Chapter 13
Ellinor
Stalker Man
Good morning, Shpirt Im. *smirking emoji*
Every part of me wants to look that fucking nickname up, but I’m holding off. I don’t need anything else to swoon over.
Ellie
Morning, stalker man.
Stalker Man
It’s not funny. You do have a stalker it’s not me.
But seriously, are you safe at your place?
Ellie
Yes, Dad. *eye rolling emoji* I’m fine.
Stalker Man
I’ll take Daddy, but not Dad. *winking emoji*
I’m finishing up my management homework a day later than intended. I’m in college for just that: business management. I only have a year left before I finally graduate with my bachelor’s, which I have been working on for twice the time it’s supposed to take. I had to hold off on going full time due to my mom’s ALS diagnosis. You would’ve thought she would have been thankful I was going at a slower pace to be at home helping care for her, but instead, she would bitch about me not graduating on time. It will be nice not having to worry about assignments needing to be completed; the only plus side is that I could complete it online.
Zamir and Nash have both been in my phone nonstop. I should probably say something; they don’t vibe with each other, but I can’t find it within myself to pick between them.
Speaking of the devil…
Big Boy
Good morning, Mi Amor.
Bitch why are you smiling at the phone?
Ellie
Good morning, Big Boy. *winking emoji*
Big Boy
I’ll get right to it. You seemed like the type of girl that doesn’t like to beat around the bush.
Come to my place tonight.
Movie and beers?
He triple-texted me, and I don’t think he even second-guessed doing it. Why are these men so comfortable around me?
Ellie
How do I know you’re not luring me to my death?
Big Boy
Death by dick, maybe.
That didn’t sound good…
Death by orgasms!
There. That’s better.
Ellie
Okay, I’ll be taken out by orgasms. Sign me up. *dancing girl emoji*
Big Boy
See you tonight! *heart eye emoji*
What the actual fuck am I doing? I said he was only a one-night stand. But that cock, those fingers, his mouth… I can’t let all of him go to waste. We could just fuck around. Why does it always have to be a commitment? A girl can just have fun, right?
Getting slut shamed has been my life since I can remember. I try not to let it get to me, but after so many instances, it tends to. I’ve calmed down since my ex and I started dating, but before that, I was a wild one to say the least.
I’ve never liked being tied down, and guys usually want you to commit immediately; it’s just not me. I like to have freedom in my life and with my sexual partners.
I’m heading out and meeting my dad at Barone’s for lunch. We try to do this at least once a week, depending on how busy he is. I hate to tell my dad but the food at Barone’s is the main reason I’m there; who wouldn’t want the best authentic Italian food in Vegas?
I walk out to my car, appreciating its dependability. It’s nothing fancy, just an older Honda Civic, but it’s my baby and gets me anywhere I need to go without having to worry about it breaking down. It was my first car and is still going strong. I look up and see a stupid fancy car on the side street attached to our parking lot. I can appreciate the all black McLaren Solus GT. I see movement in the car, but I’m not sticking around to ask questions.
I feel eyes on me, but I try to keep a level head. Nothing good ever comes of me when I’m panicking. I practically jump into my car and lock the doors behind me.
Pulling into the restaurant’s parking lot, I get hit with a little bit of nostalgia. Growing up, I used to spend every moment here when I wasn’t in school. I haven’t seen Marcello in ages, but we practically grew up together. After the tragic passing of Marcello’s father, he took over the restaurant at only twenty-one. I think back a couple of years to when I was twenty-one and what my life was like, I would not have wanted that responsibility if it were me. He’s seven years older but it seems twice that now since we don’t talk as much, and he had to grow up much faster.
He also happens to be the leader of the Italian mafia here in Vegas. Casual, I know, but there are plenty of bad people in this world. Why not just be open about it? I’m pretty sure my dad tried hiding that from me growing up, and he may still be in denial about it all. But, of course, Cello and I talked about everything. It was like he lived in a movie and I got the front-row seat watching it live. The last ten years, though, have been a blur, hardly ever seeing him, and he’s very standoffish now.
1I walk into the extravagant restaurant that was like a second home to me growing up, passing the hostess and giving her a quick smile. It’s fucking packed in here for it being lunchtime. I sit at our usual table in the back corner, closest to the kitchen, just in case Dad has to run back in if things get too out of hand.
I turn to look around, but it’s all the same here. It’s dimly lit at all times, there are old gold chandeliers with fake vines over every other table, and it has limited seating. Giant, thick candles are set in glass holders giving a moody vibe as they bounce of the brick walls surrounding us. It would probably be easier to meet with the Pope than get a damn table in here without reservations.
I hear a familiar voice, but not so familiar that I know who it belongs to immediately. I have my face buried in my phone, scrolling TikTok, focusing on some new masked men that popped up on my FYP. I’ve gone down the whole profile for this stunning specimen, @untrained__ghost, when someone sits on the other side of my table. I know it’s not my dad because he would’ve hugged me before taking his seat.
I look up, and guess who the fuck it is? Stalker-man from Shenanigans.
“Zamir? What the fuck are you doing here? I’m about to file the police reports myself; you’re my stalker.” I take a breath. “This isn’t even funny at this point.”
“I was about to ask you why you’re here because this is my favorite restaurant in Vegas. I’m here once a week for lunch,” he responds casually, like I’m not sitting here freaking the fuck out.
My dad has finally decided to come out of the kitchen and gives me the hug I knew was waiting for me.
That’s when I hear Zamir say, “Bill, what the fuck is up, man? How have you been?”
“Good, son, how have you been? How’s the rookie? Fill me in. We’ve got time, right, Ellie?” My dad’s looking at me like I know better than to say no. Did he say, son? Goddammit, they’re besties. This man loves his football more than most things on this planet, and I’m guessing Zamir does come in here often if my dad’s comfortable enough to come up to him and have an open conversation like this.
Looking over at Zamir with what I’m sure is a dumbass look on my face, I start to agree. “Ye—That’s fine, Dad.” I’m trying not to lead on that I already know Zamir.
“The rookie has been nothing but a pain in my ass, to say the least,” Zamir says in a huff, leaning back in his chair.
“That rookie is going to carry this team. We’ve needed a quarterback since you were drafted,” I bark out. Well, there goes any chance of my Dad thinking I don’t know him already.
Zamir’s looking at me, dumbfounded. Yeah, bitch, I know my football too. Not to mention that little rookie fucked my brains out a couple of nights ago.
I look over at my dad, and he’s just smiling down at me. This is the one thing we’ve always had in common, no matter what. I risk turning back to Zamir, and he has a shit-eating grin on his face. Fuck, I’ve done it now.
My dad starts, saving me from god knows what Zamir was about to say. “Maybe he’s just young. Do you remember how you were? A hot shot fresh in the big leagues.” My Dad continues, “He’s probably just adjusting to it all.”
“We’ve been fighting nonstop. We both can’t make any mistakes without blaming one another.” He looks so defeated. “Coach is making us sit together on the plane, room together at all the away games, and watch a film outside of normal practice.” He’s full-on pouting like a toddler.
“Good, then you two can get to the bottom of what’s happening,” my dad responds. Right on cue, one of his sous chefs comes barreling out of the kitchen, calling for my dad like the kitchen is on fire. He is the best man for this job. He keeps a level head no matter what he’s faced with. The only time I saw that man scared or with worry etching his face was following my mom’s diagnosis. He was and always will be my buoy, rolling with the waves and seeing what the tide brings us. No matter how bad the storm is, I know he’ll be there for me.
“Gotta get back to it. I’ll leave you two to it.” He gets up from his chair but stops to give me another bear hug. “Love you, honey, and be nice to Zamir. He’s a nice boy.” With that, he turns and heads back into the kitchen, and I’m stuck here staring at my stalker, or I guess, my second stalker.
“You’ve gotten what you wanted; here I am, so make it worth it,” I spit out, probably madder than I need to be. It’s not his fault we keep running into one another. I’ve been on edge ever since I started noticing the random nice cars following me. And I swear shit has been messed with in my apartment; when I check with Blair, it’s never her. Once, I came out to my car after a late shift, and it smelled like a woodsy citrus scent. That was the last odd thing that has happened.
“I want to know about you, Shpirt Im. I didn’t know Bill was your dad. He helped me a lot when I moved here.” He has his hands steepled on the table, looking at me in amusement.
“You know more about me, I want to know about you,” I rush out.
Fuck, I already know he’s going to take that the wrong way.
“I’ll tell you anything you want to know, Ellie.” He’s dropped his voice now, sounding a little gravelly.
“How did you know exactly how to immobilize Randy at the bar?” A dark look crosses his face, but it’s gone so fast I second guess even seeing it.
“Let’s just say I have a dark past.” He looks off in the distance again. “But let’s not dwell on the past. I’m sorry about your mom. I remember talking with your dad about her. I can only hope to find love like they had one day.”
My nose starts to burn, and I feel the tears in my eyes, but I also find myself rolling them. “They were perfect on the outside.” I rub my nose, trying to get the burn to go away; he’s cocked his head to the side, studying me. “Okay, enough of the sad shit. Tell me about yourself seriously. I’m curious about you.”
“There’s not much to know. I’m a Pro wide receiver and have been for four years, but apparently, you know that.” He shoots me a wink and continues, “I’m openly bi, which in the Pros deserves an award, but I don’t want anything to do with that. I grew up in Chicago and went to Palm University for college on a football scholarship.” He just shrugs like that’s all I need to know.
“Bud, I could’ve googled all of that.” Shooting him a glare, I continue, “Give me the juicy shit. I don’t like the artificial bullshit; I’m going to need more from you.”
“My dad never wanted me to play football; I was supposed to follow in his footsteps. He still, to this day, disapproves of me playing and tries to get me to come back and work for the family business.”
“What’s this business?”
“Running Chicago, pretty much. Too many businesses to name off, honestly.” Fuck, is his family mafia too? I’ve never seen anything written or in the media about it, but you can pay good money to get that shit buried. Maybe he was one of the spoiled mafia boys that didn’t do shit.
“Well, I hate that he didn’t support your dreams of what you really wanted to do. How are they with you being out about your sexuality?”
“My father turned a blind eye to that. I’m pretty sure he just blocks it out, but I don’t let it get to me. Can’t please everyone, you know?”
“Honestly, fuck what people think, even parents. Let me guess, you’re just living your best? Pussy and cock falling at your feet twenty-four seven?”
The expression covering his face makes the Cheshire cat look more sane. “Is that jealousy I hear, Ellie?” No, but I am mad his ass didn’t use that cute as fuck nickname, whatever the hell it means. Your stupid ass needs to google translate it.
From both of the guys, for that matter.
“No, I’m not jealous; I’m just a nosey bitch.”
“I won’t lie and say I didn’t go absolutely berzerk fucking whoever, whenever, my first couple years in the league, but it’s exhausting mentally after a while. Giving yourself up to randoms in random cities.” He shrugs, and I think he’s done, but he surprises me. “I want more.” Fuck he’s looking me in the eyes.
I’m shaking my head before I even know it. “No. Not with me, don’t look at me with those fucking eyes, Z.” Z, bitch, really? Him having a nickname for you wasn’t enough?
“Say it again.” He’s dropped his voice and tucked his chin, but of course, he’s keeping his eye contact.
Thank the devil herself I’m not standing. My knees would be hitting the floor. “I’ve written off monogamy. I’m not your girl, I promise.”
“You say that now, Shpirt Im.”
Zamir and I talked too much, and I’m running behind now. I had to run to the grocery store for a few things and clean my damn apartment. Mondays are for cleaning and getting my shit together for the upcoming night shifts at Shenanigans.
I found my desk in shambles with papers scattered everywhere that are normally in neat piles—some even littering the floor. My clothes from my dirty hamper were thrown everywhere, and I swear all of my underwear are gone from there. I called Blair into my room, and she looked as shocked as I did… It’s like my stalker is getting sloppier and sloppier, but I don’t know what to do about it at this point. Cops don’t take it seriously; all I can do is protect myself.
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