Chapter 8
Chapter Eight
I tuck my phone into my back pocket after checking it for the tenth time in as many minutes. Mabilia hasn’t responded to the message I sent her seven hours ago. Yes, I know how long it’s been because I’ve been obsessing over it. And it’s not because I’m codependent. I just need to know that she’s okay.
What if something happened to her? Her family isn’t exactly living a safe life. They have enemies. She has enemies.
“Why do you look like a teenage girl waiting for her crush to message her back?” Denny asks.
“Shut the fuck up,” I grunt at my best friend.
“You know this girl has you all twisted up. I’ve never seen you like this over a chick before.” He observes my reaction.
I don’t give him one. There’s a reason I win so many poker games. I’m good at schooling my features, giving a neutral expression. At not giving the opponent a single thing to judge my hand by. “I’m not twisted up,” I tell him.
Denny smirks, his glare falling behind me. “Sure, whatever you say, bro.”
I follow his line of sight, turning around until my gaze lands on the object of my latest obsession. Making her way towards the bar. She sits down on a stool, her eyes on me while every fucking male in here has their eyes on her .
What the fuck is she wearing? Her cleavage is on full display, her dress dipping into a deep V that ends at the middle of her stomach.
I lean over the bar. As much as I want to kiss her, I don’t. Not here. “How much did this dress cost you?” I ask her.
Mabilia looks down and then back up at me. “Three and a half grand. Why?”
Without bothering to look, I swipe a napkin from under the bar, pick up a pen, and write an I owe you on it for three and a half thousand dollars. Then I hand the napkin to Mabilia.
She stares at it in confusion. “Why do you owe me money?”
“Because I plan on tearing that fucking dress to shreds so you can’t ever wear it again,” I whisper in her ear. “It should be illegal.”
Mabilia shrugs. “I’ll just buy another one,” she says with a smile.
“And I’ll tear up that one too,” I tell her.
“I don’t need a father, Tommy. I already have one. A really great one, by the way. So cut the caveman bullshit. It’s not cute.” She pulls that little black card of hers out of her clutch. “Now, can I get a cosmo?”
“You got ID?” I ask her.
“Sure do.” Mabilia reaches into her bag again before waving a laminated card in my direction with a smirk on her face. She thinks she’s won.
I turn around, pick up a pair of scissors, and watch her face fall as I cut the ID in half.
“What the hell?” she groans.
“It’s fake,” I say as I pour her a glass of soda. “Here. This is all I’m serving you.” It’s not that I care all that much if she has a drink. It’s more that I want her sober.
“Why?” she asks. “You know I can go to any other bar in this city and get served.”
“Then by all means, go,” I call her bluff. “But if you stick around until I finish up here, I’m taking you home and making good on my promise to tear up that dress.”
Mabilia appears to consider her options before she picks up her glass and takes a sip. “It’s good,” she says. “How long until you finish?”
“About two hours.”
“I have to sit here for two hours?”
“Yes, princess, some of us have to work to survive. We don’t all have fancy black cards,” I remind her.
“You do. I’ve seen it. Also, I’m not a princess.”
“Sure about that?” I raise a brow at her.
But before she can answer, Denny pushes me to the side and holds out a palm. “Hey, I’m Denny. You must be the girl my boy here is all twisted up over.”
Mabilia takes his hand and flashes him a smile. “Mabilia, and he’s not twisted up.”
“Whatever you say,” Denny tells her over a shoulder as he walks over to the other side of the bar to serve customers—something I should be doing.
I turn back to Mabilia. “You sticking around?”
“Depends,” she says.
“On?”
“On what you’re going to do with me after you tear this dress from my body?”
Leaning over the bar, I whisper into her ear for a second time, “I’m going to give you pleasure like you’ve never experienced before.”
“You have no idea the kind of pleasures I’ve experienced. So that’s a big call to make.” She smirks.
The image of her with another guy doesn’t sit well with me. In fact, I fucking hate it. “Mabilia, when you mention other guys it makes me want to pull you onto this counter and fuck you in front of everyone so every fucker in this bar knows you’re mine.”
My words take both of us by surprise. We’ve been flirting all week through text messages, and I haven’t seen her since I dropped her home three days ago. But, fuck, I don’t care. She is mine . I meant every single word.
“When did I become yours?” she asks, her teeth sinking into her bottom lip.
“The moment I saw you,” I reply, kissing her cheek. Then I quickly move away before I end up saying something even stupider and scare her off.
For the next two hours, I watch Mabilia as she sits at the bar and scrolls through her phone. I fill her cup, but I avoid talking to her too much. As soon as the last of the customers are gone and the doors are locked, Denny tells me he’s closing and to get out.
I don’t bother arguing with him—not that I want to—as I grab Mabilia’s hand and lead her out the back entrance.
“You sure about coming home with me?” I ask her once she’s in my car.
“I’m sure,” she says.
“Good, but I really don’t mind driving you to your place if you’ve changed your mind. Your call.” I want her to know I’m not a total fucking creep. As much as I want to take her home and lose myself in her body, she needs to want that too.
“Tommy, take me to your place,” she says more sternly.