23. Hendrix #3
Saint doesn’t just exude sex appeal, he’s the literal definition.
“Look who finally decided to grace us with his presence, and no time left to eat,” Vic says with clear agitation.
Saint comes dangerously close to me, the scent of his cologne tickling my nose as he reaches over to snatch a pancake off a serving plate.
“Manners,” Vic warns.
Saint shoves half the pancake in his mouth, amidst dropping in the seat next to me as he responds, “Sorry, got none.”
I chuckle, feeling my mother’s eyes and her gleam when Saint sticks his food filled tongue out at me.
“The heck, big bro, quit being gross,” Theory chastises, so he flashes her a dirty smile.
“Enough,” Vic drawls. “We get the point, you’re uncivilized.”
“ Buongiorno a tutti .” A voice I haven’t heard in days floats hesitantly from the entryway.
“Good morning to you too, Carlo!” Mom stands. “So happy you’re back.”
Saint tenses, and Vic does the same as they pass a sharp, knowing look. I attempt to garner a reaction from either, but no dice. They’re too busy with the mental showdown.
“Hendrix, let’s go,” my mother calls. “Carlo’s waiting to take you to school.”
Saint’s fist hits the table, making me, along with my damn heart, leap from our spots.
“I’ll be driving Hendrix.”
Vic’s gaze turns murderous, so does his son’s.
And Saint doesn’t spare my mother or aunt any mercy when his eyes connect with them.
“The fuck, guys?” I slide my chair back and stand. “What’s with all the hostility?”
Saint blinks away his anger, lips curving into a devious grin as he stands too, pinching my cheek. “April Fools, Jimi Hendrix.”
I push him off, and nerves riddle in everyone’s laugh except his.
Guy’s full on belly bopping.
Until suddenly…he’s not.
“But I am taking you to school.”
Vic smiles at me like he’s got two weeks’ worth of constipation.
“Have a great first day of school, kiddo.”
“Yeah…thanks,” I tell him, watching Mom and Auntie round the table for a group hug.
“We love you,” Mom says right before Auntie adds, “Go kick some ass.”
“This is…weird.” I shrug them off, taking their bizarreness far enough to dust off my blazer.
“Stanley!” Theory waves when the old man appears next to Carlo, then jumps out of her seat and kisses Vic on the cheek. “Bye, Daddy. Love you lots.”
She bids farewell with blown kisses to Mom and Auntie, then takes off like a breeze across the room.
“Hey! Theory,” I call out right before she leaves. “Why don’t you just come with us? Stanley can meet you there.”
I can hear the crack in Saint’s neck as he twists it to glower at me.
“Oh! That’s a good idea.” She claps. “We can compare schedules. Maybe we’ll cross paths. Or sit together at lunch. I know there’s mixed grades.”
Vic is about to speak, but Saint beats him to the punch.
“Theory, go with Stanley.”
“But—”
“I said go .”
Theory rolls her eyes, but, like when Saint switched out her thigh high plaid skirt with plaid pants, doesn’t argue.
“What the hell was that about?” I stomp alongside the asshole as he exits the mansion, auto starting his pearly white Range Rover. “Why couldn’t Theory ride with us?”
Saint opens the passenger door for me to enter, but I root to the spot on the sidewalk with my chin in the air.
“Suit yourself.” He slams it shut and rounds the hood.
“Look at you…back to your old dickish self, getting into your old dickish Range Rover .”
“It’s the newest P400, Jimi. And you forgot to mention custom Lavell . ”
As if I’m supposed to know what that means.
He jumps inside the SUV, closing the door as I follow behind with a growl.
“You were mean to her,” I say as Saint adjusts his rearview mirror.
“I don’t discriminate.”
Knowing my efforts will be useless, I move on to true pressing matters. “So…what did your dad say last night?”
He veers onto the street. “Got involved with the wrong people.”
“Wow. Super informative.”
“Just some bullshit with his job, Hendrix. Let it go.”
Twisting in my seat to face him, I take a few moments to appreciate how hot Saint looks leaning back with one hand gripping the steering wheel.
His knuckles flex around it, eyes focused on the road even though I know he’s itching to check me out too.
“I’m not letting shit go. We agreed you would tell me.”
Somewhere between round seven or eight.
“Fine. He helped bad guys track down badder guys and pissed off the baddest guys. Totally anticlimactic and part of the job, it’ll blow over in no time.”
My eyes bore into the side of his head, searching for any version of the truth he may be hiding.
“Who are these bad guys?”
“He said I was better off not knowing.”
“And you didn’t push to find out?”
Saint slams on the brakes, making me jolt forward and nearly hit the dashboard.
“The fuck? You trying to kill me?”
He juts his chin forward. “Red light.”
I reach for my seat belt, something I should’ve done the second I got into a madman’s vehicle, and secure it around me.
“What about Carlo? With the Salvinis?”
“Coincidence.”
“Are you lying to me?”
Because I’m close to calling bullshit.
But then I remember the lack of evidence from Archer’s research, along with mine on Google.
So…
“Would I tell you if I was?”
“Saint…” I rumble his name, trying to hide any relief from the news.
“Yes, Jimi?”
“Spill.”
He rolls his eyes, then adjusts himself in the seat. “My father hired him to protect you. Probably ran in the same circles as the Italians I saw him with.”
“Quite the change of attitude from two nights ago when you insisted I should be afraid.”
“And I stand by what I said. It’s why you’re staying with me in my dorm room.”
“So all of this trouble has nothing to do with me?”
The light turns green, but instead of driving, Saint reaches over to grip my jaw. “You’re royalty now, Hendrix. Trouble will always have something to do with you.”