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Did she beg you to screw her?
I stand and say, “Hey man, I’ve got to get back to work. I have one more house to do, and my supervisor gets pissy if I bring the van back late.”
Marco doesn’t seem perturbed at all by my sudden desire to leave. “Sure bro, no worries. Gotta keep the man happy. Hey, you still have the same number?”
“Yeah. Same number.”
He nods. “I’ll hit you up. Good to see you, bro.”
“Yeah. You do that.”
It takes every ounce of my strength to appear nonchalant as I walk back to my van. I can feel Marco’s eyes boring into my back. When I reach the van, I turn around and my blood freezes. He smiles and waves at me, then gets off the tailgate and into the driver’s seat.
In the half-second before that smile, I see a hard look on his face, harder than any I’ve ever seen him wear. It reminds me more of Arturo, the guy we used to boost cars for. Arturo was a genuinely hard man. He had five teardrop tattoos, and from what I’ve heard—and what I absolutely believe—he earned every one of them.
The cops don’t ask me about him. I wouldn’t tell if they had. I’d rather do ten years in prison than be the guy who ratted on Arturo.
Marco never struck me as hard the same way Arturo was, but then again, I haven’t seen Marco in three years. For all the shit I’ve had to deal with, I’ve tried to go a different way. I don’t think Marco has.
I put the van in gear and drive to my last appointment for the day. I can still feel Marco’s hard gaze boring into my back.
CHAPTER NINE
I tell myself over and over that this is a bad idea. I decide over and over to just turn around and head home. I can text Vivian an apology and say that I’ll make it up to her another night. Then I can just arrange to always be busy until she gets the hint and stops pursuing me.
But all that waits for me at home is a drunk mother, a slate of fresh nightmares and the temptation of a chemical escape from those nightmares. So when I finish work, I drive straight to Vivian’s house.
I’ll have to go home eventually. Despite my melodrama earlier, Mom isn’t so far gone that she won’t notice if I don’t come home tonight.
But maybe I can return home with a better comfort than the needle.
I knock on the door and try to think about what to say. For some reason, I feel like I should have some sort of greeting prepared, some sort of witty banter that will impress Vivian.
I’m not usually nervous around girls. Marco’s teasing earlier about me looking like Thor and girls lining up to get with me, but it’s true that I’ve never had trouble with them.
The thing is, Vivian isn’t a girl. She’s a woman. She’s been with men. What can I possibly—
She opens the door and that thought—and all others—vanish.
She wears a shimmering black evening gown with a deep V-neck and a slit on the left side that goes all the way up to her hip. She wears it above black heels and below a generous amount of red lipstick that somehow manages to make her look ten years younger without taking anything away from the bearing and poise of an experienced older woman. Strictly speaking, she’s covering more of her body than she does yesterday in her swimsuit, but the way she wears it makes it look even sexier than the two-piece.
I am keenly aware of the fact that I’m in a sweat-stained work uniform and that I’ve been working in the hot sun all day. I wonder if she really meant for me not to worry about changing or if I should have at least rinsed off and put on clean clothes before coming here.
She smiles at me, and I instantly want her. Hell, I instantly need her. Maybe when I’ve lived a little more life, I’ll understand what it is about a woman’s smile that makes a man so immediately desperate for her. Right now, all I know is that I can’t wait to get through dinner, a shower, whatever I need to do to get to the part of the evening where I can take this dress off of her.
“Nate. I’m so glad you’re here. Would you like to come inside?”
She shifts her hips slightly as she says this, revealing nearly all of her long, perfectly toned left leg. I swallow and say, a little hoarsely, “I would love to.”
Her smile widens, and she steps aside, gesturing for me to pass. When I do, I catch a whiff of rose and lavender, and my knees grow weak.
She closes the door behind us and walks past me, affording me a perfect view of the most perfect rear end I’ve ever seen. “I made lobster. I hope you’re not allergic to shellfish. I forgot to ask.”
“No, uh… no, not allergic.”
“Wonderful. I have a delicious Chardonnay I’ve paired with it. I have no idea if Chardonnay is supposed to go with lobster, but I like it, so that’s what we’re drinking.”
“Oh, um…” I feel a flush climb my cheeks again.
