Chapter 15
Chapter Fifteen
Jenny
Three days ago, I had a gun waved in my face. Then I hung out with some Mafia princesses. Last night, I met a stupid hot music producer and was fucked by a reluctant Mafia boss. This morning, my apartment was broken into. And instead of calling the police, I called the mob.
And now, I’m sitting in a café, sipping on a latte, wearing last night’s dress, and feeling every eye on me. Every glance screams, ‘She got fucked last night and she lost her keys.’
Still, at least the latte’s good, and the strawberry scone is hitting the spot. Win. It’s got those giant sugar chunks coating the top layer, sweet on sweet.
I check my email, text my walkers, make sure payroll went out, and update the website with new pictures of the Dog of the Week contenders.
My mind flashes back to Joey’s lips on my body, and the feeling of being safe and desired. No one has ever made me feel that. It was deep, and I know to my core, it was not a fling. But something more… and unknown.
The bell on the door rings, and I can feel his eyes on me before I look up from my phone.
He places both hands on my cheeks and lifts my chin to meet his gaze.
But his lips are on mine before I can register his expression.
The kiss is soft and hungry at the same time.
When he’s done, he touches his forehead to mine.
“Are you alright?” he whispers.
“I’m chilly,” I confess. The tiny dress from last night wasn’t designed for warmth. He immediately takes off his jacket and wraps it around my shoulders. It’s heavy and soft and smells like him. “Have you gone to my place yet?”
As soon as I see the red on his knuckles, I solve the problem.
“Donny and Thiago are in there now,” he says as he slides into the seat across from me.
His eyes drift down from my face, over my body and onto the plate in front of me. He lingers on the scone. I push it toward him and there’s a brief hesitation, like he’s debating if he should. But the temptation proves too much, and he breaks off a piece.
That’s what I’ve noticed about him. He gives in to his temptations more often than he’s willing to admit.
I reach across the table and rub my thumb across his knuckles. He starts to pull back, as if he’s ashamed or hiding something. But when I don’t move my hand, he stops pulling away. “I guess there was someone in there.”
He nods then frowns. “How much is your security deposit?”
Oh no. “Two month’s rent. Seven grand.”
He groans. “Damn, you’re getting expensive.” His lips curl up. “I’m sure we can work something out.”
“How much damage did you do to my apartment?”
He reaches for another bite of the scone and sighs. “Windows aren’t important to you, are they?”
I immediately imagine glass everywhere. Wind and rain soaking my carpet and sofa. I glance out the window to the bright blue morning sky. Okay, no rain right now, so that’s a future-me problem.
Joey dips his head. “I’ll have one of my guys replace your window.” He nods, sighs, then mumbles under his breath, “And your coffee table and the TV.”
I frown. “It seems your choices are what’s getting expensive.” I take the last sip of the barely dissolved sugar and cold milky coffee. “Can I go home?”
He stands and towers over me, his presence taking all the air in the café. “I’m going to take you back to your place, you’re packing a bag for a few days, and you’re staying with me.”
This doesn’t seem to be up for negotiation. And honestly, there’s no point in fighting it. He’s trying his best to keep me safe, pointing out his failing isn’t going to help.
He extends his hand, a nonverbal cue that it’s time to go, and he won’t take no for an answer. When I stand, my toes squish against my shoes. I must wince, because he gives me a concerned glance, then grumbles as he wraps his arm around my waist.
Once we cross the street and enter my apartment building, his fingers squeeze against my skin, and I try to ignore that his other hand is clearly on his gun.
“You’re going in, grabbing a bag, clothes, any meds, and new shoes.”
“Yes, Sir.”
He grumbles again. “I don’t need you talking back, not now.”
I whisper, “I’m not.”
He takes one deep breath and nudges the door open with his foot. “Donny?”
“In here,” a male voice calls out. “Thiago is taking the package downtown.”
Joey exhales and steps inside my apartment. The damage is… not as bad as I imagined. I mean, the glass is cracked but not shattered, my couch is still in the same position, and my Ikea lamp lays in pieces on the floor, but overall, it's not nearly as bad as I thought it would be. A win is a win.
“These guys fucked up your place,” Joey grumbles and I scan the room. The stack of messy papers, six socks, and three hoodies are on the couch. I don’t have the heart to tell him it’s mostly how I left it. His little perfectionist mind would explode.
I turn when I hear the sound of the fridge opening. Donny—with shorter and lighter hair than Joey’s—has his head in my food. “Why are your veggies and fruit in your refrigerator door?”
“So I don’t forget to eat them. It makes it easier to grab if I see them every time I open the door. Otherwise, they rot in the drawer.”
He whips his head around, barely missing the edge of the door. His mouth hangs open, and his goatee looks like a chin bib. “You are a freaking genius.” He slams the fridge door.
I bow, and on my way up, see the reflection of blood in my cracked TV. Oh, this was much rougher than I thought. I should ask questions, like how many guys were in here? Or did any of our guys get hurt?
My mouth dries. All of this is getting too real.
Joey nudges my back as I walk into my bedroom. It’s the exact mess I left it. I shut the door before he can follow me in. I want Joey to like me, and if he sees this, he might not want to deal with all of … me.
I shimmy out of my dress, and it flops to the floor.
Tiny red marks linger from my evening. Standing naked in my room, with Joey on the other side of the door, I’m hit with a thousand feelings at once: fear, comfort, pleasure, pain…
and this new feeling I can’t quite place.
It’s hot, but in my heart. But not heartburn—to be clear.
Opening my drawer, I have a choice between my cute bra with a bow, but it digs into my ribs, or my ratty comfortable bra that’s been with me through war and heartbreak. But it’s faded and stained, not a second date sort of material. The cute bra wins.
I stuff my gym bag with a few pairs of leggings, a hoodie and a tank top. Casual sexy. That’s my vibe. I’m not trying to impress him. He’s pretty committed at this point. Right?
Or maybe he’ll get tired of my mess, my brain, everything that’s me and move on to someone more him. Pangs of jealousy stab me in the chest. We won’t fit for the long term.
I gather my things, grab my laptop and a cell phone charger, and return to the men in my living room. Donny is standing by my 3D printer, an apple sauce pouch hanging out of his mouth, and Joey sits on the arm of my couch, waiting.
Donny points to my most recent print. “What’s this?”
“It’s an ice cream pint holder.” I walk over and lift the metal bed off the plate, flexing the plate until I hear the snap.
“No!” Donny whispers, “don’t break it.”
I pull the penguin off the plate and hand it to him.
“That’s how you get it off.” I refrain from making a joke about getting Joey off last night.
Giggle. “Some of them have little drawers for sprinkles.” I grab an empty ice cream pint I had been using to test the measurements and slide it into the hole in the penguin's head. It looks like a giant coffee mug.
Donny’s eyes light up like I’ve introduced him to a whole new world. Great, now the Narrator Lady is singing that song in my head.
I take the pint holder out of his hand and put it down. “I made this one for Izzy. I didn’t have a file for a flamingo.”
Donny nods as he rubs his chin. “Yeah, those are her favorite dinosaurs. And that”—he points to the ice cream pint holder—“came from that?” He points to the 3D printer, and I nod. “Can you print anything?”
“I’m not printing you a gun.”
He flinches and looks confused. “What? No. But I like the way you think.” He ducks his head low and gently kicks the table. "This is gonna sound stupid, but can you print a dick?”
“What the hell, man?” Joey yells from across the room.
“Like a sex toy?” I ask. Where’s he going with this?
Donny waves his hands in front of his face, trying to dig himself out of the self-created hole. “No, like a little funny one. I want to hide it and bug the shit out of Thiago with it.”
“Oh.” I open the drawer under the printer and roughly twenty penises of various sizes and shapes rattle around. I pick the neon green one. “Like this?”
He lights up bigger than before, plucks the model from me and makes it dance on his hand. “He has a little smile. And are those very tiny feet?”
“I think so? Not one hundred percent sure of the anatomical body of a sentient peen. But whatever.”
He pokes around the drawer, making little comments about each one. “Can I?”
“Sure, take a few.”
He does a little fist pump and starts pocketing a few of the peens, mostly the shiny and the glow in the dark ones.
Joey gets off the couch and punches his cousin in the arm. “Stop shopping at my girlfriend’s place. We need to get going.”
Donny fails to repress the smirkish smile. “Did you notice what he said?”
I blush. “Yeah, I caught it.”
“You’re his girrrrrlfriend.” Donny hip checks me and instantly receives another punch in the arm.
“Shut the fuck up,” Joey snaps, but pauses as his hand lingers over the penguin ice cream holder. He grabs it with one hand and wraps his other around my arm. “We’ve got to get going. And now we need to stop for ice cream.”