my smile. “You’re not a bad guy.”

  “There are a lot of people who m
ight disagree with you there, sweetheart.”

  I would have been one of them, up until ten minutes ago. Now I shrug. “They can be wrong; I won’t lose any sleep over it.”

  He smiles again. “Yeah, me neither.” Extending his large hand, he says expectantly, “Phone.”

  I can’t believe I’m going to sic a mobster on my boyfriend. Oh well, asshole should have kept his dick in his pants. It’s not even that impressive a dick that he owed it to the world to spread it around. Stupid asshole.

  I draw my phone out of my apron and hand it to Rafe.

  “I’ll bring these back later when I’m done,” he assures me.

  “You should really advertise these fringe benefits, I bet you’d get a lot more employment applications,” I tell him.

  Even though he obviously knows I’m not serious, he shakes his head dismissively. “I save these benefits for my favorite employees.”

  My brain knows he’s blowing smoke up my ass, being nice to the crying girl who got cheated on, but my heart… man, my heart soaks up his words like they’re its lifeblood. “Your favorite, huh?” I murmur, lightly.

  He nods confidently. “Just don’t tell anybody.”

  “My lips are sealed,” I assure him.

  With another easy smile, he turns and leaves.

  To him, I know it was nothing. A casual act of kindness, maybe even a chance to show off. He could do a nice thing (for me, anyway, certainly not for Nate) and come off as the hero. Maybe it was an ego boost, for all I know.

  But to me, it meant something.

  I know it was never Rafe’s intention to earn my lifelong devotion with a single kind gesture, but once he caught my attention, he didn’t let go. I couldn’t be out on the floor and not eavesdrop on his conversations. I didn’t have ill intent; I just liked knowing what he was up to. I loved being around him, even from a distance.

  Anytime he came in while I was working, I swapped tables so I could wait on his. He always brought in his girlfriend, and I didn’t like her at all, but she was irrelevant. If she made him happy with her hollow smile and her perfect face, then fine. I just wanted to bask in his sunshine, to memorize a few minutes of him and keep myself warm with it until next time he came in.

  Back then he didn’t have a regular routine, so it was hit or miss. He would be there or he wouldn’t. Maybe I would be working, maybe not. If I knew he came in when I was off, I felt disappointed. I started working more days to lessen the chance of that happening. In my mind, working at his restaurant, I could help him anyway. I could keep things running smoothly and that would be one less headache for him. The manager was a douche, but he started working here long before I did. I figured someday this guy would move along and I’d be the manager, then Rafe would never have any problems at the restaurant. It could be his happy place—the one place he knows he can kick back in safety (I also keep an ear to the ground for anyone who might wish to harm him), relax, have a drink, have good food served exactly the way he likes it… It’s a little thing, but it makes him happy, and it’s something I can do for him. Something I like doing for him.

  Life was good. I was content. Then after about two weeks of not seeing Rafe once (and not knowing how I could have missed him, since I worked six days a week), I ducked into the manager’s office while he was closing up. Nightly paperwork is collected in a folder, and every Sunday night, Rafe is supposed to come get it for his own records.

  While the manager is counting the safe, I grab the folder and take a peek. Two weeks of reports. He didn’t come to collect them last week.

  “Is Rafe coming by tonight to get the reports?” I inquire, casually.

  He counts rolls of quarters, then leans back. “I don’t think so. Why?”

  “They’re just backed up. He usually comes every Sunday. I don’t think I’ve seen him in here to eat lately either. Is everything okay?”

  The manager is snide, because he’s jealous. He’s made many comments about the dirty things he would like to do to Rafe’s girlfriend—like she would ever look at this scrub when she has Rafe Morelli. “Pretty boy can’t take a break-up, I guess.”

  My heart stalls. “What?”

  “The hot blonde dumped him. That’s what I hear, anyway.”

  That’s terrible. I mean, she’s a moron, especially if she broke up with him, but if Rafe is so heartbroken that he can’t even be bothered to do his work… God, that makes me sad.

  I hope he’s okay.

  I take the folder with me and go back to the kitchen. Rafe’s not much for dessert, but I know what he likes when he indulges, so I grab a to-go container and plop a slice of classic cheesecake in it. All break-ups should come with comfort sweets.

  I’m done with my work, so I clock out and leave. I don’t tell the manager I’m taking the reports or the cheesecake, and the asshat doesn’t notice. When I have his job, things like this will not happen.

  I already have Rafe’s home address—and phone number—memorized. I can’t help being creepy. I only have to see it once and it’s committed to memory, but in this instance, at least, it’s helpful.

  I frown as I pull into his driveway. His car is in the drive, but the parking job is so crooked, it looks like a four-year-old parked it. Alarm hits me for the first time. I park my car, grab his cheesecake and the folder, and head for his front door. I knock rapidly, but I’m so worried, I don’t wait more than a minute before letting myself in.

  Should he really be leaving his house unlocked? That seems like a terrible idea.

  I should probably make my presence known so he doesn’t think I’m an intruder. I don’t want to get shot.

  “Hello?” I call out, looking around the enormous house. Jeeze, I could fit two of my apartment in his foyer.

  There are too many different places to go. There’s an arch to the left, an arch to the right, and a spiral staircase tucked in the back right corner. I hear no noise anywhere, so wherever he is, it’s probably not in one of the front rooms.

  I wonder if maybe he’s in bed. It’s not super late, but if he’s sad, it might be late enough. I’ve gone to bed at 8 o’clock mid-heartbreak before. It’s a rough time.

  It takes a long time before I find him. This house has a lot of rooms. Mostly unused rooms, it seems, but so many rooms.

  Did not expect the one I find him in, though. Libraries, studies, bedrooms, a weight room—none of that shocked me. I don’t initially even understand what kind of room I’m standing in when I open that door and step inside. There’s furniture I have never seen before, certainly not fit for entertaining. A black cushioned bench with a weird extended part on the bottom. A big X-shaped… thing. Everything in here is foreign to me—until I notice a rack of floggers and an assortment of what I think might be sex toys.

  Oh, shit. This is a sex room.

  I immediately stop looking around, not wanting to notice anything else and imagine him and Cassandra in here. Gross, gross, gross. Well, not him. But her. Yuck.

  Rafe is lying on the floor with a redhead. They’re side by side, not on top of each other, and both are fully clothed, though the material is all askew. I imagine some clumsy groping happened, but they’re also euphoric and oblivious to my presence in a way that doesn’t seem quite normal. Rafe laughs at something the redhead says, but he still doesn’t notice me.

  I swallow, looking her over. She’s gorgeous—beautiful hair, flawless face, perfect figure. Even lying there in the floor with her dress riding up her thighs, photographers for Vogue could take her picture and call it fashion.

  I glance down at my highly unattractive work pants, at the black button-down that smells like a 12-hour day. There’s little point comparing, because that would just be sad, but Jessica Rabbit over here with her perfect everything… well, she’d win, let’s just say that.

  That doesn’t matter. I shake my head to clear it, then clear my throat to make my presence known.

  Jessica Rabbit looks over at me, lifting an eyebrow. “Didn’t know we were expecting comp
any,” she says.

  “Huh?” Rafe asks.

  She lifts a wobbly hand, points at me, and then laughs. “I thought you’d at least call in someone sexier. She looks severe. Do you have naughty teacher fantasies or something?”

  I stiffen, lifting my chin and walking closer. I don’t care about her, I just want to see Rafe. None of this feels right and even though he’s clearly okay… is he?

  Then I see it: on the floor between them there’s a mirror, a razor blade, and white residue on the mirror’s surface. I lose my breath for a moment, catch it again, and then fury explodes in my veins.

  “Uh oh,” Jessica Rabbit murmurs, before giggling. “Rafe, I think we’re in trouble.”

  I point to the filthy mirror and lift an accusing eyebrow. “Is this yours?”

  “Yeah,” she says, still giggling. “I brought party favors. What’d you bring?”

  The sudden desire to take this razor blade and use it to open at least one of her carotid arteries. Probably shouldn’t say that. My hands tremble with anger, and I reach down to grab her arm, pulling her up off the floor. “All right, time for you to go.”

  “What?” she asks, baffled.

  “You are a bad influence. You’re leaving.”

  “Oh, my God. What are you, his mom?”

  Rafe watches me wrestle the bimbo up off the ground, chuckling to himself like he’s enjoying the show.

  Good lord.

  “You can’t kick me out,” Jessica says, stumbling in her high heels. “Rafe, tell her.”

  He shrugs, like it’s out of his hands. “Sorry, Virginia says you have to leave.”

  “Are you serious?” she demands, dumbfounded.

  “Come on, Skankerella,” I tell her, turning her around, placing a hand on her back, and shoving her toward the door.

  She stumbles forward. “I don’t… Rafe drove me here. How am I supposed to get home?”

  I haven’t taken my apron off yet, so I reach in and grab a couple twenties. “Here’s cab money. Go away. And if you ever drug him up again, I will hunt you down and use your filthy coke razor to slit your pretty little throat.”