2. Chapter 2
Jinx
After having lunch at my favorite sandwich shop, I head into the feed store and walk toward the counter.
I stand behind a taller man, dressed in a black coat and dark wash jeans, ordering some shit.
As I wait, I drag the scarf off my neck and remove my hat.
Next goes my coat, the blasting heaters making me sweat.
I’m scrolling on my phone, going through my socials, and reluctantly removing all the images of Gwen and me from my Instagram.
My gut clenches with disappointment. Because I always remove all traces of my past girlfriends, it’s as if I have no life at all.
I only have a few images of me on the ranch with Waffle.
There are a few pics with my brothers, my family that I live with, but not enough.
I swear something’s wrong with me. Gwen calling me ‘emotionally stunted’ hangs heavily on my mind.
I mean, Romeo and Julien were hurt as much as I was, and they fawn over each other.
They’re happy. You can feel their love. They don’t appear to struggle with their emotions at all. In fact, they seem to embrace them.
My therapist says it’s another protective mechanism that keeps me away from meaningful relationships.
It’s fucking annoying, is what it is. Sure, she gave me ways to cope, but if you can’t feel it, how can you act on it?
Performing affection always fails because it’s not coming from a real place in my soul.
I make a mental note to make an appointment when I get home, even though I don’t want to. I’m fucking tired of therapy. Sometimes, it feels like I get nowhere with it.
“You can have the hay delivered by Saturday?” the man asks, pulling my attention to him. He’s got a nice, deep, and smooth voice, though he doesn’t sound like he’s from around here.
“We’re expecting the snow to come that morning, but we’ll do our best,” Albert, the owner of the store, replies.
“But my horses need the hay before it hits.”
“As I said, we’ll do our best.”
I look at the back of the man’s head, full of thick, dark brown waves threaded with a few grays.
It’s nice hair, but I roll my eyes at him.
His nice hair won’t save his horses from the snow.
He’s an idiot for not preparing for the weather earlier.
We already have all the hay we’ll need for most of the winter at the ranch.
“I guess I don’t have a choice. I would’ve ordered some earlier, but the man who runs my stables is out having emergency surgery, and I’m scrambling to get everything situated.”
Albert tsks, but there isn’t much he can do. “I’ll reach out to you as soon as we’re headed your way.”
“Thanks, Albert. At least you’ve got everything else I need. I’ll just have to make do.”
Huh, at least he’s cool about it. Most ranch owners around here are super wealthy and unpleasant, except for Julien. He can do no wrong in my eyes.
“Have a good day. I’m sure we’ll get you taken care of.”
The two men talk some more, and I’m getting bored, so I’m back to scrolling. Then, someone slams right into me, which feels more like a brick wall.
When my phone falls face down on the concrete floor, a squeak slips out of me. I bend down to grab it and dust it off. A moan escapes me when I see the shattered screen. “Dammit!” I hiss. I turn on my phone, and while the screen works, I can’t swipe on it or open any apps. “Fuck!”
I glare up at the asshole and hold up my phone. “See what you did?”
“I truly apologize. I didn’t realize someone was standing right behind me.”
My hand drops, and I stare up at the hottest older man I’ve ever seen in my life. Ugh, no matter. He ruined my phone. I love this phone. I can easily buy a new one, but why should I? I didn’t break it. “You owe me a new phone, buddy.”
He raises a brow and stands taller. And he’s definitely tall with miles of long legs; he’s broad, too. He’s got to be well over six feet. Or I’m just short as fuck. I might be five-foot-six at best with shoes on.
“I owe you a new screen,” he retorts, digging his wallet out from inside his coat and handing me a business card. “Call that number to make arrangements with my assistant. She’ll handle the payment.”
“Ah, you’re one of those.”
His bright, hazel-green eyes narrow, and his thick brows sit low. “One of those?”
“Rich snobs who dump all their problems onto someone else and throw their money at it.” It’s not like I’ve met tons of rich people.
Julien is obscenely wealthy, and he’s cool as shit.
When dealing with ranchers, Julien handles that side of the business, not me.
But there have been a few here and there that I’ve had the unpleasant experience of meeting.
Instead of arguing back, the man squares his shoulders, staring down at me with a deep frown. “Call my assistant. Good day.”
He walks away and out of the store, but I chase after him. “Hey! We’re not done here.” We burst into the cold afternoon, and I try to grab his arm. I’m still holding my coat, so I’m instantly chilled. “I need a phone. Now. I ain’t gonna wait until your PA gets around to it!”
The man abruptly stops, turns around, and I crash right into his solid body.
He steadies me before I fall flat on my ass.
Instead of letting me go, he grabs my shoulders and shoves me against the building.
I’m enveloped in something spicy, peppery, and intoxicating, mingled with a hint of fear.
My fear. Familiar fear. That fear you get when you’re so much smaller, and people use that against you.
“Then get it fixed and send me the bill,” he says through clenched teeth.
His gem-like eyes harden. Not gonna lie, he has the perfect amount of scruff on his tanned skin. Still, his hotness factor doesn’t give him the right to manhandle me. Too many men have done that throughout my entire life. I’m fucking over it. “Let me go, asshole!”
He instantly releases me, and I can breathe easy again.
“You’re being a brat,” he snaps.
“Brat?! Listen, bud, you broke my phone, not the other way around.”
“Jesus, someone needs to bend you over and punish you. Where are your parents?”
My nostrils flare, and I jut my chin out while I shove back the instinct to cower, but I’m shaking from both the cold and fear. “Dead, thank you very much.”
“I’m sor—”
“Besides, I’m a fucking adult.”
“Are you now? Because you sure don’t act like one.”
“Tsh, you’d be surprised.”
A smug grin tugs crookedly on his face. “I bet.”
“What the fuck do you mean by that?” I huff.
His hand gently grabs my throat and tilts my head back and forth as if inspecting me, but his eyes never leave mine.
And I fucking let him. Part of it is the instinct to freeze when faced with danger.
The other part… I can’t explain it. It’s like I’m back with the man who once dominated me when I was a kid.
He paid for it, but he’d always been nice to me.
“Perhaps not a surprise. Maybe. You sure could use some discipline, though.”
I swallow under his palm, unmoving. He’s barely touching me, but I’m completely under his control. His eyes hold me captive, and his hand has me completely at his mercy. The only thing that keeps me from screaming is that he’s not hurting me at all.
“Blue eyes. Defiant, yet scared eyes,” he says, instantly dropping his hand.
“And still, you gave in so effortlessly. You try to hide and fight, but you’re completely submissive to me.
Interesting.” He scans my face again, processing…
something. “Or is it fear that holds you? You wear both on your face. Huh. Unexpected. Could it be?”
I gape at him. “H-how…”
“For what I do on the side, I have to… Let’s just say I have to be good at reading people. Damn, it’s been a long time, though.”
“What the fuck do you mean?” I snap, quickly losing patience, while still reeling from my reaction to him.
“What’s your name?” he asks instead, his tone softer, his face now relaxed and curious.
“Jinx.”
“Your real name.”
“I’ll give you my real name on my fucking dead body.”
He nods, and his eyes twinkle. “Okay, Jinx. And how old are you?”
“Nineteen.”
“Hmm, a little young. A lot younger.” The man eases back and brushes imaginary lint off his black peacoat. “Too bad.”
“Too bad? Too bad for what? I assure you, I’m enough for, for… things.” God, I almost blurted out my past. Fuck, who is this guy?
The man regards me for a moment before he relaxes. “I’ll consider it.”
“Consider what, dammit?”
He takes the crumpled business card still in my tight fist, reaches into his coat to pull out a pen, and jots something on the back. “Here’s my direct number. Call me if you want something different in your life.”
“Different?”
“Structure. Discipline. Confidence. Trust. Freedom. You tell me.”
I swallow, take the proffered card, and shove it into my pocket. “Can’t. No phone.” I attempt to be a dick, but my words come out like a pathetic whine.
His grin stretches across his face. “That wasn’t a no. God, I love being right.”
I have to admit that I’m now more curious than afraid or angry.
He digs in his wallet again and pulls out several hundred-dollar bills. “This should cover the repairs to your phone.”
“Psh, you could’ve given me that earlier and saved us both the hassle.”
He chuckles as he puts away his wallet. “Then I wouldn’t have met you, Jinx. This is going to be fun.”
A noise draws our attention away. One of the store’s employees is loading up the back of a shiny black pickup truck.
“I have to go now. Call me when you’re ready.”
He walks off, but I call out to him. “Wait! Who are you?”
He looks over his shoulder and winks. “Mason Vitali.”
Hot name for a hot guy.
No, not hot. Not anything but an arrogant asshole.
I have no idea what just happened, and I’m still rattled.
I pull out the card and read it: Mason Vitali, owner of Ristorante Vitali.
Shit, we’ve eaten there before. It’s a popular, fancy Italian restaurant chain throughout Colorado that serves traditional, farm-to-table Italian dishes.
They’re known to locally source their ingredients from smaller farms.
I watch Mason drive off without so much as a glance at me.
He was so confident that I’d call him. So fucking sure of himself.
Prick. Hell no. I pinch the ends of the card to tear it, but something stops me, and I flip it over to see his personal number in neat print.
With a sigh, I shove it back into my pocket.
Despite being annoying, he’s got way more class, charisma, and power than I ever will. Not power over people, but he exudes this confidence that I’ve never been able to achieve. He sure as hell shut me up.
I quickly shrug my coat on, shivering uncontrollably now, and put my hat and scarf back on. While he’s intriguing and gorgeous, I hate how he made me afraid. I thought I’d gotten control over that part of my life.
I rack my brain, trying to come up with whatever he was talking about. One thing is certain, because I’m an expert in such things, is that it’s sexual. Why else would he give a shit about my age?
Do I want to go back to having men fuck me?
He could be a nice distraction after Gwen and my constant failures in relationships. Still, I want something real, not another guy who just wants to stick his prick in me.
It takes me a minute to get my shit together. Once I’m ready, I head back into the feed store to pick up all the items on Julien’s list from Alfred.
Instead of studying for my social work research methods exam, I look up Mason Vitali online.
Besides, I’ve got the test in the bag. Who knew I’d be so good at school?
Tito never let us get an education. Aleks and I had to get our GEDs first. While we studied for that, we had to brush up on our reading, which was at about a fourth-grade level at the time.
Now, I’ve just started the fall semester.
I’m still a freshman, having only started college back in January.
“Mason, Mason,” I mumble as I type his name into my browser. I already know he’s wealthy with a slew of restaurants, but I want to know who he is.
Several links are displayed, and I click on the first one.
Massimo Roberto Vitali is his real name. Mason must be his first name Americanized. Why? Massimo is a pretty cool name. Better than what I was named. Fucking Tyler. The absolute worst. Worse than Jinx. It’s only bad because Tito gave me the name.
Mason is thirty-nine and moved to Durango over five years ago from New York City, with a degree in business.
Explains his accent. He has seven restaurants all over Colorado.
He’s never been married and has no children.
His parents, who have passed away, immigrated here from Naples, Italy, for a better life, and he was born in New York.
I did a quick search on Naples. It’s on the coast in the south. Parts of it are beautiful, but so much of it is in complete poverty. That explains coming to the US. The only thing pretty about this country is the nature and certain cities or towns. Everything else is an eyesore.
There isn’t much else on him other than some articles about his restaurants in magazines. We’ve eaten there already, so I know how good it is.
I keep searching, but there’s little to no information about his personal life.
He’s considered an eligible bachelor, yet there’s nothing on his sexuality or mentions of a love interest. He must like guys, right?
He could be bi or pan. Is he not open about it?
Then again, he had no problem handling and propositioning me out in the open.
There are only a handful of images of him, but he’s definitely hot, in a daddy kind of way.
Is that what he wants? What else did he mean by ‘Structure, discipline, confidence, trust, and freedom’?
Is this some sort of Dom/sub thing? I know a little bit about it from my hooker days.
There was a man who liked playing with me like that, but it was pretty mild.
I’m only assuming. Mason was way too mysterious and vague.
And intriguing enough to make me want to find out more.