Corrupt Me

by Jillian Quinn

  She raised her arm, launched her coffee cup at the passenger door, and held up both of her middle fingers. Silvia did the same, her black hair fanning around her face. Coffee splattered across the door and the windshield. The truck made a left turn while the boys screamed obscenities at them.

  I had never met a girl like Izzie, not even the typical bossy South Philly girl. She was on a playing field of her own, and I’d be lucky if she let me suit up.

  “I don’t know if I should be turned on or horrified,” Mark said, shaking his head at the girls.

  “Turned on. Definitely turned on.” I watched the gentle shake of Izzie’s ass until she disappeared. Everything she did would leave me in awe. “There’s no way I’m letting that one go.”

  “Not if I get her first.” Mark moved his hand back and forth in front of him, pretending to slap her ass. “No calling dibs this time.”

  Why was Mark doing this when he knew how long I had waited for another shot with Izzie?

  I snickered, now turning down Greek Row to head back to our fraternity house. “I don’t need to call dibs. She’ll be begging for it, trust me.”

  “Nah, man.” Hunter’s gaze shifted across the street to the Zetas standing in front of their house. A cute blonde waved, and Hunter nodded his head before turning back toward me. “The girls on the street talk, and I heard some shit from Whitney.”

  Over the years, I had seen Izzie with the tiny bottle-blonde from Zeta even though Izzie wasn’t the sorority type. “And?” I said, waiting for him to continue. “Get on with it.”

  “Izzie told her that you’re just some rich asshole with a mouth as big as your dick and that you don’t know what to do with either of them.”

  A roar of laughter floated through the air, pissing me off even further.

  Hunter made a choking sound. “Then, she mentioned something about someone named Preston, but I had no fucking clue what she was talking about. She kinda rambles when she talks. It’s like listening to one of those yappy dogs.”

  I shrugged it off because I couldn’t let them see how much her words affected me. Not only did she avoid me at all costs, but she also trashed me to other girls.

  She had a pair of brass balls on her. Despite her trust-fund country-club upbringing as a Rinaldi, she acted like she’d never been to a charm school a day in her life. Surely, someone that wealthy would have attended the finest schools—or at least learned some manners. But I loved how rude she was and the fact that she never apologized. She didn’t give two shits about anyone’s opinion.

  That quality alone made her more desirable. I had to have her, no matter what I needed to do to impress her.

  “Step up your game,” she’d whispered in my ear.

  Once we reached our fraternity house, I walked up the stairs and sank back into a wooden chair on the porch.

  I propped my foot up on the table separating us, looking at Hunter and Mark as they settled in their chairs. “You guys wanna go to Mickey’s tonight?”

  Mark bent over, grabbed three cans of beer from a cooler, and tossed one to each of us, keeping one for himself. He cracked open the top, took a sip, and let out an exaggerated long burp. “I’m down. But she’s fair game. Care to make a wager?”

  He knew I couldn’t resist the chance to make a quick buck. All of us loved card games and easy money, which none of us would turn down. But why was he after Izzie? I knew Izzie was off limits because of my father’s business affiliation with her family, but that didn’t mean I had to stay away, and I sure as hell wasn’t about to turn down an easy bet from Mark.

  Of course, I nodded in agreement.

  “If I win…” Mark trailed off as he leaned his head to the side, admiring the chicks sunbathing on the lawn down the street. “I get your cut of the take from the next poker night.”

  I peeled the tab off the can and flicked it at his head. “Done. And, if I win—which we all know I will—I get your cut.”

  “Mark, your cut is over ten Gs,” Hunter said. “What makes you think she’d even be into you? She called you Luca’s bodyguard.”

  Mark shook his head and pounded the rest of his beer. “She said the same thing about you, bro.”

  “Yeah, but I’m not trying to hook up with her. You take that bet, you’re a moron.”

  I tapped Mark on the knee. “You should save your money for a bet you can actually win. I’d say your chances of winning are a thousand to one. And you know I never lose.”

  Mark shrugged and reached for another beer. “May the best man win.”

  I knew by the look in his eye that he was doing this to teach me a lesson. But the bet only made me want to pursue Izzie even more. He also knew that if Izzie and I had sex that I’d lose interest, like I normally do, and that I’d move on and forget we ever met. Mark was looking out for me, aware that my father would never approve of a relationship with Isabella Rinaldi, granddaughter of his closest friend and the ticket to legitimizing his illegal businesses.

  Chapter Six

  LUCA

  Around eleven o’clock, I walked into Mickey’s with Hunter and Mark to a raging crowd of locals and cheering coeds. The bar was a hole in the wall that only college students and alcoholics could appreciate. Irish posters and green signs illuminated the unfinished brick walls.

  Mickey McNally, a friend of my father’s, had owned the bar for over twenty years. And his father had owned it before him. Growing up in the hospitality industry, my family knew all the local business owners.

  We sifted through the throng to get a better view of the commotion along the back wall. A few girls recognized us and pulled on our shirts to dance with them. I shook them off, not surprised to see what had garnered a mosh pit of guys.

  On top of the bar, Izzie, Silvia, and Whitney from Zeta were dancing to “Pour Some Sugar on Me” by Def Leppard. Izzie had on an emerald tank top, exposing black bra straps. Her shirt read, Kiss Me. I’m Pretending to Be Irish, with a shamrock in the middle that said, Mickey’s.

  Mickey would give the tops out to college kids to promote the bar on event nights. Izzie had rolled the shirt up and tied it behind her back, so her flat stomach and narrow hips were the first things I noticed. She knew how to move her body, too. I bet she was a fucking animal in bed. My eyes traveled to her bare legs that were long and toned, like a soccer player.

  Silvia, of course, gyrated next to her. They didn’t seem to leave their dorm room without each other.

  Every guy in the bar grunted and cheered, throwing money at their feet. The Drop It Like It’s Hot dance contest had brought a lot of people into the bar. But the way Izzie danced, you would’ve thought we were in a strip club on Delaware Avenue.

  The girls seemed to have a routine going. Each took her turn in shaking her ass as she dropped to the bar like a stripper from the pole. Izzie looked down for a split second, her curls brushing against her face, and smiled. At first, I thought she intended it for those worshipping her like a goddess. But then she locked eyes with me, singling me out. My heart raced when she pulled down her bottom lip with her index finger.

  Just like that, our moment passed, and she turned to face Silvia, who also wore the same tee and jean shorts. She made her way to the end of the bar, moving empty glasses with her heel. Whitney from Zeta slipped her hands through her own blonde hair and ground against Izzie, their bodies meshing together in a tangle of limbs. For girls who wanted to win a dance contest, they had the wrong idea.

  Once the song changed to upbeat Celtic punk music, all three girls hooked their arms together, creating a line down the bar. They kicked their legs out in a methodical fashion, like cheerleaders following a routine. Izzie glanced down at me and winked as her legs dangled in front of me. I gripped the edge of the mahogany counter, unable to take my eyes off her. When the song ended, she grabbed a handful of money from the bar.

  “You came. Points for persistence.” She laughed, the pile of bills smashed between her fingers. Then, she held them out in front of her with the strang
est look on her face.

  “What are you doing?” I yelled over the pounding of the bass.

  Izzie threw the bills over my head and chuckled. “I’m making it rain!”

  I knew she would be the death of me, but I still reached for her, wrapping my arms around her middle. She landed on her feet and used my shoulder to stabilize herself. I swiped a curl from her eyes, and she tilted her head to the side. Was that a signal? I didn’t want to misinterpret her giving me permission to kiss her neck because, for all I knew, she’d slap the grin off my face.

  Her lips puckered, and she winked before slinking through the crowd.

  Fuck me.

  Mark noticed her rejection and followed behind her. Asshole.

  I made myself a spot between some occupied stools.

  “Hey, Luca.” Lila, the thirty-something bartender I’d hooked up with last year, waved and leaned over the counter. Her tits mashed together in her dark blue halter top as strands of tawny hair fell down her shoulders.

  For an older chick, she was hot, but she was a little too kinky for my taste.

  “It’s been a while. You still drinking Captain and Coke?”

  I shook my head. “No, Jack, straight up. Make that a double shot.” I turned around to get Hunter’s attention.

  Hunter was busy with Silvia. They were an odd pairing, but he seemed to be into her. Mark wasn’t getting shit since he’d gone after Izzie.

  “And two Miller Lites.” I dropped a hundred dollar bill into her hand.

  “Sure thing, sugar.” Lila poured me a shot, uncapped the beers, and set them in front of me with a smile.

  “Thanks. The three girls who were up here, dancing”—I pointed, and she nodded in acknowledgment—“whatever they order, it’s on me.”

  “How about that?” Lila smirked, clearly intrigued. She knew the player-asshole version of me, not the whipped moron chasing around a girl who hated him. “I never thought I’d see the day. Which one are you trying to hook up with? Knowing you, probably all of them.” She chuckled, covering her mouth with her hand.

  “The one with the curly blonde hair,” I pointed at Izzie. “She keeps blowing me off.”

  “The Kate Upton look-alike. She’s hot.”

  I nodded, and she clicked a few buttons on the register.

  “I didn’t think anyone could resist the Marchese charm.”

  “She told me to step up my game.” All day, I couldn’t stop repeating her words in my head, still unable to extract them from my brain. People said talking to bartenders was therapeutic. I could see the appeal as I filled Lila in on my Izzie drama.

  What the hell was I doing though? Mark had run off after her, and I was spilling my guts, like a fucking girl.

  “I don’t think your game is the problem. It’s your approach,” she said. “If she thinks you’re a rich asshole, then you need to show her the real you. Your family wasn’t always rich. She’s probably had a bunch of rich pricks trying to stick their dicks in her for years, so you can’t use money to impress her.”

  I slammed the shot glass back and chased it with a swig of beer. “What does that even mean? I need to be drunk before you start spouting off psychoanalytical bullshit.”

  “Show her around the city. She’s just waiting for you to stop acting like every guy she’s ever known.”

  I fisted the beers in my hands and nodded. “Thanks, Lila. As always, you’re a lifesaver.”

  By the time I found Izzie, Mark had her cornered by the restrooms. Her mouth was twisted into an angry scowl. Next to her, Silvia and Hunter were making out. He hadn’t wasted any time in hooking up with Izzie’s friend.

  I leaned my back against the wall next to Izzie, pressing the bottom of my shoe to the brick. She looked relieved without an ounce of the irritation I had seen a second before. She took the beer from my hand and tilted the bottle to her lips. A smile crept across her face as she handed it back. Mark cocked an eyebrow at me, but I ignored him. He was the dick for pursuing her to begin with, not me.

  “Now, you can tell everyone that our lips touched,” she said, laughing. She’d had too much to drink. That much was obvious from her slurred words.

  She looked so fucking pretty with her soft curls framing her face. Once again, she had no makeup on, just that pink gloss that made me think dirty thoughts.

  “How about you give me a real kiss instead?” I said. It’d sounded so much better in my head. I stepped closer, moving between her and Mark. I pressed my palm on the wall behind her and leaned in until our lips were almost touching.

  She didn’t move her head, and I didn’t want to blow my chance. We stood there, breathing against each other’s lips, not moving. Sometimes, the anticipation of a kiss was better than the actual kiss.

  I thought of our first kiss, all those years ago in the wine cellar—the scent of strawberry Chapstick still on her lips, the look in her eyes when I placed my hand on the small of her back. I had not forgotten those memories. I wondered if she remembered, but I wasn’t sure I wanted her to. Back then, I had been in the process of losing my baby fat, as Ma had called it, and my voice had sounded like a strangled chipmunk in its pubescent state.

  “I’m starving,” she muttered as she patted her bare stomach. “Is anything still open?”

  “Yeah”—I took her hand, and she let me—“I know a place.”

  “Of course you do,” she deadpanned, rolling her eyes. “You’re Luca fucking Marchese.”

  IZZIE

  When I tried to stand on my own, I had wobbly sea legs. By the time we left Mickey’s, Luca was tired of my attempts to be independent. With our fingers interlocked and my head on his chest, I took in his scent. I wanted to fight him, call it a night, and eat something at home, but I liked being around him.

  City blocks seemed to go on for miles, and after we rounded a corner and walked to the end of the next street, he opened the door to a restaurant.

  In red and green lettering, a sign read, Francesca’s Brick Oven Pizza. Fluorescent bulbs blinded me as we stepped into the quaint pizzeria. The delightful scent of a wood-burning fire and pepperoni wafted through the air. It reminded me of home and the pairing of garlic and herbs my childhood nanny, Domenica, used in her cuisine.

  I followed Luca and collapsed across from him in an oversize booth next to the kitchen.

  An older woman with dark brown hair stepped through double doors, her eyes wide with surprise. She leaned down, cupped Luca’s cheeks in her hands, and kissed him on his left and then right cheek. “You should have called first. I was just about to close the kitchen.”

  Luca kissed her in the same fashion and apologized. “Sorry, Aunt Concetta, but Bella needed to eat.”

  She turned her head toward me, noticing me for the first time. Concetta flashed a sincere smile and kissed me as well, which seemed strange since we didn’t know each other. My family reserved such greetings for people we knew, not Luca’s though.

  “Nice to meet you, Bella.”

  “It’s Izzie,” I blurted out. Then, I realized how rude I’d sounded and corrected myself, “I mean, my name is Izzie, but Luca insists on calling me Bella.”

  Concetta glanced at Luca for a few seconds with an odd expression on her face that I could not interpret. “I’ll prepare the usual,” she said. Then, she disappeared through double doors that swung long after she had left.

  I propped my elbows on the table to support my head. My skull felt as though someone were drilling into it with a power tool. I had surpassed the four-beer limit I normally set for myself within the first hour of hanging out with Silvia. And she’d somehow talked me into dancing on top of a bar. Even I hadn’t known I had it in me.

  He looked at me with his piercing blue eyes and those long dark lashes that women would kill for. Despite my drunken state, he still had an alarming effect on me. Crimson started creeping up the back of my neck and down my arms. I needed to distract myself and change the topic in my head.

  “Is this your aunt’s restaurant?”
That seemed innocent enough.

  “No, Francesca is my mom. My dad bought this place for her after they got married. She’s here in the daytime, but for the most part, my cousin Sal, works the late shift. Concetta fills in whenever he needs a night off.”

  I stared at the murals decorating the walls—villas built into a hillside overlooking a giant body of crystal-blue water. “Cool artwork.”

  “It’s Palermo,” he said with pride. “That’s where my family is from.”

  “My grandmother’s family is Sicilian. The Rinaldis were from Florence originally before they moved to Calabria.”

  Our eyes met for a second, melting away my anger—until I remembered how awful he was.

  “So, is this where you take all your conquests?”

  His laughter filled the quiet air. Even though he should have been pissed, he seemed entertained by my attitude. “My God, Bella, I swear…” he said in a playful tone. “Dio mio, woman. What am I gonna do with you?”

  I slammed my fist on the table to get a reaction out of him, except he didn’t flinch like I had hoped. “Answer the question. And stop calling me Bella.”

  Luca called me Bella when we were kids and hearing him say that name only reminded me of all the times I spent staring out the window at Rinaldi Manor, broken hearted. I knew it wasn’t his fault that our families severed ties, but that didn’t make it any easier to allow him back into my life because we both knew that this could never work between us.

  “No.” He shook his head. “You’re the first girl I’ve ever brought here. I mean, obviously, girls come in here since it’s down the street from school, but I haven’t taken any here myself.”

  My eyes narrowed, focusing on the sign glowing in the window. I ignored him as he watched me. “Why me? This place too nice for one of your skanks?”

  He reached out to touch my forearm, and for some reason, I let him. “Like I’d bring them here. I work in the kitchen here every day after school, and I don’t shit where I eat.”