Chapter 16
16
F uck me, but I could’ve stayed in that shower a lot longer. When Marisol slid down my wet body and sucked me deep, swear to fuck, my eyes crossed. Sure, I’d had plenty of blow jobs. The first at twelve from a hooker I convinced I was sixteen. Being tall had its advantages, but that was just the first of many, yet . . . corny as it sounded, Marisol’s trusting, almost naive ways amped me up way more.
I had no fuckin’ clue where this was going or even if it would go past today, but I didn’t care. Thankfully, Blood took off for the day, so he wasn’t around giving me the fisheye. Plus, I didn’t feel like listening to him tell me this was a bad idea. Cause I already knew it.
After we toweled off, I tried to coax Marisol into my bed, but she insisted we eat. I was pretty hungry, but I would’ve easily put food on hold if it meant sinking into her sweet body.
Although when she began cooking again the tantalizing aroma had my greedy stomach growling. In no time, she had the sauce done, pasta cooked and plated. I nabbed a bottle of wine from behind the bar and we ate at one of the raised tables in the VIP area .
I poured the wine and she held up her glass. “Here’s to . . .”
“Good food.” I finished the toast cause I was kinda afraid of what she might say and I sure couldn’t give the toast floating around in my brain. “Here’s to getting down and dirty with the one woman I have no business being with.”
“Is it any good?” I asked after she took a sip.
She nodded to my glass. “Taste it, see what you think.”
“I’m a shot and beer guy.” I shrugged. “I don’t know shit about wine.”
“It’s very good. Perfect for what we’re eating. Good body, juicy finish.”
Again, I kept my filthy mouth shut.
“Strange being here all by ourselves.” She motioned around the empty room.
“Like our own private space.” My stomach growled again and she laughed.
“Eat.” She motioned to the food. “Before your stomach goes crazy.”
I didn’t waste any time forking the pasta drenched in sauce into my mouth. “Fuckin’ delicious, babe,” I said around another mouthful. “What kinda sauce is this again?”
“Pesto sauce. It’s very simple. You just chop the nuts, basil, and parmesan cheese with some olive oil and voila.”
“After eating takeout and the bar food we serve here every night, this is amazing.”
W hen Smoke mentioned the wine I almost slipped reciting how Chianti is made only in a specific part of Tuscany in the mountain-air-cooled hills between Siena and Florence. Knowledge learned thanks to a level one sommelier course I took last summer .
I forced myself to concentrate on the food and not watch this force of a man across from me. Leading Smoke on and even having sex with him was the plan, but I hadn’t anticipated having sex multiple times in one day or multiple orgasms. I’d convinced myself I could stay detached although the multiple orgasms were weakening me.
Treating him like the enemy and not being tempted proved harder than I imagined, because I hadn’t figured in his rough charm and overall sexiness. There would be no future with this man beyond the facade I was selling, and I certainly should’ve kept my feelings at bay, but I didn’t and now . . .
“Who taught you to cook like this, your mother?”
The mention of my mother snapped me back, like a hard slap in the face. Every part of me tightened. My heart raced, my stomach churned and for a terrifying moment the urge to vomit washed over me. I blinked a few times to keep the tears at bay, and focused on the man who certainly knew the demons who took my mother from me.
A dizzying vortex surrounded me as I pushed away from the table physically sick and mentally anguished. Putting on a show and staying in character was one thing, but genuinely enjoying his company—Cooking for him, laughing with him?
How could I forget so easily that the man who sat across from me based his whole life on the outlaws who robbed me of the sweetest woman ever put on this earth.
“I have to go.” The tightness in my throat made it hard to rasp out the words.
“What’s the matter?”
“Nothing. I just . . .” I swiped at my phone. “I should’ve been home hours ago . . . I need to leave.”
“You don’t look too good.” Smoke stood and reached out to me. “Are you sure you’re all right?”
I reared away from him as if he were a rattlesnake about to strike. “I’m fine.” I gathered up my bag and clutched it in front of me.
“Let me to give you a ride home.”
“No,” I practically shouted, then regrouped. “I’m good.”
I quickly turned and in ten large steps I was across the club, out the door and onto the sidewalk. I gulped in a few choppy breaths then took off down the street. My feet carried me in record time to Rita’s house and I was relieved to see a light on in her kitchen. The older woman would soothe my nerves, but I feared nothing would ease the guilt festering inside my gut. I’d let myself fall for the very man I wanted to take down.
I was literally sleeping with the enemy. And worse—I enjoyed it.
H oly fuck, what the hell was that? Marisol ran out of here like the place was on fire. She seemed more rattled than when those guys held her at gunpoint.
Everything was going good, I complimented her on her food and then bam, she freaked the fuck out and I had no idea why.
I looked down at my plate and suddenly I had no appetite. I pushed it to the side, dug my hand into my jeans and pulled out my smokes. I lit up, dragged deep, and blew the smoke toward the ceiling.
“Hey.” Blood’s voice jarred me when he entered the club a few minutes later. “What’s up?”
“Nothing. I was just . . .”
“What the fuck are you doin’?” Blood stopped at the side of the table.
“The fuck does it look like—I’m eating.”
Blood eyed Marisol’s half eaten dinner.
“With who? ”
“Nobody.” I spread my arms wide. “You see somebody else here?” I challenged.
“What I see is another place setting and a half empty wine glass for what looks like a romantic dinner.”
“What are you a fuckin’ detective, now?” Sarcasm dripped off my every word.
“Unless you and Ricky are getting it on, I suspect this setup is for a certain bartender with a cute, tight little ass.”
“And what if it was?” I narrowed my eyes daring him to take this further.
“Ahhhh, fuck. I knew it was just a matter of time before you stuck your dick in her.”
“Watch your fuckin’ mouth,” I warned.
“Why should I? You never learn. You’re gonna end up going down the same road that brought us here in the first place.”
My first reaction was to jump out of my chair and drive my fist into Blood’s smug mouth, but instead I glared at my VP.
Tense silence surrounded us. Two pissed off alphas with a decision to make.
“I screwed up in San Diego, I get it, but I’m still your prez and you better not fuckin’ forget it.”
“Right, and I’m your VP. I’m the one who’s supposed to call you out when I see shit goin’ bad. Maybe if I had done that back in San Diego we wouldn’t be in this shithole, but I didn’t and that’s on me.” Blood leaned his palms on the table. “But I’m doin’ it now, cause I don’t wanna see you make the same mistake on my watch again.”
Blood was serious cause he rarely pulled rank or said that many sentences in a row.
“You got nothing to worry about.”
Blood waved his hand over the table. “Kinda looks like I do.”
I stabbed my cig out in my half-eaten food, refilled my wine glass and took a healthy swig. It actually wasn’t half bad and maybe it would ease the edginess jumping through me.
Blood took Marisol’s chair then looked around the room. “Where is she?”
“No fuckin’ clue.” I nudged another cig out of the pack and lit up. “We were sitting here eating and all of a sudden she jumps up and says she’s gotta leave.”
“What did you do to her?”
“Nothing.” I rolled my eyes. “Why do you just assume it was something I did?”
Blood shot me the side-eye. “Cause she obviously ran off and that’s the usual with you. You say something or do something. You got a million ways to piss off these chicks.”
“Very fuckin’ funny, but you’re dead wrong. The only thing I did was compliment her cooking. I always thought that was a good thing.”
Blood cocked his head. “Right, and did you do all this complimenting before or after you fucked her?”
“What do you think?” I wasn’t gonna let Blood get one inch on me. If he wanted info then damn it he was gonna work for it.
“I think you fucked her a few times, she decided to play house by cooking for you and then you dropped the ‘I don’t do commitment’ bomb. You made her feel like a cheap piece of ass. She got pissed and stormed out.” Blood rubbed at his stubbled jaw. “I guess you should be glad she didn’t throw her pasta at you.” He ended his sentence with annoying laughter.
“Nothing you just said is even remotely true.”
“So, you didn’t fuck her?”
“Well, yeah.”
“More than once?”
“Yeah, but she was totally into it, and it was her idea to cook for me.”
“Of course it was. That’s your problem you don’t see the warning signs. You turn on the charm and make them believe you’re a good guy, then they ultimately see your true colors.” Blood grabbed a clean glass and filled it with wine. “If it was me I would’ve said straight up. ‘Babe, I love fuckin’ you but I ain’t doin’ any long-term shit.’”
“Explains a lot. Like why you gotta pay to get your dick wet.”
“Fuck you. I ain’t never had to pay for pussy and you know it.”
“Whatever.”
Better she left anyway, cause I was thinking shit I never thought about with a woman and as Blood pointed out I was in no position to get balls deep in any woman, no less one who could easily rip my heart out.
“I guess the big question is do I have to hire another bartender?”
“Hard to say. I know she needs the work, but swear to fuck something was off with her before.”
“I guess we’ll find out tomorrow night.” Blood pointed to the plates. “Looks pretty good. Anymore left?”
I huffed out a laugh. “Probably.”
Blood pushed away from the table and headed for the kitchen. That was the thing that made me and Blood work. Neither one of us took any bullshit from the other. We could call each other out, but in the end he was the only one I wanted covering my back.