Chapter 20 #3
He looks up with a shy smile that does further damage to my guardrails. “I like you, too. And I want to be your boyfriend for real. Maybe we can tell Blue next week? Together? And let the rest of them find out whenever they put two and two together?”
I cup his perfect face. “Yeah. That sounds good. I’m not nervous about telling Blue, though. He just wants me to be happy. If I tell him I am, then he’ll be happy for us. Easy-peasy.”
“I hope so,” Dean says, a hint of uncertainty in his tone. “Eleven years is a meaningful age gap.”
I nod seriously as I accept the panties he presses into my hand. “Yeah, you’re super old. It would be gross if your cock wasn’t so rock fucking solid. But it is, so…”
He laughs, his eyes glittering. “All the time, woman. You keep me up so often, I’m starting to worry about my brain. I’m not sure it’s getting enough blood flow these days.”
“Who needs blood flow to the brain when there are orgasms?” I step into my panties, shimmying them up before shimmying my dress down.
“Hot and smart as hell,” he says, taking my hand. “Let’s get out of here. I need to feed you crepes at Sylvester’s. Then I need to take you home. To bed.”
“Yes, sir,” I say, giving him a teasing salute as we head for the door.
We hold hands until the very last second before parting ways, agreeing to take separate routes back through the party to the elevators.
I breeze past the shrimp without feeling tempted—orgasms trump shellfish every time—say goodbye to Makena and a few other people on my way out, and am on my way to the elevator when I spot a familiar bald head by the poker tables in the corner.
I pause, stomach flipping as I do a double take, realizing I don’t like this guy for some reason, before I remember how I know him.
Maybe Dean’s right. Maybe I’m not getting enough blood flow to my brain, either, because it takes a solid thirty seconds to connect that bald head and bulldog features to the pictures Plato showed me yesterday during our meeting with his dad.
It’s Gio Hamper, Dex’s partner at the fight club, and a former UFC superstar. He’s known for being ruthless in a fight and even more ruthless in real life. Rumor has it his last girlfriend called the cops on him after he put her in the hospital, but assault charges were never filed.
Seems he might have a “get out of trouble with the NOPD Scot-Free” card, too.
Just like Dex.
My pulse picks up as I scan the crowd again, wondering if the man who wrecked my car and my life is here, too. I don’t see him, but the damage is already done.
I was right.
Dean’s world does overlap with Dex’s, at least a little.
It’s going to make moving forward trickier, and it’s already tricky enough. Plato and his father are still sorting out how deep the corruption goes. They aren’t sure how high up the ranks we’ll have to appeal to have a shot at seeing justice served, and that’s more than discouraging.
It’s scary.
What if all the cops are in on it?
What if I make an entire police force of new enemies when I come forward? What if I do more than put Dean in an awkward social position? What if I put him and the girls in actual danger?
I shiver and hurry to the elevator bank, suddenly colder than I felt out on the roof. I’m still shaking when I get to the lobby, but thankfully, Dean must have been waylaid somewhere, saying his goodbyes. It takes him another ten minutes to join me, and by then, I’ve pushed the fear and worry away.
I’m not going to let the looming specter of Dex ruin this amazing night. I’m going to keep having the best Mardi Gras ever with my new boyfriend and leave this trouble for another day.
It’s kept this long.
It can wait a little longer.
I’ll find the right time to tell Dean.
Maybe even tomorrow morning, before we head over to pick up the girls from Maybelline’s.
But in the morning, Dean wakes me with his mouth on the back of my neck and his hand squeezing my hip under the sheet.
I roll toward him, covering his nose and mouth with my hand as I whisper, “Hold that thought. Going to go brush my teeth.”
“Me too, meet you back here in five,” he says, voice muffled by my fingers.
We tumble out of opposite sides of the bed, grinning as we dash into his en suite bath to grab our toothbrushes from beside “our” sinks.
There are two sinks in here. “Mine” is the one on the right. Dean had it waiting for me last night, freshly cleaned and accompanied by violet hand soap, washcloths, a tube of face wash, a fresh toothbrush and toothpaste, and a few other random toiletries he thought I might need.
It was the most romantic thing a man has ever done for me.
Even more romantic than letting me live in his studio apartment for free until I decide if I want to move out.
Any rich guy can let a girl hole up in his extra real estate; it’s a special rich guy who thinks ahead, plans ahead, and provides for your toiletry needs.
Dean’s the best, and we’re having such a perfect first morning alone together that I can’t bring myself to mention my investigation with Plato. Or the fact that the business partner of the man who nearly killed me and Beatrice was at Capo’s party last night.
It can wait. We have time.
That’s what I tell myself, anyway.
We have time.
And we do, just maybe not as much as I think…