Cocky Jerk

by Infante Bosco, Janine

  Sighing, he leans forward and braces his elbows on his knees.

  “Let me ask you a question, do you plan on telling her you know the truth about her old man?”

  And confess to doing a search on the Corrupt Hellraisers? Is he crazy?

  “Fuck, no.”

  “Then unless you plan on proposing sometime soon, just go with the flow.”

  “Bite your tongue.”

  Laughing, he swipes a hand over his face.

  “Man, I give you six months before you’re asking me to go ring shopping with you.”

  “You’re out of your mind,” I scoff.

  Fucking insane is what he is.

  “Make it three months.”

  He stands and grabs a fresh pair of rubber gloves.

  “Now, if you’re done PMSing, I got work to do.”

  “I’m your next client,” I tell him, taking another swig of my beer.

  “The fuck you are. Make an appointment and see to it you’re not drunk when you do. I don’t need you bleeding like a pig in my chair.”

  He’s gotta be kidding me. I’ve been waiting four weeks for him to finish the piece on my back.

  “Oh, come on. It’s just a beer. You make it like I swallowed a bottle of Heparin.”

  “Make an appointment,” he repeats.

  “I’ll just ask Delia to finish it.”

  His eyes slice back to me.

  “Leave Delia alone,” he grinds out.

  The tone of his voice sobers me up some and I sit straighter in my chair. I’m such a dick. All this time I’ve been sitting here, wallowing in my misery when he and Delia are living a nightmare of their own.

  “Everything okay?”

  He looks away.

  “No, but what’s the use in complaining about it? Ain’t gonna change a damn thing. I can’t give her what she wants…what we both want. I got the debt and an empty nursery to prove it.”

  “I’m sorry, man,” I empathize.

  I wish there was more I could say, but there are no right words when it comes to their situation. Do you pray for them? It seems rather pointless when all their prayers go unanswered. Soraya is sure this party we’re planning will bring them some joy, but what happens when they wake up the next morning and the pain they forgot for a couple of hours is still there?

  Sighing, Tig shakes his head.

  “It is what it is. I’m going to go get Gary so I can finish his session. You good to drive home?”

  “Yeah.”

  He nods and starts for the front door. Pausing midway, he turns and looks at me.

  “Hey,” he calls.

  “Yeah?”

  “I want to meet her.”

  “Who?”

  “Your girl,” he clarifies. “I want to meet her. Delia and I can use a night out and I can’t think of a better way to spend our time than watching you act like a lovesick fool. Set it up.”

  With that, he turns on his heel.

  My mouth drops open to say something, but I quickly smack my lips together.

  Looks like I just got them to the party, and I didn’t even have to lift a finger or concoct some crazy story.

  Who’s better than me?

  Chapter Thirteen

  Antonia

  The weekend passed without much contact from Marco, odd considering how much we spoke from Tuesday to Friday. If we weren’t texting, we were FaceTiming, and we didn’t go more than two hours without hearing from one another. Friday afternoon I called him, and he rushed me off the phone. I figured the back to back night shifts were getting to him. Either that or he had a secret wife and child he was trying to hide. Dramatic, I know, especially considering I was the one hiding a family of bikers.

  Saturday he was off and told me he planned on catching up on his sleep before heading to his cousin’s tattoo shop, so I didn’t call him at all. Sunday morning, he texted me, but again it was brief which only fueled my paranoia more.

  You can imagine how miserable I was all day, thinking he was going to ghost me for our date. I spent most of my lunch hour plotting how I’d get back at him for making a fool out of me. Five o’clock came and there was still no word from him.

  Still, I called my father and told him I had a date and ordered him to call off my tail as per our agreement. I pulled my bag over my shoulder and shut down my computer. On my way to the elevator, I realized if Marco didn’t show, I was going to have to ride the subway back home. Once, this morning was enough. That thing was a cesspool of germs—another strike for Marco Pirelli.

  I pressed the button for the elevator and when the doors opened, there he stood with a sexy smile on his face. Soraya had already left for the day, so he didn’t exit to greet his friend and he didn’t pay any mind to Penelope who was lurking behind me. Instead, he reached for me and pulled me inside the elevator, pressing his lips to my cheek. They were soft and cool against my heated skin, and I yearned to feel them against mine. He didn’t let on that something was wrong and before I knew it, the anger I felt and all the crazy suspicions I had before he arrived, disappeared.

  Just like Tuesday, he opened the car door for me and when we entered his apartment complex, he waited for me to step onto the elevator first.

  “Ladies first,” he whispered against my ear.

  I turned my head, and he winked at me. If there was any chance of me ending this night with my panties on, it officially went out the window. Apparently, I was a sucker for a good guy. I’m sorry, correction, a good guy with a filthy mouth who prided himself on being a gentleman in the bedroom.

  His words, not mine.

  Anyway, this newfound type of mine was going to take some time getting used to, something I realized once we were in his apartment and I discovered he was cooking one of my all-time favorite dishes. I’ve always thought dating the bad boy was fun and exciting. Sure, it left me with a broken heart most of the time, but I held onto hope that there would eventually be one guy who was more broken than bad and with any luck, I’d be the girl who changed him. The girl who made him want to be better.

  But what if dating all those bad boys and suffering all that heartbreak was for a greater purpose? What if I needed to choose a man who would hurt me to be able to recognize one who wouldn’t?

  It’s too soon to tell if Marco is that guy, but until now I never really thought about any of this.

  Now, I’m sitting on a barstool at the kitchen island, eating capers from a jar, watching him work his magic and besides wondering if he’s the one guy who won’t hurt me, I’m also pondering if he’s as skillful in the bedroom as he is behind the stove.

  “Refill?” he asks, eyeing my empty wineglass. I tear my attention away from the jar of capers I’ve been picking on and meet his gaze.

  He even bought my favorite brand of Pinot Grigio when I assured him, I was fine with beer.

  Pushing my wineglass toward him, I smile.

  “Are you trying to get me drunk?”

  He shakes his head as he pours the wine.

  “I want you relaxed and fully coherent for dessert.”

  “Is this the part where I ask what’s for dessert and you come back with some comment full of sexual innuendo?”

  He finishes topping off my glass and sets the bottle of wine on the granite surface. Bracing his hands on the edge of the counter, he leans forward and his gaze dips toward my mouth.

  “Is it really innuendo if we both already know you are what’s for dessert?”

  “That’s all fine and good for you, but what about me?”

  His grin widens, and a wicked gleam appears in his eyes.

  “I’ll let you have a taste too.”

  Christ, he’s sexy and with very little effort. It just comes naturally to him.

  Exhaling roughly, I trace the rim of the wineglass with the tip of my finger and peer up at him from beneath the fringe of my lashes before asking, “Because you aim to please?”

  He reaches out and touches a finger under my chin. Our eyes lock as his thumb glides
to my lips.

  “Exactly,” he says huskily.

  I almost ask him if we can forget dinner altogether, but the pot with the rice boils over, breaking our trance. His hand drops away from my face and he mutters a curse. Turning back to the stove, he lowers the flame under the pot, and I take a long drink of wine. My entire body feels heated and I decide to steer the conversation away from sex.

  “So, I met Soraya’s husband today,” I begin, watching as he bends to check the chicken in the oven. There’s something so sexy about a man who can cook.

  “Oh, yeah, how’s Graham doing these days?”

  “I don’t know, I didn’t pay him too much mind. As soon as Soraya introduced us, I imagined his head as a dartboard and envisioned myself throwing darts at him because he punched you.”

  Straightening up, he barks out a laugh.

  “You know you don’t have to win me over, Curly Sue. I’m already yours and I’m set to deliver on all the orgasms I promised you.”

  “I’m being serious,” I argue. Tearing my eyes away from him, I shove my spoon back into the jar of capers. “Eventually I realized I was being ridiculous and ordered myself to stop judging him based on an argument he had with you long before I even met you.” I pause to eat another spoonful of capers. Thoughtfully, I continue, “You know, at first glance, you look at him and Soraya and wonder how they fell for one another.”

  She’s such a free spirit, and he’s this proper package wrapped in a suit. She looks the type to break the rules, and he looks like the type to enforce them. It must make for a whole lot of fun in the bedroom.

  Shit, that’s weird.

  I’ve officially sunk to a new low when I start wondering about my boss’s sex life.

  Shaking my head, I shrug my shoulders and look back at Marco.

  “I guess it’s true opposites attract. Anyway, you and Graham are good now?”

  “Yeah, we’re cool. You can stop pretending to throw darts at his head,” he teases. There’s a glint of amusement in his eyes as he leans his back against the counter and reaches for his beer. “I don’t see him all that much,” he continues, pausing. “To be fair, until a couple of weeks ago, I hadn’t seen much of Soraya either.”

  I find that surprising. When he came to take her to lunch, they seemed as though they were best friends who saw each other all the time.

  “What changed?”

  The bottle stills at his lips, and he frowns slightly. Setting the beer on the counter, he sighs and looks back at me.

  “Remember I told you about my cousin Tig?”

  “The guy who owns the tattoo shop?”

  “Yeah, he and his wife Delia are coming up on their tenth wedding anniversary and for the last couple of years, they’ve been trying to conceive. It has been one hurdle after another for them, and they just recently decided to throw in the towel. Not an easy decision for either of them, but I guess you gotta know when to fold.”

  “Did they go to infertility a specialist?”

  He nods.

  “They put every dime they had into trying to have a baby and exhausted several treatments and procedures. Tig used to have to give her hormone shots. I remember one day I walked into the shop and Delia was crying because he was about to poke her with a big ass needle. Tig teased her, after all, needles and ink are their bread and butter.” He pauses to shake his head. “Anyway, when that didn’t work, they took a mortgage out on the shop for IVF. The first two times they did it, it didn’t take and they’re tapped out on cash to try for a third round. Graham offered them a loan, but Tig would rather roll over and die before he takes a handout from anyone. It’s crazy, you know? Tig is a scary motherfucker. Fearless. He isn’t the type to show weakness or break.”

  “Everybody breaks,” I whisper.

  He brings his eyes back to me and stares at me thoughtfully for a moment before nodding in agreement.

  “Yeah, I guess they do.”

  Listening to Marco talk about his cousins made me want to meet them. Hell, I wanted to hug them. Picture wanting something so badly and doing everything you can to make it happen only to be told you’re shit out of luck. Then magnify those feelings by ten. It makes you question everything, but most of all your faith.

  “What about adoption?” I ask.

  “They’re looking into it, but it’s not easy. There’s a lot of red tape to cut through, never mind the horror stories you hear. Like the birth mother deciding she wants to keep the kid after it’s born and stuff like that.” He sighs. “I don’t know that they’re mentally prepared for that just yet. If something went wrong, I think that would just throw them over the edge.”

  I didn’t know what to say. Until you walk a mile in someone else’s shoes, I’m not sure you’re entitled to have an opinion on their life. All you can do is offer your support, and it seems like Marco is team Tig and Delia all the way. Another admirable quality for the good cop.

  “Sorry, I guess I put a damper on tonight with the heavy stuff. I don’t know why I told you all that.”

  “I asked you how you and Soraya started to speak,” I supply, rising from the stool. Rounding the island, I grab the dishes and utensils from the counter and start to set the little table.

  “Right, well, Soraya thought it would be a good idea to throw them an anniversary party. She thinks it’ll take their minds off things and lift their spirits.” He shrugs. “I don’t know if it will work, but I’m all in. Whatever they need.”

  He comes to stand behind me and touches his hands to my hips. I stop setting the table and turn around to face him.

  “I told Tig about you,” he says, tucking a strand of hair behind ear.

  I don’t know why that makes my stomach flutter.

  “You did?”

  He nods.

  “He wants to meet you.”

  No one’s ever taken me home to meet the family. Not a mother, or a father. No siblings and no cousins.

  “Why?” I stammer.

  “Probably because I couldn’t stop talking about you on Saturday,” he replies, smiling at me. “The party is next week, and Soraya appointed me the guy responsible for getting them there. It’s a surprise, so my options are limited, and your boss is no help.”

  “You want to take me to a family party?”

  “It’s not really a family party, we just invited their friends. Tig and Delia aren’t likely to close the shop for no good reason when they’re swimming in debt, but if I dangled you in front of them, well, you’re pretty irresistible. So, what do you say?”

  “I don’t know. That would mean another week of talking to you and I’m not really in the market for a long-term relationship,” I tease, a big fat grin spreading across my lips. Lifting my arms, I wind them around his neck. “I’d love to go with you.”

  “Then it’s settled,” he rasps, bringing his hands back to my hips. Our noses brush as he pulls in a deep breath. “I planned on waiting until after dinner.”

  “For what?”

  “This.”

  He lowers his head, and his lips brush with mine. It’s slow at first, almost teasing but then his tongue rolls over my bottom lip and I welcome him into my mouth. My arms tighten around his neck and his fingers dig into my hips as I fall against his hard body.

  A moan sounds from the back of his throat as his teeth playfully nip at my lower lip. Spinning us around, he moves me away from the table and pushes me against the wall. His hand comes up to my neck, curling around the back of it, holding me in place as his lips continue to attack mine. Heat pools between my legs as his tongue rolls over mine and I inch even closer. His erection presses against my belly and it’s my turn to moan.

  Fuck.

  I really needed him to be an awful kisser.

  The timer on the oven goes off and Marco slowly tears his mouth away from mine, peppering my lips with chaste kisses.

  “Dinner’s ready,” he rasps, meeting my hooded gaze.

  Screw the chicken, give me more of that.

  Chap
ter Fourteen

  Marco

  Earlier, I decided I was going to take Tig’s advice and just go with the flow. I wasn’t going to worry about who Antonia’s father was or why she was keeping it from me. And I wasn’t going to mention the fucking creep hanging around outside the office or that sleazeball Hound either. I was simply going to enjoy her, and by that, I mean, I was going to give us both a night we’d never forget.

  All that other stuff would come with time.

  With trust.

  But when she agreed to come to the party with me, something inside me snapped. I can’t explain it, but I needed to taste her. It’s been twenty minutes since my mouth touched hers and I’m still fucking hard as a rock. I could give a fuck less about the chicken on my plate. All I’ve got is an appetite for her.

  “You’ve barely touched your food.”

  Reaching for my beer, I twist the top off and glance at my dish before meeting Antonia’s gaze.

  Christ, she’s pretty.

  “That’s because I’m currently wondering if your pussy tastes as sweet as your mouth and it’s taking every ounce of self-control not to flip this table and pull your leather pants down.”

  Watching as her cheeks flame, I bring the bottle to my lips and take a gulp. My imagination kicks into gear and I picture her sprawled across my bed, her cheeks flush, her hair mussed and sweat dripping from her brow.

  “Oh,” she murmurs, setting her fork down. It’s not a graceful move, and it hits the dish with a clank. Her tongue slips over her bottom lip slowly, enticing me. Driving me fucking mad. Then she pulls it between her teeth, and I’m done. Just fucking done.

  Lowering my hand under the table, I press the heel of my hand to the bulge between my legs and reach for my fork. Stabbing the chicken with the prongs of the fork, I close my eyes and try to picture something unattractive. Something sure to kill the party in my pants.

  My Nonna comes to mind.