32. Riley
THIRTY-TWO
I won”t lie:it”s difficult to leave Gabriel this morning. I lounge in bed, watching him get dressed after his shower.
Normally after sex I leave, don”t spend the night, and I certainly never stay in bed, watching a man get ready for work. Maybe because the men I”ve been with largely don”t have actual jobs, or they”ve been students, or artists, or bartenders.
Watching Gabriel is glorious.
He comes out of the bathroom with wet, slicked-back hair, wearing only the black boxer briefs and smelling like spicy soap. That”s when he shoots me a grin.
”What?” I ask.
”Nothing. I like you in my bed. Wish you could stay there all day and night, so I know where you are.”
”So you”d know I was here waiting for you, more like it. You”d keep track of me better if I were in your bed all the time.” I stick my tongue out.
Before he disappears into his walk-in closet, he says, ”Exactly, babe.
His possessiveness, even joking about it, is a turn-on. Normally I”d hate that in a man, and if the other guys I”d slept with had even hinted at such dominance, I”d have left them even quicker than I did.
But Gabriel? When he”s emerging from the closet wearing his suit pants, and buttoning up that crisp, white shirt over all those muscles? Swoon.
Fucking swoon.
I flop back onto the pillow and close my eyes, not wanting to go to work, not wanting to write news articles, not wanting to do anything but get railed by Gabriel again.
I feel the mattress next to me sink under his weight, and he brushes his mouth over mine.
”Mmmm,” I stretch, allowing my bare breasts to rise up over the covers.
”You little cocktease,” he murmurs.
I open my eyes to find him staring down at me. ”I”ll be back in a couple of days.”
Of course, this, us, is too new for me to register any emotion about his words. ”Okay. Cool.”
His hand snakes under the covers, skimming over my belly and lower, to the junction of my thighs.
”You”re not going to miss me?” His finger slides between my pussy lips.
”I dunno, we”ll see.”
His mouth seeks mine and his hand moves right along with his tongue. I forget about everything I need to do this morning, everything but the feeling of his fingers softly stroking and rubbing my clit.
He kisses me until my lower body pulses and throbs, and I can hear my own moans as I shiver with the force of my orgasm.
He smirks. ”We”ll see, my ass. I know you”ll be getting yourself off at the thought of us.”
”And so will you, if that hard-on in your pants is any indication.”
He stops touching me and laughs, resting his head on my breast. Then he kisses me, softly. I don”t even mind that he”s not going to give me another orgasm. His kisses are that sweet, and it”s as if I could be lulled into something serious with him on the expertise of his lips.
”I like you, Riley Murphy.”
”I like you, Gabriel Greco.”
Way more than I should.
Hours later,I”m having lunch with Brynn the photographer and Sierra, a new sportswriter at the paper. We”re at a sandwich shop near the paper, and I”m picking at my turkey sub. I”ve barely gotten anything done today. Mostly I”ve been sitting at my desk and thinking about Gabriel.
Brynn, Sierra, and I talk about some newsroom gossip, the usual stuff like who”s looking for a new job and who”s scored a big story lately.
”I hear you”re working on something interesting.” Sierra wags her arched eyebrows at me.
I squirm in my seat. ”I dunno, not really. It kind of fell through. What did you hear, anyway?”
”That you”re profiling Gabriel Greco.”
Brynn”s eyes almost pop out of her head. ”You didn”t tell me that!”
”It”s not happening.” I want to shut this conversation down immediately. The less people link me to Gabriel, the better.
”That sucks,” Brynn says. ”I”d love to get into his mind.”
”Or into his pants,” Sierra jokes.
Brynn flashes a glare at her. ”He”s the last man I”d sleep with in this city.”
”Really? Why?” Sierra seems genuinely interested, and I am as well. But it”s also information I don”t want to hear. ”C”mon, spill. Me and Riley are new here. You”re the local. Tell us the gossip about gorgeous Gabriel.”
Brynn lifts a shoulder. ”He”s just into some really shady shit.”
”Sex shady, or business shady?” Sierra probes.
I want to scream, to tell them to stop this entire conversation. But I remain mute and fascinated.
”Mostly business shady but he”s had his history with women, too.”
”Well, all businessmen like him are fuckboys, right? Or is he in some category beyond fuckboy? Fuck-man?” Sierra and Brynn laugh, but I don”t.
Of course Gabriel”s a fuckboy. What else would he be? Come to think of it, he never even gave me his phone number. Or said he”d call while he was gone. Why would he? He got everything he wanted out of me.
There”s a pause while I”m lost in my dark thoughts, and I push my potato chips around with my finger. Nothing seems appealing all of a sudden.
”Why are you turning red, Riley? You”re the color of that tomato. What”s going on?” Maybe it”s because Brynn is a photographer, but she”s scarily observant.
”No reason,” I lie, hoping she”ll let the conversation go.
Thank God, she does, and we return to discussing newsroom gossip. On our way to the parking lot, Sierra peels off to her car, which is parked on the next street. Brynn follows me to my car.
”I heard about Saturday night. You need to be careful, Riley.”
I stop, keys in hand. ”How is everyone hearing about me so quickly? What the hell?”
”Tampa”s like a small town. If you grew up here, like I did, gossip is mainlined into your veins.”
”It was nothing.” That”s my latest tactic, apparently. Deny, deny, deny.
Brynn stares at me, as if she doesn”t believe a word I said. ”Where did you get this car?”
I glance at the vehicle, shock spreading on my face, as if I”ve never seen it before. ”Oh, my parents. Can you believe it? They bought it for me.”
I”m a terrible liar.
Brynn narrows her eyes. ”I thought you said your parents were poor.”
Every lie I tell will inevitably snowball, and trip me up later. ”It”s a long story.”
”I”ll bet it is.” Brynn”s tone is sour. ”I”m begging you to not get involved with Greco.”
Something in me snaps at her words. ”Or what? What if I do? I can have a private life.”
She shoves her hands in her jeans, her sun-damaged face looking more tired than when we left the office. ”Did you read about Greco? I mean, really read?”
”Yeah, of course. I”m not stupid.”
”Did you find the articles about Catherine Trafficante?”
A chill of awareness goes through me. This name is new to me, and I shake my head twice. But...wasn”t that the last name of his friend who just died? My vision swims and I blink several times, hoping for clarity.
”Find the articles about her. Promise me you”ll do that.”
”We”ll see.”
Brynn sighs and walks away without saying goodbye. I climb into my new car, a deep feeling of unease crawling across my skin.
I don”t returnto the office immediately. First I stop at the police station, mostly to shoot the shit with my police sources. All I want is to hear about the weird alligator calls and the funny cop stories, and they oblige. I don”t ask about Gabriel or Catherine Trafficante because part of me doesn”t want to know.
That part of me wants the memory of my nights with Gabriel to remain perfect. Any awful detail will tarnish those moments. They”ll be like sparks in the forest. I won”t be able to control where they go, or what they burn.
When I return to the office, I refrain from doing any research on this Catherine person. Instead I write a brief about the police department budget going before the city council later this week, and bide my time until I can go home. Mike thinks I”m working on the Greco profile, and I don”t have the courage to tell him it”s not happening — mostly because I”m not sure what to say.
I can”t tell him that I”m screwing Greco, because that would cost me my job. No, I need to come up with a better excuse. A plausible one. Perhaps I”ll say Gabriel changed his mind. It”s a likely scenario, given how mercurial he is.
At five I slink out of the office, opting for the stairs instead of the elevator. Every mile I drive home in this luxury vehicle seems more wrong than the last, and by the time I”m home, I”ve worked myself up into a panic.
And then my phone rings.
I leap for it, hoping it”s Gabriel. But the number on the screen says it”s my mother, and I let out a strangled groan. I have to get it, because I haven”t talked to her since before the weekend.
”Hey, Mom.” I force a smile, hoping it will bring a warmth to my voice that I”m definitely not feeling.
”Riley! Where have you been? I”ve tried calling several times.”
”Around, Mom. Working.”
”Always busy, my little reporter. Honey, I have something important to ask you. Do you have a few minutes?”
Oh, god. This could be anything, from what color curtains she should buy to whether she should serve corned beef and cabbage on Sunday. ”Yeah, I just got home from work.”
I wedge the phone in between my ear and shoulder while I open the fridge door. There”s half of the pizza from the other night and nothing else. Dammit, I should”ve stopped on the way home...
”April is your father”s sixtieth birthday. I”m planning a party.”
I shut the fridge and tense up. ”Oh! Well, that”s an interesting idea.”
”I want you to be there, Riley.”
I press my forehead to the door of the fridge. Going home and playing the dutiful daughter to my abusive father is the last thing I want to do. As much as I”d love to see Mom and soak in Boston in the spring, going back to celebrate Dad leaves a sour taste in my mouth.
”We”ll see if I can get the time off.”
”Please, dear? Will you? It would mean a lot to him.”
”Yeah, right.” Mom knows my complicated feelings about Dad. She knows it”s why I left. Had he been less of a dick, I”d have tried harder to get a job closer to Boston.
”It would mean a lot to me. We”re a team, you know. At least I think we still are.” Her voice quavers.
There. She said the magic words. The two of us were like life preservers for each other during Dad”s bouts of verbal and physical abuse. The only difference is, I left. Mom stayed, and I still don”t know why she remains. But she does, still trying to appease him, still walking on eggshells every day
Codependency is a bitch.
”Yeah, we are. Uh, I have to go. I”m meeting someone.” For someone who is a terrible liar, I”m doing it a lot lately.
”Really? A man?” She laughs, and I crack a grin at the sound.
”No, just some friends from work.” More lies...
”Oh, well, good. Maybe you”ll meet someone nice while out with your friends. But remember, any time you want to come home, Bobby Kennedy is here, waiting for you.”
Finally, I laugh. It”s an inside joke between us—Bobby had a crush on me starting in first grade, and now he”s a Boston firefighter. A good guy, a ginger, not my type. He”s too eager, too sweet, too...much. Too familiar. Even Mom, who would love to see me with an Irish guy, thought Bobby was far too boring.
”Mom, I”m not that desperate yet.” Mom would love Gabriel, since she always adored the bad boys.
Like my father.
Mom and I hang up and I down a glass of water and eat a leftover slice of pizza. I move to my sofa and pull out my laptop. Probably I shouldn”t do this, but I type a name that”s been burned into my head all day into the search engine.
Catherine Trafficante.
I find a single article that”s several years old. It says that Catherine, who was twenty, disappeared from her dorm at the University of Tampa. I can only find that one article, but reading it sends chills up my spine.
The last person to see Catherine was her friend, Gabriel Greco.