Chapter Eighteen
He declared after that quick, hard, slippery sex we had when I dropped a bomb to show him what they did, that bath bombs were some ‘crazy chick shit’ that he just didn’t understand.
I found I kind of liked that. It was masculine.
Michael had more hair products than I did.
It used to drive me up a wall when it all toppled off my counter when I put my hair dryer down.
After the bath, Sawyer shooed me out of the bathroom, insisting on cleaning up his mess himself. I went into my room and got into panties and an oversized tee. When I walked back out, he was in low-slung black sweatpants in the kitchen, carving meat off the turkey.
“Hope you like sandwiches and nuked sides.”
“That’s the best part of the holidays. No real cooking.”
“What are your feelings on mayonnaise?”
“About the same as my feelings on those squishy little disgusting things called avocados.”
“Right,” he said with a smile. “What do you want on the sandwich then?”
“The turkey and some salt. I’ll heat up the sides,” I said, and we continued to work around the kitchen in harmony making dinner.
Afterward, we took our food to the couch and ate while watching some cheesy made-for-TV Halloween movie.
He grabbed a shirt and took Slim for a walk.
Tired, I went off to my room to lie down.
Only to realize that when Sawyer said there was a me and him, that meant that my ass belonged in his bed. A fact I learned when he walked right into my room with Slim on his tail, scooping me up and dropping me down on his bed.
A while later, I woke up to him running a hand up my thigh.
After that, he did as he promised and gave me slow and sweet.
Then I fell asleep on his chest again.
Sunday morning, I woke up in his arms and quickly learned that Sawyer was a very light sleeper. Because while he definitely was passed out when I first woke up, the second I shifted, he squeezed me and said in a groggy voice, “Another twenty.”
So I gave him another twenty.
Then he gave me twenty minutes that had me seriously worried we would break not only the headboard but also through the wall and topple to the ground below.
“Okay. I need to go for a run. Do you run?”
“I think I would if perhaps I was being chased. But even then, not likely.”
To that, he chuckled, shaking his head. “What’d you do at the gym if you didn’t hit the treadmill?”
“Mostly, I read a book on the stationary bike,” I admitted, not embarrassed because I always worked up a sweat doing so. “Though, I really should get my membership back. Regain what I lost of my muscle tone.”
“For what it’s worth, I think you look great the way you are, but if you want to harden up, I’m for that too. Maybe we can stop over at Shane’s gym this afternoon before you hole up to get pretty to go out tonight.”
“Sounds like a plan,” I agreed. “Go get your sweat on. Slim and I will be couch potatoes.”
“Alright,” he said, lacing up his sneakers. He stood, walked toward me, leaned down, and kissed me hard. “Be back in an hour.”
When he got back, he showered, we both dressed in bum-around clothes, and hit the gym, where I signed back up. Then we went back home and I spent way too much time holed up, trying to look perfect.
The dress he picked was clinging with a square-cut neckline, but modest. The hemline was a tad shorter than I would have picked for myself, but I figured we would spend most of the night sitting down, so I wouldn’t have to worry about dropping things or someone seeing up my skirt.
In the end, I put on mascara and some eyeliner, left my lips bare save for some lip balm, kept on Sawyer’s necklace, slipped into the dress, got into the heels, wincing a bit at the sensation of high heels my body obviously hadn’t been accustomed to in over a year.
I put on a small amount of perfume, grabbed a clutch with my fake ID just in case, and stepped out into the hall, nearly falling over Slim in the process. Luckily, Sawyer was waiting in the living room and missed the clumsy almost fall and I got to sashay out so he could look me over.
And he did. Slowly.
I looked him over too, never having seen him in anything but jeans and tees or workout clothes.
Sawyer cleaned up; yeah, it was a sight to see.
He had on dark gray slacks and a black dress shirt, both tailored to fit him perfectly.
There was what looked like an expensive silver watch on his wrist, and his hair was a bit neater than usual.
Thankfully, he was still a little scruffy. I had a soft spot for his scruff.
“Come over here,” he demanded, patting his knee. I moved toward him, and he reached up to grab me and pulled me to sit down on his thigh.
“Thank you for this dress. And the shoes.”
“Looks better than I pictured,” he said, fingers sliding up my thigh toward the hemline of my dress. “You know, we have about…”
He trailed off because the code got punched in and the door pulled open to reveal Brock, who took one look at us all cozied up and broke into a huge grin.
“Can’t say I’m not jealous,” he said, walking in, hands tucked in his front pockets.
“You look beautiful, Riya. Happiness looks really good on you.”
I felt those words seep into my skin and swirl around inside, knowing he was right. I was happy. And I felt like it said something that it was noticeable to those around me.
“Brock is dog sitting because we’re going to be late,” Sawyer informed me.
“We are going to have a Turner and Hooch situation. He’s coming with me on a stakeout, and I fully expect for him to eat the headrests out of my car.”
“It’s a company car, and I told you to bring him some bones.”
“I did. But he prefers leather. You know that.”
“Fuck yeah, I do,” he agreed, sounding both frustrated and resigned to a lifetime of replacing everything leather.
“Come on, Slim,” he called, crossing over to where Sawyer kept the leash and taking it down. Slim sighed and got to his feet, moving across the room toward Brock and sitting down.
I had never met a lazier dog in my life.
“You kids have fun now,” Brock said, using a silly dad voice. “And, Riya, if he gets handsy, a dinner fork right into the thigh muscle.”
He left on that, followed by the sound of my chuckle.
“Alright, let’s get moving.”
We shuffled into his car and drove to Famiglia. I had been to Famiglia several times in the past, but I had never before, even with a reservation, been called right to the podium and led right to one of the private booths in the back that sort of closed in on themselves to offer the diners privacy.
“Mr. Grassi will be over to greet you momentarily,” the hostess said after a long eye-fuck of Sawyer that I found insulting.
“You look like you want to poke her eyes out,” he said, handing me my menu.
“That was rude, is all.”
“Yeah, she has a bit of a reputation for liking men who already have women. They’re low maintenance or some shit like that.”
“How do you know that?”
Sawyer laughed. “Worked a case for a wife who thought her husband was cheating. Guess who with?”
“Oh, that’s lovely,” I said, folding up my menu without looking.
“A woman who knows her mind. I like that.”
“They make the best fettuccine I have ever had. But we’re starting with the calamari, just so you know.”
We got complimentary wine and ordered before a figure darkened our table.
I knew Antony Grassi when I saw him. Hell, I knew him and both of his sons, Luca and Matteo, when I saw them.
Antony was a silver fox if I ever saw one—tall and leanly built, wearing an impeccable suit, with eyelashes I would die for.
“Sawyer, nice to see you again,” he said as Sawyer slid out to take his hand. “And this lovely young lady would be Riya,” he said, giving me a warm smile as he took my hand between both of his and squeezed. “I’m so glad you’re doing well, my dear.”
“Ah, thank you,” I said, slightly embarrassed about something that had been beyond my control. But there was no pity in Antony’s voice, and I took comfort in that.
“I will leave you to enjoy your meal. Sawyer, I will be in touch.”
Sawyer slid back into the booth. “That almost sounded ominous. And, seeing as it is rumored the Grassi family is the local mob, I can’t imagine that is a good thing.”
Sawyer snorted. “I don’t get involved in the criminal shit around here. They do their thing; I do mine. That’s not my business.”
“So you’re okay with organized crime?”
Sawyer’s head tilted to the side. “It’s not that easy. Every economy has its criminal empires. And, in a way, the world needs it.”
“So arms dealers and rapists and…”
“You can’t lump them all together like that, babe. A rapist is in a different league from the arms dealers. In general.”
“Arms dealers kill people.”
“I’ve killed people.”
That effectively took the wind out of my sails. I forgot that he was ex-military.
“So has Brock. And Tig. Brock because he did it with me. Tig because he’s got a past, and some of that past was violent.”
“Tig? Big ol’ teddy bear Tig?” I asked, shaking my head.
“Tig grew up in a shit area with a shit family with shit opportunities to get out of it. Shit happened.”
“You’re very nonchalant about the whole thing.”
“He did some bad things, but he became a good man. Can’t hold his past against him any more than someone can hold mine against me.”
“But you were in the military.”
“There’s military, and there was what me and Brock were in.
That’s about all I can say about it without, say, being charged with treason.
But let’s just say, Tig looks like a saint if you compare our body counts.
Yes, I did mine under orders. So did he.
True, mine was supposedly for country and to keep all the innocents at home safe, but that doesn’t mean it didn’t happen, and it doesn’t mean I am better than Tig because I took my orders from a higher-up in the military instead of a drug dealer. Killing is killing.”
“Are the Grassis killers?”