I press my other hand against my heart. "I am not drunk enough to answer that question yet. And when did you turn into a philosopher?"
"We kindergarten teachers have to have many talents," Elle grins.
My phone beeps. It's Gray, though he's entered his name simply as "G" on my phone. Where are you? The text reads. It takes me a second to figure out how to use the touch-screen; it's so different than my former, ancient phone.
Bar in Financial District, I type.
Name? Gray's message appears immediately.
…Kat? I text.
Name of BAR
"How poetic. Remind me not to sext with this guy." I show Elle the texts.
She grins. "He's checking up on you. Give him a break. He is, after all, a newlywed."
I roll my eyes and check the menu before typing. Maiden Lane Bar.
Working late. Have Dacko walk you home.
Elle scoots her chair over and watches the messages.
No need, I type. Your apartment is like 20 minutes away.
The cursor blinks for a moment, and Elle explains it means he's typing.
Finally another sentence: You will not walk by yourself at night.
Pretty sure you're not my Dad, I type. You can't tell me what to do.
I throw the phone in my purse, but see a new text light up the screen. I can't help myself. I look at the new message:
I'm not your fucking father, but if you walk home alone and I will spank you.
"Holy shit," Elle breathes. "That is—"
I gasp. "Messed up!"
"Hot," she says.
Another message dings.
And you'll like it.
I throw the phone in my purse like it's on fire.
"What are you doing?" Elle says.
"Ignoring him. I already told him he can't boss me around, even if he bosses everyone else in the world around." I finish my drink, glance back at Dacko, and lower my voice. "Elle, I think I need a favor."
Elle downs the last of her margarita. "I'll do anything for you, girl. Especially if you buy me another drink."
"Get me a passport application."
Elle spits out the last sip of her drink. "What! What are you—where are you—Kat, what the hell?"
"I'm not saying I'm going anywhere. Yet. But I think I should be able to get out of town, or out of the country, at a moment's notice. Don't you? I mean, Gray says he sent my Dad to someplace safe in Florida. But who knows where he is."
"Where would you go?" Elle says. "I mean, why don't you just come and live with me, if you want to get away from it all?"
I grab her hand and squeeze.
"I love you and thank you so much for offering, but if I'm honestly in danger like Gray says, I would never want to place you in danger. Plus, I'm pretty sure Gray would find out your address and hunt us both down."
Elle giggles. "Think he'd spank us, like he promised?"
I flash back to his text: and you'll like it.
"He's hot, Elle. But this is serious. I can't let myself get distracted by his huge arms and his thighs like tree trunks and his—"
"Really big gun? Gimme details, girl. How big is it? Are talking revolver? Pistol? Shotgun?"
I giggle. I must be more drunk than I realize. "I guess closer to shotgun."
"Call me crazy, but maybe the safest place for you is with the six-four mobster who's got a hard-on for protecting you? And, a plain ol' hard-on for you." Elle throws her head back and laughs.
"I'm glad you're cracking yourself up."
Elle straightens up, but she's still giggling and hiccupping. She whips out her phone and messes with it for a couple minutes. "You can't apply online, but you can download and print out the forms. The one thing you'll need is your I.D. and your birth certificate. Oh, and photos!"
I groan. "How the heck am I going to ditch my bodyguard and then stand in line at a post office to get my photo taken?"
"Sweetheart, you have a smartphone now. You can do anything. Say cheese!" Elle directs me to stare straight at her phone, and she clicks a few shots. Then she has me look to the left, and takes some profile angles.
"Easy. I'll Photoshop out the background, and I can print out your photos and forms all at once. Now all you need is your birth certificate!"
I cover my face with my hands. "Great. It's in the files in my dad's office at O'Malley's. The one place in the world Gray definitely doesn't want me to be."
After three more bars and two more drinks, I'm buzzed. I'm happy. I've decided that anything is possible! I'll bust into O'Malley's tomorrow—or whenever I know Gray won't be there—and find my birth certificate.
But for now—I'll dance on a table. I scoot a chair over to one of the tables and gingerly climb up. Whoa. I'm a lightweight since I don't normally drink; I know in an hour I'll be totally sober. But for now, my head is spinning and I'm going to enjoy the temporary, alcohol-infused ride.
Elle's already on the table next to me. In fact, there are an awful lot of women, and a few guys, on the bar and tables. There's crazy-loud pop music playing, and the bartenders don't bat an eye as drunk customers clamber up to join the waitresses who are shaking their asses.
"God, the tips must be amazing here," I shout up at Elle. "Where are we again?"
My best friend is in her element: she's drunk, she's dancing, and she's forgotten all the woes of a public school teacher. Elle flips her hair to the left and the right, shaking her ass—and then she almost falls off the table.
Dacko pushes her back up and I realize he looks terrified.
"She's fine!" I shout down at him.
"I'm not worried about her," Dacko yells up at me. "Please, Mrs. Petrokov, please answer your phone."
It takes me a minute to realize: I'm Mrs. Petrokov. Well, not technically. It's not like I've changed my name or anything.
"Still just Ms. O'Malley, Dacko." I shake my hips and hair in time to the music. This whipping-your-hair thing is fun. Then I realize, I don't even know where my phone is. Or my purse. Or what time it is.
"Wait, why do I need to answer my phone?" I lean down to ask Dacko, who's clearly sweating.
And then I see why.
Gray is pushing his way through the crowd. He's a head taller than everyone, wearing all black, his tattoos snaking up toward his…absolutely enraged face.
"What the ever-living fuck?" I think.
Oh wait. Oops. I say it out loud.
"Sir, I'm sorry. I tried to get them to leave an hour ago," Dacko begins babbling. Gray completely ignores him. He looks up at Elle, who's watching him with awestruck eyes.
"Is this your Gray?" Elle whispers. Or, she intends to whisper, because she leans toward my table and puts her hands around her mouth like she's telling me a secret.
But she shouts it loud enough that even the bartenders can hear her.
Gray walks up to my table and holds up his hand like an English lord helping a lady from a carriage. He obviously expects me to get down, go home, and basically follow after him like a puppy.
His gesture is so sweet I almost take his hand, then I remember I won't tolerate him bossing me around.
"I got it," I say, trying to step around him. "And I didn't answer my phone because I can do what I want—"
Gray sighs, then literally runs right into me. He walks up to the edge of the table. My knees touch his chest and he tilts me over his shoulder—which, given my current inebriated state—is an easier task than it should have been. Then I'm hanging, upside down and over his shoulder.
Staring at his infuriatingly perfect ass.
"Gray! Put me down!" I pound on his butt with my fists. Jesus, it doesn't give at all. Forget about quarters; you could bounce a cantaloupe off this thing.
"I'll put you down when you stop acting like a child," Gray says. Then he proceeds to ignore me and direct Dacko on what to do with Elle. "Take her home. I'll text you her address."
I stop hitting him for a second. "How do you know where Elle lives?"
"
I make it a priority to know everything about my wife's friends. To keep her safe."
I slap his ass in anger.
And then he moves his hand in a large, slow circle—before he raises it, and slaps my ass!
Hard.
I gasp. And freeze.
"Be a good girl," Gray says, "And I'll wait until we're home to finish spanking you."
19
Gray
I've cooled off by the time I finally get her back—safe and sound and mostly sober—to my apartment.
But Kat's temper has gone through the fucking roof.
I would have carried her the entire way home; her plump pear of an ass right next to me, wriggling under my hand, had gotten me hard within an instant.
But then she probably would have literally stabbed me.
"I can't believe you would humiliate me like that!" Kat says for the eight-hundredth time, dropping her new purse on the floor, tossing her jacket on the bar, and kicking her shoes off against the hallway wall.
Jesus, in a few weeks our place will look like her old place: a disaster.
But as long as she's here, I could give a fuck.
She tried to hail two taxis on the way home, presumably so she could slam the door in my face and go someplace I couldn't find her. As if that could happen. She kicked me once in the shin. She talked non-stop until she decided to give me the cold shoulder.
I wish any of this made me hate her. Hell, made me dislike her, even a little bit. But I'd just grown harder, happier, and more determined: this little spitfire suited me. And I suited her. She just was too damn stubborn to admit it.
She's still talking as she gives me the finger and disappears into the guest room. That riles me, but if she needs her space, she can fucking have her space. I set the alarm system and grab a glass of water, heading to my bedroom and a long, miserable, cold shower.
Just as I pass the guest bedroom door, she whips it open and we're face-to-face. Her hair is wild, her eye makeup slightly running, her lips pale and parted. She looks gorgeous, even when messy. She looks like she's just been fucked all night in bed. I want her to look like this, minus the scowl.
But I want it to be because I made her come a hundred times. Not because she got drunk in a bar.
I can tell she's still livid, because she starts yelling at me immediately—and, I think she's forgotten that she took off her jeans. She's just wearing the same, old white t-shirt she'd had on for two days. I glance down at her curvy legs and thick, beautiful thighs. This is not helping my apparently eternal hard-on situation.
"And another thing—" Kat yells.
"Do you drink a lot?"
"What?" Kat pauses, then frowns as she looks at me. Really looks at me. I probably look like hell. I haven't really slept much in the last twenty-four hours.
"Do you drink a lot. Like your old man?"
Kat blinks. "No. I normally don't drink at all."
I nod, putting my arms on the doorway frame. I lean into Kat, and she sways toward me for a moment, then backs up a step.
"Good."
"Good?" She arches her brow. "I don't need you judging me. Or praising me."
"Jesus, Kat! Give me a fucking break," I say it slow, low. I watch her pinks slowly color, though whether it's because she wants me like I want her, or if she's embarrassed, I can't tell. "I know you're pissed. At your Dad, at me, at the entire Solonik family, life, because the sky's fucking blue. Whatever. I'm just saying—I don't drink. Never. Because you and I both know what a fucking monster my dad turned into when he drank."
She nods. "I didn’t know, Gray. I thought—you have a full bar in the living room—I didn't know it was such an issue for you."
"The bar's for my friends, if they come over."
Kat smirks. "What do you guys do? Polish your guns?"
I grin. "That. Or more likely, watch a playoff game."
I'm glad we're not at each other's throats, for the moment. "You didn't answer my calls. You ignored my texts."
Kat opens her mouth to retort, but I hold up my hand. "No, hear me out. I'm not a fucking teenage girl. I don't need to chat or get a series of fuckin' emojis from you every five minutes. But when I ask if you're safe, and when you'll be home, I do it so I don't drive myself fucking insane worrying about you."
Kat's mouth opens, then snaps shut. Finally she says, "Gray, I just don't like having a handler. If you wanted to know where I was, you could obviously have asked Dacko. I'm pretty sure you did, since he was freaking out and begging me to call you—" She cuts herself off and slaps her hand over her mouth.
"Oh really?" I step closer, into the room. "And why didn't you call then?" I take another step closer. Another. We're right next to each other now. If she takes one big breath, her luscious tits will brush up against me.
"Gray, I'm sorry. I was pissed. I was tired. I hate having a bodyguard. You need to trust me!"
"Trust you!" It comes out louder and angrier than I intended, and she flinches. "You just said you ignored me on purpose, just to piss me off. Not to mention the hitting, slapping, and trying to run off God knows where for the last thirty minutes. Why the hell should I trust you, Kat? Maybe I should just tie you up here for the next year, because you sure as hell aren't helping me keep you safe!"
Kat's face is a vivid rose, her fists balled, and her chest heaving. I move in one inch, so she pressed up against me. She surprises me; instead of moving away, she leans in, up on her tiptoes, practically nose-to-nose.
"You need to fucking trust me. Let me live my life! Let me have my freedom! I'll trust you when you return the favor!"
I step back suddenly. I don't say this often, but she deserves it: "You're right."
"I'm right?" Kat blinks. "You're actually…agreeing with me?"
I cross my arms and stare down at my wild Irish rose. "I am. I was so focused on protecting you, I forgot that you've protected yourself for twenty-four years."
"You remember how old I am?"
Jesus, this girl. "Of course, babes. July second's coming up. What do you want for your birthday?"
Tears fill her eyes. "You remember my birthday?"
"You're killing me, Kat. Jesus, stop crying." I take the edge of my t-shirt and wipe underneath her eyes, those jade beauties shining up at me.
"So, truce?" she says, her voice full of hope.
Hope, what a funny thing. I hadn't had hope, hadn't even believed in it as a concept, in so many years. And now here I am…hoping. For us to get along. For us to make it. For so many wonderful things to be in our future.
For me to get her in my fucking bed.
"Truce," I say, leaning forward to kiss her forehead. "I'll trust you. But you've got to listen to me, Kat. When I tell you something is dangerous, or that you should stay home, or keep in contact with me—you've got to do that, da?"
Kat mimics my deep voice. "Da. Si. Got it."
I laugh. "You've got a real shit Russian accent."
Kat laughs, out loud, throwing her head back. My heart sings at the sight of it.
Other body parts are also demanding attention.
"Now, are you all sobered up?"
"Yeah," Kat smiles and shrugs. "Seriously, Gray, I don't drink often. Being a bartender for years definitely taught me that the answer to all of life's problems is definitely not found at the bottom of a bottle. I get tipsy quickly, but then I sober up quickly, too."
I study her face for a moment.
"What!" Kat blushes as I watch her. "I'm totally sober. I trust you. We're all good."
"Good," I say nodding. "You're sober and you trust me. Now you're ready for your punishment."
20
Kat
"My punishment?"
Gray smiles and sidles up to me, his body heat practically burning me. I have the feeling I'm being stalked, and I'm not sure whether to run or let myself get caught.
From the look in his heated, silver eyes—getting caught might feel really good.
Gray walks in a tight circle around
me, and I hold still as he studies me. It feels strange and primal. He's in control and I should hate it.
I don't move. Every nerve in my body is alive. I hold my breath. I listen to his slow, steady footsteps.
"You had me so fucking pissed, all I could think about was grabbing you." He's on my right, and trails a finger lightly across my shoulder. I jerk, and when he moves on behind me, I can still feel his touch, like a ghostly tattoo on my skin.
"Kissing you." He runs a hand across my back, along my shoulder blades.
"Spanking that curvy little ass."
I scoff. The tension in the air feels so palpable that I could reach out, grab it, wrap it around me like a blanket. I say something to lighten the mood. "My ass isn't little."
He freezes behind me, and I feel him rub up on me, his body like a wall of heat. He cups my ass with his hands, easily encompassing me with his palms.
"It looks fucking perfect to me." He leans in, and I find myself leaning back against him. "You gotta remember I'm six-four, babes. You're half my size, and you're also curvy as fuck, which is exactly how I like you." He reaches his hands around my waist, then slides them down onto my hips. "I can grab on to these." He slides them up, and cups my breasts through my thin t-shirt. "Or these."
He nuzzles into my neck. "You're so fucking gorgeous, so smart, so spirited, so funny. You almost made me forget what a beautiful, royal pain in the ass you were tonight."
I freeze, coming out of the haze he'd seduced me into.
"What?"
"You heard me," Gray whispers, the scruff on the sides of his cheek leaving a delicious burn as he rubs on me.
Then he suddenly grabs my waist, lifts me up like I weigh nothing at all, turns and tosses me onto the bed!
I land on all fours. I'm so shocked I can't even speak. Then I realize I'd been getting undressed for bed; My t-shirt is hanging off of me, and from the cool air I can tell the only thing between my behind and Gray's hand are my threadbare panties.
Shotgun Wedding: A Bad Boy Mafia Romance Page 11
