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33
Santino
This is the end of the line for me. It was on the tip of my tongue to come clean with Gina earlier, but I’ll be ready tomorrow.
I’m in red velvet overalls and a Santa hat. With toned muscles warmed up for the night, I prepare for a bash in Jersey. The host, Cora, said the gathering was ‘just because.’ So every lady I step to will feel extra special tonight. Especially since Cora asked for four of The Pipeline’s finest, and her extravagant house is just big enough for us to fulfill.
Before I’m set to go out, I send Gina a quick text, as she was vague about when she’d leave the office this evening. Though I’ll be done in an hour, Carlos is here, and he suggests we all go for drinks afterward. For now, I’m noncommittal because fuck a drink. After this, I will need Gina—badly.
Half an hour later, Carlos, two other strippers, and I have a vibe across the expansive room. I’m straddling one rich girl whose diamond earrings twinkle like a chandelier. Her warm breath is heated against my slick chest. Her eyes glitter with the desire for me to fulfill her every fantasy. She lets her tongue dip out of her mouth, appearing ready to lick any part of my body within her reach.
“Tsk, tsk, baby girl.” I may not have had too many morals in the past, but they all revolved around fattening my pockets. I’ve kept it professional my entire career as an erotic dancer. A little, rich girl won’t be my downfall. Besides, I already have a rich,grown woman.
In a second, I have the woman’s jean-clad crotch against my mouth. With an ecstatic look on her face, she raises her hands into the air. Softly toned legs that have nothing on my Gina straddle my shoulders. She’s arching her back, pushing more of herself into my face.
I come down to the ground, bringing her with me. I leave her breathless body there and start for my next, sex-crazed victim. I create a furious tempo with my sheath-covered cock, and her ass. The hour passes by, every woman in the room is left satisfied.
Cora offers me a drink at her full bar when I thank her and decline. On occasion, I’ll take a bottle of beer. Not tonight. I head into the guest room.
Carlos is near the balcony cooling off with a bottle of water. He rummages through the cooler that Felicia packed for us. He pitches a water bottle in my direction. “You know, this bitch is Queen of Jersey.”
“I don’t give a fuck if she’s the queen of the cosmos.” I open it. The water cools my internal temperature as I drink it all down. Those are the last words I remember saying tonight—
34
Gina
At four o’clock in the morning, there’s frost on the ground with the likelihood of snow. I’m seated in the backseat of an Uber Lux near the tarmac that needs de-icing. While waiting for clearance, Thomas’s apologetic eyes peer at me through the rearview window. Nikki had scheduled the Uber Lux along with the flight last minute. I’d canceled with him. He seems to understand that Ihad a manwhen he transported Mrs. Morelli and Antonia on Thanksgiving night. Thomas and I hadn’t seen each other in a while, not until I requested him around two am this morning.
I glance down at my cell phone. All my calls to Santino have gone unanswered.
C’mon, Gina. You trust him more than anyone you’ve ever met.
“What if he’s hurt?” I bring my bottom lip through my teeth, biting down hard.
“What’s that, Ms. Galloway?”
“Nothing,” I mutter, sliding the cell phone into a compartment of my leather satchel. Santino’s a big boy—a very huge, huge man. There’s no way he got hurt at his friend’s house. Carlos would call me and say he slipped and fell from a ladder or something? Maybe he laid down and fell asleep.
Now Thomas glimpses at me through the rearview as I snort.
I’m saved from further discomfiture when someone knocks at the window. I press a button, and it zips down.
“Ms. Galloway, the runway is de-iced, the inspection has been completed. You ready?”
“Yes,” I reply with a docile smile. Might as well turn my cell phone off before it’s required of me.
* * *
By eight am,I’ve traveled past snowy trees as dominating as skyscrapers and breathtaking landscapes. The B&B that Mr. Turner owns is a couple of miles away from Lake Erie. A driver opens the backdoor of a continental. Dad’ll complain how I spent unnecessary company funds on a personal driver. One, I can drive. . .kind of. Two, I jot down the name of any overnight accommodations that I pass by. This is to have a well-rounded conversation with Mr. Turner about his competition. Three, I was born into a petty family, with high expectations, so no driving.
“Ohhhh,” I groan, not acclimated to the soft breeze. I tremble in my peacoat. Just as I’m gripping the handle of the rollaway that always accompanies me, I hear a voice. A voice I’ve known my entire life. A particularlyjudgey, annoying voice.
My older sister Gabriella saunters over in a Mulberry tweed suit. She’s holding baby R. Kel—ur, my nephew, as if the two perfect legs clinging to her hips are inoperable. Kissing his cold, red nose, she hands Little Stevie to Steven.
“Where’s the baby?” That’s probably not the most appropriate question under the circumstances. But my mom’s only claim to pettiness is how Gabby has everyone on rotation for diaper duty.
Gabriella replies, “With the nanny.”
