She licked her porn star lips. “What’s your name?” she repeated as though I hadn’t heard her the first time. She obviously wasn’t used to men ignoring her.
My pieces of toast dropped onto the bottom tray of the toaster oven. I grabbed them, muttering, “Dante,” as I moved over to the scrambled eggs.
She followed me. “Mmm, I love that name,” she purred. “It’ll sound so good when I shout it out while you fuck me.”
I ignored her, instead scooping a load of scrambled eggs on top of my toast.
“Cat got your tongue?” she asked.
“What you said doesn’t warrant a reply, Linda,” I answered, moving onto the fried tomatoes.
She continued to shadow me, not getting the giant hint to fuck off. “My name’s not Linda, it’s Candace, but you can call me Candy.”
With the fried tomatoes now on my plate, I went for the mushrooms.
“What are you in for?” she asked.
I scooped up a spoonful of mushrooms. “You make it sound like I’m in prison.”
“We can leave whenever we want, so not a prison.”
“I can’t,” I said, bacon next on my list.
“Why? What did you do?”
“Too many chicks while under the influence of whatever I could get my hands on, booze preferably.”
She laughed. “I was hoping you were a sex addict.”
My eyes snapped to hers. “Why, cos I look like a ho?”
Her perfectly plucked eyebrows shot up. “No, but it looks like I hit on a nerve. Are you one?”
“No!”
I snatched up a fork and knife and headed for a table, stiffening as she sat down next to me. “Can’t I eat in peace?”
“Not with the way you look, and why are you so angry? I’m just being friendly.”
I scooped a forkful of egg and stuffed it into my mouth, before I replied with something nasty. Usually I was fine with chicks hitting on me, the attention rolling off my back like water off a duck, but I was dying for booze, not unwanted attention.
She smiled. “You don’t look like a ho; you look like someone a ho would pay for. You’re one gorgeous man. My guess is women throw themselves at you and you can’t help but dip your,” she wet her lips, “wick in.”
I swallowed down the egg and sneered at her. “So, are you one of those hoes who’d pay for me?”
She snorted out a laugh. “You’re a rude one, aren’t you?” Her eyes went to the Māori tattoo around my left eye. “Are you in a gang?”
“Not anymore,” I muttered. There hadn’t been much incentive to hang out at the Skins’ headquarters after my best mate and half the gang had been hauled off to prison, their chop shop landing them behind bars.
“How’d you get out?” she asked.
“I stopped goin’ to the club.”
Her eyebrows shot up again. “They let you leave without a fight?”
“They’re not the type of gang to force people to stay. We can come and go as we please.”
“Sounds like a gang I’d like, unlike my last one. They were really controlling, even killed one member when he tried to leave. The only reason I got out was because another club destroyed them. Have you heard of the Devil’s Crew?”
A sneer instantly pulled at my lips, making her jerk her head back.
“Guess that’s a resounding yes,” she said.
“You got that fuckin’ right,” I growled, pointing my fork at her. “They murdered my best mate’s dad, so don’t you ever say their fuckin’ name around me again.”
“Guess that clears up what gang you were in. The Skins.”
I dropped my fork and pulled up the sleeve of my shirt, the name SKINS weaved into the colourful tattoos covering my arm. “You got that right as well.” I let go of my sleeve and pushed to my feet, wanting some black coffee to wash down the eggs.
Candy got up and followed me.
Having had enough, I turned to her, now understanding why my older brother got pissed off when birds followed him around. “I ain’t interested in fucking you. I’m here to get clean, not to hook up.”
She stepped closer, a smile playing on those porn star lips of hers. “You sure about that?” she said, placing a hand on my chest.
I went to push her hand off, stopping as a flash of pink caught my eye. I looked over at the door, seeing Mrs. Hatton... No, her name was Miss Hughes, my old English teacher now divorced. Well, she wasn’t exactly old. Even though she had to be in her early thirties, most of the time she looked closer to my age—twenty-four. Her funky pink hair and tight li’l bod gave her a youthful appearance, along with her smooth, pale complexion.
Her eyes moved to my chest, alerting me to the fact that Candy’s hand was still on it. I quickly stepped back, feeling like I’d done something wrong, though fuck knows why. Maybe it was the teacher thing, the bird having the disapproving look down pat. But I was an adult now, not fourteen... No, I’d been fifteen when we’d had the affair. It had happened in 2002, the year I’d been in a bad car accident. The crash had put me in a coma for months, as well as stealing a chunk of my memory, which was why I couldn’t remember jack shit about her. Instead, my best mate had filled me in on what went down. Jasper had said that the affair with Miss Hughes had been short and sweet, ending when she’d moved to Australia.
I continued to stare at her, something at the back of my mind telling me that it was more than what Jasper had told me. Regardless, Miss Hughes turned and walked out of the dining room, leaving me feeling empty and confused, something about her putting me on edge.
A hand clasped onto my chin, Candy pulling my face around.
I jerked free from her grip. “Keep your hands to yourself!”
She let out a little laugh of disbelief as though I couldn’t possibly be turning her down. I knew her type, had fucked enough gorgeous chicks to get sick of their entitled behaviour. I wasn’t here for her or anyone else’s entertainment. I was here for me and my family.
I turned to leave. She started following me. I turned back and breathed on her face. “Sniff it in, love, cos you ain’t gonna get my mouth on your cunt. Ever.” I flicked my tongue out. “I fuck who I want and you’re not it.”
Her face dropped, shock, then anger quickly replacing it. She went to open her mouth, but I was already walking away, my mind on my old teacher, not some skank who couldn’t take no for an answer. I wanted to reassure Miss Hughes I wasn’t going to cause any issues with her job, because that had to be what was making her antsy around me. I was obviously a skeleton in her closet that she was desperate to keep hidden from her employer. Though, she had nothing to worry about from me. I would never dob her in, and it wasn’t as if I could remember what had happened anyway.
I exited the dining hall and took a sharp left, aiming for the reception area, hoping she had gone that way. A blond man in his mid to late twenties shot around the corner, banging into me, knocking me back a step. The folders he’d been holding fell to the floor. He dropped to his knees to pick them up, along with the papers that had gotten free.
I squatted down to help him, handing over what I had. “You all right, mate?” I asked, the guy visibly shaken.
“No,” he replied, then he was up and gone, whatever had upset him clearly having nothing to do with me. Shrugging it off, I continued down the corridor, still intent on finding Miss Hughes.
4
Clara
I flopped down onto the staffroom couch, really wishing I’d stayed home, Simon’s reaction to my awkward hello making me feel even worse. Yes, I knew it would be awkward seeing him after our breakup, but that didn’t make it any easier, especially since we worked together. But I had no choice but to end things between us, the feelings I still harboured for Dante impossible to get past.
Even though Dante clearly didn’t harbour any feelings for me.
The way he was interacting with Candace pretty much told me I was nothing to him, not even a memory. And why should I be? I was just a story someone had told hi
m, a second-hand tale passed on by word of mouth. He had no clue we’d loved each other or that I’d gone to jail for our relationship.
And he wouldn’t.
I would make damn sure he didn’t find out about it—or anything else that could hurt him.
Someone entered the room, drawing my attention to the doorway. I froze at who it was.
Dante.
He leaned against the doorway and smiled at me, lifting his chin in a friendly hello. He was dressed in ripped jeans and a black Avenged Sevenfold shirt, the tattoos on his muscular arms as colourful as his personality.
“Kia ora,” he said, saying hello in Maori, although he didn’t look Polynesian, even with the tribal tattoo around his left eye. Instead, his olive-skin and wavy black hair made him look Italian or Brazilian, which was what I’d thought when I’d first met him nine years ago. But I knew he wasn’t. He’d inherited his looks from his Croatian mother, the picture he’d shown me of her uncannily similar, only their eyes different. Hers had been hazel, while his were dark brown, which he’d inherited from his father, who was a mix of Maori and Romanian.
I knew so much about him, yet he knew nothing about me.
When I didn’t reply to his hello, too stunned to respond with a simple hi back, he indicated with a thumb over his shoulder. “There wuz nuthin’ goin’ on between me and that chick, I have no interest in her,” he said, his pronunciation of was as I’d remembered it, his Maori accent strong. “She wuz hitting on me, nuthin’ more.”
“This is the staffroom,” I muttered, not following his line of conversation. “You’re not allowed in here.”
A lazy smile pulled at his lips, so sensual it made me want to kiss them. “Is that so?” he said, looking as though he was accepting a challenge.
“Yes, so please leave,” I replied, hoping I didn’t appear flustered. Because I definitely felt it, the man able to unravel me with just one look.
He crossed his arms over his chest, emphasizing his tattooed arms. He’d had no tattoos when we’d been together, his skin a blank canvas. Whereas now, both of his arms were covered with a mix of scary and beautiful images, all skilfully rendered. But it was the tribal tattoo around his left eye that captured my attention the most, the dark green, almost black moko making him look positively magnetic. And I wanted to give into the pull so badly. To wrap my arms around the only man I’d ever truly loved and lose myself in him.
He broke my train of thought. “What if I don’t wanna leave?” he asked, seemingly enjoying our little to-and-fro.
I exhaled, remembering this. Remembering how he used to love challenging me. “Come on, Dante, please just do as you’re told.”
He cocked an eyebrow. “I’m not good at doin’ what I’m told, that’s why I’m in rehab, while you, Clara,” he said, emphasizing my name, “can’t talk to me like I’m a child.” He pushed away from the door and sauntered towards me, reminding me of how rock stars walked, that self-assured cocky swagger promising wild nights of sex. It made me want to run, but I remained on the couch, willing myself to keep it together.
He came to a stop in front of me, making me feel tiny in comparison. He’d grown a few inches since I’d last seen him, Dante now over six-foot. He was also more muscular. Not only were his biceps bigger, but his shoulders were much wider and his legs... I could imagine him easily crushing my small frame between those powerful thighs.
“You’re not my teacher anymore,” he said, “though I wouldn’t mind continuing with whatever we had.” His dark eyes wandered down my body, the slow perusal heating more than just my cheeks.
I clenched my hands, again willing myself to stay calm. “I don’t want any trouble with you, so please leave,” I pushed out. “I like my job. I’m not going to lose it because of you.”
His gaze flicked back up to my face. “Who said you would?”
“My boss if he caught me fraternising with a patient, so again please leave.”
“Have it your way.”
To my surprise, he turned and walked away without a fight. I watched him disappear through the doorway. A sudden, almost crippling feeling of loss hit me. I slumped further into the couch and put my head in my hands, wishing this wasn’t happening again. Because it felt like a repeat, just this time Dante was an adult. But it didn’t matter whether he was that fifteen-year-old boy I’d fallen in love with or the twenty-four-year-old man that had left me a quivering mess ... nothing had truly changed. I was still in a position of authority. I still couldn’t have a relationship with him. And even if I waited until he was discharged, there were a multitude of other obstacles, like his father and the man’s partner, not to mention—
“CC.”
I looked up, seeing Georgie rush through the doorway. “I saw Dante Rata leave the room. What was he doing in here? Are you all right?” Looking concerned, she sat down next to me and took hold of my hands. “Did he do anything to you?”
I pulled my hands free. “No.”
“You sure?”
I nodded, although it was a lie. He may not have touched me, but his presence had left me deeply shaken.
“Then why was he in here? You could get into serious trouble if someone thinks you’re associating with him inappropriately.”
“He turned up uninvited, so I told him to leave.”
“Why was he here in the first place?”
“To tell me there wasn’t anything happening between him and Candace, though God knows why he had the need to track me down to tell me that. It’s not as though I have a say in what he does.”
She frowned. “That’s strange.”
I nodded, thinking so too.
“Did he say anything else?”
“He flirted, even mentioned that he wouldn’t mind continuing with what we had when he was younger.”
Her immaculate eyebrows shot up. “He remembers?”
I shook my head, wishing he did. “No, his friend told him about us.”
“What did you say in response?”
“Told him to leave.”
“Wow, you’re one strong woman to turn down that man.”
I didn’t reply, knowing I wasn’t strong at all.
I was scared.
5
Dante
I walked into the meeting room, the group chat already having started without me. All the other addicts turned their heads to look at me as I headed for the only empty chair. I ignored them and sat down, noticing the annoyed look Clara was giving me. I gave her a smile in return, not needing to explain myself. I was paying for the rehab service... Well, my manager was. Either way, she was still employed by me, which meant she had to answer to me, not the other way around.
Her frown grew. “You’re ten minutes late, Dante.”
I combed my fingers through my wet hair. “I had a shower after my workout. It took a bit longer than anticipated.” I gave her a cheeky smile, the woman definitely wank worthy.
She sat up straighter, looking both flustered and annoyed. “Regardless, you’re required to be here on time.”
“Chill, not like you lot are goin’ anywhere.” I glanced around the circle of addicts, Candy one of them. She was glaring at me as though my presence offended her. I rolled my eyes at the bitch, receiving a sneer in return, which meant jack shit, because the nympho would drop to her knees and suck me off in a second if I offered up my schlong.
I blew her a kiss to piss her off further, realising my mistake a second later as Clara snapped out my name. I looked back at my ex teacher, her face turning as pink as her hair, the wavy locks reminding me of candy floss. I wondered whether it smelt sweet too, though her expression was anything but.
“Jesus, it wuz just a joke,” I said, the chicks in the room wound up tighter than a straight guy about to be reamed.
“What we’re doing here isn’t a joke!” Clara snapped, the woman looking like she was about to jump onto her high horse and ride all over me, yelling, ‘Giddy-up, motherfucker!’ Well, maybe not the motherfucker part, because
she was way too prim-and-proper to swear.
“I know,” I said, wondering why she was overreacting.
“Then please respect everyone in this group by being on time and not causing trouble.”
“I’m not causing trouble.”
“Throwing kisses at fellow patients—”
I cut her off, “I’m not a patient, I’m a client, and right now I’m losing my patience with you. My manager is paying your boss a shitload of money, so I don’t appreciate being spoken down to. Treat me with respect and I’ll return it...” I sneered at her. “If I feel like it.” My eyes went to Candy. “And tell your other clients to keep their hands to themselves or the next time I’ll be laying a sexual harassment complaint.”
Candy’s eyes went wide. “You can’t do that; I didn’t do anything wrong!”
“Talkin’ ’bout wanting to fuck me, touching me without permission, following me around when I told’ja to leave me alone... That’s sexual harassment, so stay clear of me, cos I ain’t fuckin’ putting up with it.” I returned my attention to Clara. “And you. Are ya gonna treat me like a client or...” I paused for effect, “a fifteen-year-old kid ... sumpthin’ I definitely ain’t.”
She visibly paled. “A client, and I’m sorry for what Candace did—”
Candy cut her off. “He’s exaggerating.”
Love Drunk (Broken Lives Book 4) Page 2
