26. Riley
TWENTY-SIX
Before my eyes even open,I know I”m not in my bed. Not in my apartment. But I don”t know where. Am I in my childhood bedroom, in Southie? At Lorna”s apartment in the city?
No, it”s not Lorna”s, because she”s dead. This has happened before in recent months, me waking up and not knowing where I am. I chalk it up to a lot of life changes and trauma, but it”s terrifying for a fraction of a second nonetheless.
My eyes blink open and I don”t recognize anything in this dark room. My heartbeat quickens. It smells like leather and spice and I”m definitely not at home.
And Lorna”s dead.
In an instant, it all comes rushing back to me. I”m not in Boston, I”m in Florida. And I”m in Gabriel Greco”s bed after a night of sex.
So much sex. More sex than I”ve ever had in one night. Hell, more sex than I”ve had in a year. A lifetime, maybe.
I groan and flop onto my back, pressing my hands into my eyes. It almost feels like a dream, everything we did last night. From the kissing at the party to everything that transpired in this very bed...
A mental image of us giving each other oral in the middle of the night pops into my head. Holy shit. I just fucked Gabriel six ways to Sunday, and I”m supposed to be doing a newspaper article on him?
What was I thinking last night? Was I drugged? Drunk?
The answer, of course, is no. I was merely horny. And now I”m ashamed of myself, at allowing my desires to take over and run my life. Ruin my life, and possibly my career.
I groan aloud again. It almost feels like I have a hangover, but without the headache or upset stomach. No, that”s just my muscles, all of which feel like I lifted in the gym.
That”s the sex.
”You”re awake. By the way, happy belated Valentine”s Day. I didn”t say it last night, but I guess we celebrated nonetheless.”
I gasp, startled. Gabriel is walking toward me, carrying a mug of coffee, complete with steam rising from the top. He”s wearing what look to be gray sweatpants and nothing else, and I can”t help but stare at his chest.
He sets the coffee down next to me, on the nightstand. My gaze goes to his six pack abs and what looks like a fresh bruise marring his otherwise perfect olive skin.
A memory of me sucking on his skin last night flashes in my mind. That”s not a bruise. It”s a hickey. I sucked on him like a lamprey, and I am horrified.
”Cassie told me how you like your coffee.” He leans in and kisses me on the forehead, then notices me staring at him. ”Oh, yeah, we got a little carried away last night. Sorry about your neck.”
My fingers fly to my neck, to a surprisingly tender spot. Oh, yeah. He bit me. Hard.
Gabriel chuckles softly. ”You look like you barely remember last night. Was I that forgettable?”
I sit up, clutching the sheet to my naked chest. ”What time is it?”
”Noon. I was going to wake you up earlier, but you looked so peaceful, and we got so little sleep last night. So I went downstairs and did some work. Here, have some coffee.”
He hands me the cup. Before I accept it, I tuck the sheet under my armpits so I don”t flash him. Why, I”m not sure, considering he explored parts of me last night that only my gynecologist is familiar with.
I sip the coffee. It”s delicious, and part of me wants to luxuriate in this bed all day with snacks and a book. But, no, that isn”t happening. Gabriel probably wants me out of here now that he”s had his fill of my body, and I need to muster some dignity and go home.
Then try to salvage what”s left of my career after sleeping with the city”s biggest mobster.
”So, I was thinking about today?—”
I cut him off. ”I was, too. I really need to get home. It”s Sunday, right? I always call my mom on Sundays, and I have to get prepared for work tomorrow, and honestly this has been a lot, so if I can get my purse and car, that would be great. Also someone at the office needs me to check in on their cat, and I have to go to the newsroom to pick up the keys, and you know how that goes.”
Gabriel looks at me, startled, as if no, he doesn”t know how it goes. He scratches the back of his head. ”Okay. This is all a little abrupt, but if that”s what you want.”
”Yeah, I”m sorry to just wake up and run, but”—I run my hand over coffee-fuzzed teeth, feeling gross—”I really need to get back to the real world.”
”This is the real world, babe. This is your life. Or could be if you wanted.”
My eyes snap to his. I know what he”s saying, but I don”t know how to process it. I”m a reporter. I”m supposed to write stories about extraordinary people. I”m not supposed to actually be one.
”Yeah, I don”t know about that...” my voice trails off. ”I wasn”t prepared for any of this. Wasn”t ready for this entire weekend. After all, you started all of this on Friday. I didn”t expect it would lead to this.”
I wave my hand around the bed, wondering why I”m so shy and awkward now, when just hours ago I was acting like a seasoned porn star, whispering wicked words of encouragement in Gabriel”s ear. I almost feel bad for expressing all this doubt to him, but it feels so weird, now that it”s morning.
I don”t belong here, and we both know it.
His jaw, which is slack, finally closes. ”Okay, fair enough, Riley. I have your purse downstairs. I”ll drive you home.”
”No, you don”t have to. I don”t want to interrupt your schedule. Surely, you have things to do. I”ll drive myself home. Where”s my sundress that I came with?”
”Your dress is hanging in the closet over there. Cassie laundered it. And your car is with my mechanic, getting a much-needed tune-up. I”ll have it back to you by tomorrow morning.”
Now it”s my turn to be slack-jawed. ”You didn”t have to do that.”
The muscle in his jaw twitches then relaxes. ”Your brake pads were almost shot, my mechanic said. You needed a tune-up, badly.”
”I”ll repay you, just let me know?—”
”No.” His near-black eyes are now glittering, like obsidian. ”I”ll have my car and a driver for you downstairs in fifteen minutes.”
With that, he stalks out of the room. The last thing I see before he shuts the bedroom door is his tight ass in those sweatpants, and the rippling muscles of his back.
”Oh my God,” I whisper, the gravity of what just happened sinking in.
I need to get out of here, and fast.
I set the mug on a coaster and slide out of the bed, naked. I move to the closet where Gabriel gestured and open the door. No, that”s his stuff. Unlike yesterday, I don”t linger, and quickly shut the door and open another. There”s my dress, perfectly ironed and hanging near one of his white shirts.
I slip it on and feel even more uncomfortable. The last time I had this on—which was just two days ago—seems like another life. I”ve changed, somehow, and I”m not sure I like it.
It”s essential I get back to my house and screw my head on straight. What happened last night was a one-night stand. That”s all this was. A one-night stand with a mobster.
I take a deep breath as I comb my fingers through my hair and twist and loop in into a messy bun. Fuck Gabriel. He”s just some guy who fucked my brains out and I got sucked into the fantasy.
But he”s also someone I was supposed to be writing about, and my publisher knows this. Fuck, I”ll deal with that later.
My sandals from Friday are also in the closet, and I shove my feet into them. With a deep breath, I pull open the door and make my way downstairs, hoping I don”t see Cassie, or Andre. Really, I don”t want to face Gabriel, either, but no luck there.
He”s standing by the door, holding my purse in his hand.
”Thanks.”
”My driver will take you home.” His tone is stiff, unusual. None of the warmth or sensuality from last night, but what can I expect? I just rejected him and whatever plans he had for us today.
And with good reason, because this—us—is definitely not meant to be. Not in a million years.
He stares at me, hard. It”s as if he”s trying not to be furious, but failing. All I want is to get away from him, to flee from his sexy, arrogant gaze that feels like it”s pinning me to the ground.
”I”ll... I”ll see you around,” I stammer, and step around him and out the door. I hurry into the back of the dark vehicle, the one that forcibly carried me here two days ago.
I lean into the front to tell the driver where we”re going, but the guy interrupts and says my address aloud.
”Yeah,” I sigh, sinking back into the leather seat. I”m numb from everything, but mostly from my own actions. Perhaps I should”ve stayed with Gabriel for the day. Enjoyed more sex, more amazing food, more of his addictive kisses.
But why? Each moment would have brought me closer to leaving him anyway, and it”s better to rip this bandage off now. We were destined to end sometime, and it might as well be now.
I stare out the window with a blank expression. The day matches my mood, overcast and drizzly. While Florida is glorious in the sunshine with its bright blue skies and vibrant green tropical foliage, I”ve come to realize there”s nothing uglier than Florida when it”s gray and rainy.
It”s worse than even the most dismal February snow day in New England, as if all the color has been stripped from the world. Or maybe I just feel that way today.
A half hour later, we are at my apartment complex in the suburbs. The run-down, salmon-colored stucco buildings look worn to my eye. I thank the driver and scramble out of the car, clutching my purse to my chest and trying to dodge the raindrops that are now coming down hard.
Bounding up the stairs, I smell the ever-present smell of my neighbor”s garlic and onions. It takes me a few minutes to find my keys in my bag, and I”m hoping they aren”t lost. But there they are, and I let myself in.
The apartment is every bit as dumpy as I left it, and because I haven”t been home for days, it has a vacant, moldy smell. Probably because I set the air conditioner higher when I left, wanting to save money.
”Fuck it,” I whisper, setting it at a temperature lower than normal. The air is humid and swampy, not comfortable and crisp like at Gabriel”s.
I need to stop the comparisons. Otherwise I”ll be miserable. I pad over to the kitchen and pull open my fridge. I groan when I see a takeout container of some Thai food from last week, a bottle of ketchup, and a bottle of cheap beer.
Grabbing the beer, I decide I can afford to order takeout from my favorite pizza place, because why the fuck not, given the circumstances. My cell”s in my purse, but of course it”s not charged. I plug it in and decide to go through my purse to see if anything”s missing.
I dump out the contents and it”s all there. Except...
Except the notebook I was using just yesterday to interview Gabriel. I suck down the rest of the beer.
My phone flashes to life, and pings several times. Someone”s been trying to reach me. Or several someones. Probably Mom. Sure enough, there are three voicemails from her
I stab at the texts, anticipating a Mom message, something guilt inducing about how I haven”t returned her calls. Instead, I”m greeted with a stern text from my editor sent just an hour ago.
You”re doing a story on Gabriel Greco? I just heard from the publisher, who said he saw you at a fundraiser Saturday night. Since when are you doing this story without clearing it with me? Plan on meeting me to discuss this, first thing Monday morning. Do not promise Greco ANYTHING.
I set the phone down and sigh. Of course, I haven”t promised Gabriel anything.
I merely gave him my body, on Valentine”s Day, no less.