by Gabi Moore
Table of Contents
Chapter One - Leo
Chapter Two – Sophia
Chapter Three – Leo
Chapter Four – Sophia
Chapter Five – Leo
Chapter Six – Sophia
Chapter Seven – Leo
Chapter Eight – Sophia
Chapter Nine – Leo
Chapter Ten – Sophia
Chapter Eleven – Leo
Chapter Twelve – Sophia
Chapter Thirteen – Leo
Chapter Fourteen – Sophia
Chapter Fifteen – Leo
Chapter Sixteen – Sophia
Chapter Seventeen – Leo
Chapter Eighteen – Sophia
Chapter Nineteen – Leo
© Copyright 2016 by Gabi Moore - All rights reserved.
In no way is it legal to reproduce, duplicate, or transmit any part of this document in either electronic means or in printed format. Recording of this publication is strictly prohibited and any storage of this document is not allowed unless with written permission from the publisher. All rights reserved.
Respective authors own all copyrights not held by the publisher.
NEVER LOOK BACK
By: Gabi Moore
Table of Contents
Chapter 1 – Leo
Chapter 2 – Sophia
Chapter 3 – Leo
Chapter 4 – Sophia
Chapter 5 – Leo
Chapter 6 – Sophia
Chapter 7 – Leo
Chapter 8 – Sophia
Chapter 9 – Leo
Chapter 10 – Sophia
Chapter 11 – Leo
Chapter 12 – Sophia
Chapter 13 – Leo
Chapter 14 – Sophia
Chapter 15 – Leo
Chapter 16 – Sophia
Chapter 17 – Leo
Chapter 18 – Sophia
Chapter 19 – Leo
FANTASY/SCI-FI:
Manipulator Of Elements – A Young Adult Urban Fantasy
Wicked Legacy – An Urban Fantasy
Chosen – A Sci-Fi
STEAMY CONTEMPORARY ROMANCE:
HEART OF DARKNESS
COME UNDONE
RESISTING THE BAD BOY
MANHANDLED
BARE HANDS
ABSOLUTION
BREAK
BLOOD AND GUTS
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Chapter One - Leo
It was the kind of diner that morphed into a sleazy bar the longer it stayed open. The kind where, somehow, as 7pm rolls by, the waffles and burgers give way to beers and shots, the lights dim and some kids start playing around with the old juke box that has a handwritten “NO BRIAN ADAMS” sign taped to it.
In the past, places like this had always felt like home to me. But these days, I just felt like an expat returning from a long trip away and realizing that I no longer understood the local customs as well as I thought I did.
I took a sip of my beer and tried hard not to pay any mind to the pair of girls in the corner, who’d been trying to catch my eye for the last twenty minutes. They were hot, in a kind of non-threatening way. Couldn’t have been older than twenty-two or twenty-three. In the past, I would have noticed the coy giggles, the cheap Girl’s Night Out heels and tight dresses, and I would have thanked my stars and bounced over there in a heartbeat, ready with more drinks and all my best bullshit anecdotes lined up for the evening.
But now, looking at them, I just felt …tired. Besides, now there was Sophia. Sweet, kind, sane Sophia.
I checked my watch.
Flicking my eyes to the door and scanning the street outside through the windows, I wondered whether this was some elaborate joke. Did I really live in a lame action movie where the hero gets a mysterious message, summoning him to his local greasy spoon for a shady business proposal?
I took another sip.
Not likely.
I checked my watch again, downed the last foamy mouthful of beer and stood up to leave. The girls pricked their ears. I made eye contact with the prettier one, and she froze and held my gaze across the room as I fished out some cash and slammed it on the counter.
Look, I’m not vain. I don’t give a shit, actually. But I do know how to play the field.
I know that girls will talk for eons about how they want a guy who’s kind, and treats them right, and is emotionally available and loves children and all that other crap. But take it from a traditionally hot guy out in the real world: what they really want is a rock-hard chest. A square jaw. A guy who looks at them in a way that makes them feel that sex is just an inevitability. A guy who doesn’t ask. Just claims.
For old time’s sake, I toyed with the idea of traipsing over there and seeing how long it would take for them to both be begging hard for it, to be competing with each other to out-slut one another.
I thought about it, but as a conventionally hot guy who knows exactly how to play the field …let’s just say that I’ve realized that it’s not a game I want to play anymore. I gave them a flirty smile – call it charity – and turned on my heel to leave.
“Leo Bianchi?”
I spun to see a man holding out his hand to me. I looked him up and down. A greasy, balding guy in a baggy suit with a watch that clattered on his hairy wrist and a shirt that looked like it was meant to be whiter.
“You’re late,” I said, and shook his hand.
When he laughed, he threw back his head, then he slapped me hard on the shoulder.
“Yeah, kid, he said you’d be plucky!” The man eased the bulk of his middle-aged form onto one of the bar stools. “Come on, sit down. Bianchi? My mother knew some Bianchis. You know Maria and Ed? Down in Boston?”
I could hear the girls behind me pick up their conversation again. I shook my head and gingerly took a seat beside him.
“No? Pity,” he said with a kind of fatherly disappointment, then ordered a beer and took a good few minutes to adjust his gut, smooth down his slacks and pass his dark eyes over me a few times.
“You look tense, kid. Relax,” he chuckled.
“What’s this about?”
He took a long sip of his beer, sucked his top lip and then frowned at me. “So, you starting up a nice little business for yourself, huh? Imports?”
My face prickled. The longer I stared at his greasy, rubbery face the more certain I was that either he had made some terrible mistake in asking me out here. Or worse, that he hadn’t.
“Yeah, so?” I said.
I had finally generated enough momentum to launch an import operation, bringing in Fairtrade coffee beans and other produce from Costa Rica for boutique coffee merchants all along the west coast. Funny thing, though, the company had only been officially registered for a few weeks, and basically nobody knew about it yet. Except Sophia, maybe.
“Well, we’re always looking for uh, you know, enterprising personalities…” he said, staring straight ahead.
“We?”
“Let’s call it a business offer. We get a brand spanking new channel to push our product, you get to offset those nasty import duties…”
I leaned back in my seat.
“You got the wrong guy,” I said, plainly.
He frowned at me again.
“Oh you’re the right guy, buddy. Littl
e Leo? Came up with Lucille and her kids back in Bay Ridge?”
I broke out into a cold sweat.
“Who are you? How do you know me?”
“I don’t know you pal, but Uncle Vito does, and he told me you’d be interested.”
My heart nearly stopped.
“Haven’t heard that name in a long time,” I said quietly. “Thanks, but no thanks,” I managed to say, and got up to leave. The fat man extended a hand and pulled me back down with surprising strength.
“What? You’re leaving? I haven’t even finished my beer. No manners, I swear,” he grumbled under his breath. “And you haven’t even heard Vito’s offer yet.” He took another long swig, irritatingly confident that he had caught my attention.
Vito Roselli was an evil man.
A notorious man.
I had seen his hard, scarred face in grainy photos in the papers. On the news. Vito was the guy that everyone knew was crooked, but could do nothing about. He was the big bad wolf in a fairytale I wished didn’t exist; a world I was no longer a part of. For Vito, there was no right and wrong. No good and evil. There was only power. Those who had it, those who didn’t. End of story. And just hearing his name had my hackles up and my fists clenched.
“I’m not interested in any ‘offer’, sorry. I barely knew the guy, and that was a long, long time ago. I’ve moved on now. Things are looking good for me…”
“Aw, isn’t that nice?” he laughed.
I glared at him.
“And how did you get to where you are now, anyway, huh?” he asked, gesturing to me with his beer glass.
“I worked hard, I busted my—”
“Uncle Vito helped you,” he said, cutting me off.
“Bullshit.”
“You took his help quickly enough once before, that’s what he says anyway.”
“That’s ridiculous, I was a kid…”
“You were eleven. Sounds old enough to me.”
I stood up, face hot.
“I had no choice. I had to do what I could to survive.” I wanted to hit him. I hadn’t hit a man in more than a decade, but I could sure make an exception for this asshole. He was chuckling now under his breath, shaking his head.
“And what about all those little girls, huh? What about their survival? They were just kids too, you know,” he said mysteriously, and stared blankly ahead of him again.
I felt dizzy. I sat down again.
The diner around me had emptied out. I felt like the blood in my veins had turned thin and was emptying out, too. I suddenly felt unsure of my ability to stand upright.
“Those …those are not just rumors?” I stuttered. Once I had spoken I realized how badly I didn’t really want him to answer. Again, he threw back his head and broke out into mocking laughter that made his immense gut wobble.
“Hey, pal, don’t give me that look. I’m not saying anything. I’m just saying, you’re being stupid if you think you’re innocent somehow. You know what my grandma always says? She says to be human is to be guilty. Smart woman. We all got blood on our hands, pal. Every one of us. Including you.”
“What are you getting at?”
His beer glass was drained, and he watched with boredom as the wet foam slid back down the empty sides again.
“I’m not getting at anything buddy. I’m just saying don’t play like you’re some good little citizen now or something.” He stood up, threw some coins onto the counter, burped quietly, then cast a weary gaze back out onto the street. “Uncle Vito will be in touch. My advice? Don’t be such a rude fucker when you talk to him.”
“I’m not talking to anyone,” I said.
He gave me a joking salute and smiled wryly at me.
“Oh, and by the way, happy birthday,” he said, and turned to leave.
“How do you… ?”
But he was already halfway out the exit. The bell on the door tinkled as it swung open and shut, and in an instant I was alone in the diner. I checked my watch. It had taken me more than two decades to run away from my past. And now, in the course of five minutes, it had all caught up with me.
Chapter Two – Sophia
And what a happy birthday it was. The fact that we both shared the same birthday was only one of the things that made me think that my life with Leo was …fated somehow.
Leo was the only other person I had ever met with completely heterochromic eyes. And while I was blue in the left, brown in the right, he was brown in the left, blue in the right. We were similarly quiet, soulful people. We both loved cats. We shared the same favorite things and had the same pet peeves. We had only known each other for a year or so. But when that year was so cram-packed full of signs and omens, did it matter?
The stars were aligning for me. We were both turning thirty, my massage school was finally picking up steam and his business was finally taking shape. Once I lined up one part of myself with the corresponding part of Leo, it was like all the other pieces could more easily fall into place. I had spent the first six months of our relationship looking over my shoulder, wondering what freakish cosmic error had gifted me such a perfect guy, and the other six months in dumb awe at how lucky I was to get that gift.
It was really all coming together for me.
Finally.
I had a cute condo, a job I adored, two precious kitties and a smoking hot boyfriend who doted on me. And I was going to show him tonight just how thankful I was to have in my life…
The timer pinged and I sprung to action, taking the baked salmon out from the oven with gloved hands and delicately balancing the pan on the stove top.
He’d walk in, I’d waltz over in my new silk dress and hand him a glass of champagne. Then, he’d come inside, kiss me deeply with his gorgeous, pillowy lips, and I’d whisk him over to the sitting room where the starter canapes would already be laid out. I’d wish him a happy birthday; give him his gift (a cute pair of platinum cufflinks with our shared birthstone – peridot) and then he’d probably give me mine (a signed vintage copy of The Glass Forest – I had peaked so I already knew what it was) and then we’d kiss some more.
Then, we’d have our baked salmon and honey-glazed baby carrots, and after that, dessert would be ready, and then we’d snuggle on the couch and I’d tell him about the new therapist who had signed up to work at the center, and then …well, I wanted that next part to be spontaneous.
The thing about Leo is that he’s not at all what he seems. He looks like a Calvin Klein model, like a classic High School football jock, all chiseled face and smoldering eyes and pecs that strain shirts and get girls in the vicinity to lose their train of thought mid-sentence.
He was, to put it simply, hot. And yet …deep down he was a different creature all together.
Leo had a mind like a sword. He was a sharp thinker, a quick joker and had a personality that felt like a coiled spring – always straining a little with energy, always waiting to burst.
He was a good man. He was kind. He treated people well. He was emotionally available. He loved children. It was almost too good to be true.
I paced around the living room.
He was a little late this evening, which was weird. I felt a few thin prickles of sweat under my arms. I cursed and hurried to the bathroom, added a triple layer of antiperspirant and checked my reflection for the millionth time that evening.
We’d have sex, of course. Of course we would. It was his birthday. It was my birthday. That’s what a young, healthy, happy young couple like us does on their birthdays.
We hadn’t, though. Not for a while. In fact, it had been more than two weeks already. It’s not that I was bored. Not at all. I mean, getting a little older in life, and given the fact that we had known each other for as long as we had, and the fact that both of us were really focusing on our careers …actually, a few times a month was perfectly normal.
I went into the bedroom.
Scented candles, freshly laundered sheets, flower petals, massage oil. Perfect. I smiled and closed the door again. I
was satisfied. If all of this didn’t make me the perfect girlfriend, I don’t know what would.
I had never admitted to Leo – had never told anyone before, actually – about how important it was for me to ‘fix’ my issues with sex. That’s why those scented candles meant a lot. The rose petals meant a lot.
For a long time, sex was something unhealthy for me. A kind of drug, in fact. Just something dirty I was compelled to do, and shame-filled, because I was desperate and needed my fix. My therapist had called it ‘risk-taking behavior’. My foster mother had called it my ‘death wish’. I had simply called it ‘hunger’. I had always indulged like someone starving at a banquet. I won’t say I didn’t enjoy myself. But at the end of the day, it never satisfied me. Not really.
But today, on my thirtieth birthday, things were different for me. I had wrestled my demons, built a life I was proud of and learnt to marry sex and love together, like it’s supposed to be. I had convinced a gorgeous, well put together man to love me and now I would never go hungry again.
I went to the kitchen to check on the salmon. It was getting cold.
“Baby…?”
I heard the front door unlock, then spun around when I realized Leo was home, then bound into the living room to line up the champagne glasses and then into the hall to throw my arms around his neck and greet him with a big, sloppy kiss.
“Happy birthday!” I yelled, and he smiled warmly, unwinding his scarf and kicking off his shoes.
“Come inside, come inside!” I said and pulled him into the living room, handed him a glass of champagne and toasting him with a grin.
“To us!” I said, and he laughed and took a nervous sip.
“Wow …you didn’t have to get us champagne.”
“That’s not all I got,” I said, and quickly revealed his gift with a flourish. He took it, unwrapped it, and looked at it with a smile that was polite, but not overwhelmed with joy or anything. Fine, it was a bit of a practical gift; I’d give him that.
“You know, for your meetings and stuff. When you meet up with investors and things like that.”
