Mick Sinatra: For Once In My Life

by Mallory Monroe

  Mick stared at her. “And what did you do about it?” he asked her.

  “I wanted to go over to his apartment, boil a pot of grease until it was bubbling, and pour it all over his insecure ass.”

  Mick stared at her. She would have to be an impulsive, straight-from-the-heart kind of chick to pull that off. And she wasn’t that girl at all. He’d eat his shoes if he was wrong.

  “But I didn’t do it,” she said. He was right. “I couldn’t.”

  Feeling satisfied that his antenna wasn’t off after all, he wanted to know more. “Why not?” he asked her.

  “I couldn’t let some loser order my steps,” Roz explained. “I wasn’t going to jail over him. He wasn’t worth it. My only recourse was to sue him for blasting my image over the internet like that. But my lawyer said those were as much his photos as they were mine. He didn’t think I had a case.”

  “You had a case,” Mick said. “You just had a sorry-ass lawyer.”

  Roz smiled. “Well, it wasn’t just him. Nobody would take the case, and I’m not exactly made of money to force the issue. So I let it go. At least he was out of my life.” She looked at Mick, that anger he saw upstairs still riding her. “That’s why I don’t let any man play me cheap,” she said.

  Mick liked her spunk. He liked her determination, her drive. She was fragile as hell and didn’t even know it, but she had some grit about her too. He liked this girl.

  A limousine drove up as they were speaking. The driver, Deuce McCurry, a man who had been in Mick’s employ for twenty years, drove up and stopped at the curb. Deuce was an African-American male pushing sixty, but he was quick on his feet and even quicker at the wheel. He grabbed the umbrella and made his way to his boss.

  “This is my ride,” Mick said. “I’ll give you a lift.”

  Roz should not have been completely surprised that a man like him would get around in a limousine, especially since even she could see he was a man of some stature. But she was surprised. She’d never met anybody on his level so up close and personal. But going anywhere with him, after his proposition, was out of the question. “No,” she said. “But thanks.”

  Deuce, who stood beside his boss with the umbrella at the ready, was surprised that she had turned Mick down. He looked at her.

  “How are you going to get home?” Mick asked her.

  “I’ll get home,” Roz said.

  “I know you’ll get there. How will you get there is my question?”

  “How I get there is my business,” Roz said, and then looked at him. She didn’t mean to be cruel, but no man was going to sell her cheap and then expect all to be forgiven this easily. “Have a nice day,” she added.

  Mick wasn’t surprised by her saltiness. Given her history, it was expected. But his driver didn’t expect it. He never saw his boss go on like this with any female ever. Or allow one to talk to him the way this chick was talking. What was up with this?

  Mick wanted to just leave. That was his usual way. Fuck’em and leave. But for some reason the idea of Roz making her way alone in this dreadful weather bothered him. “Don’t be foolish, Miss Graham. My driver will have no problem taking you home.”

  “I told you no thank you. I’m not going anywhere with you.”

  Mick frowned. “Why not?”

  Roz frowned. “Because I don’t know you like that. You’re a stranger to me.”

  “I know your name, I know your passion, and I know your brother owns a restaurant in Brokeback, Tennessee. What else is there to know?”

  Roz almost smiled. He knew good-and-well that town was not called Brokeback.

  “I would hardly call myself a stranger,” Mick continued. “Now I ask you again. Why will you not allow me to give you a ride home?”

  “I don’t know what you’re capable of. How’s that?”

  “That’s fine,” Mick said. “But examples please.”

  Roz felt silly now, but if he wanted examples she was going to give them to him. “You might slice and dice me and eat me for dinner.”

  Mick laughed. Deuce looked horrified.

  “You might boil me like a lobster tail and have your way with me.”

  Mick laughed even harder.

  “You might chop me up into tiny pieces and make a pot of stew out of me.”

  Mick’s laughter eased. “Alright.”

  “You might grind me down to flour and feed me to your pet pigs.”

  Deuce couldn’t believe what he was hearing. Mick, suddenly realizing that this girl could be serious, was beginning to lose his humor too. “Okay.”

  “You might saw me in half---”

  “Alright already,” Mick said, unable to bear it any longer. “I get it. I get your point. I’m a murderous psychopath and you’ll do well to steer clear of me. Got cha. So I’ll steer clear of you. Have a nice life, Miss Graham.”

  Deuce utilized the umbrella and escorted Mick as he made his way to the limousine. When Mick got inside, he said something to Deuce, and then Deuce made his way back across the sidewalk to Roz. He reached the umbrella out to her. “Mr. Sinatra said for me to give this to you.”

  Roz looked at the umbrella, as if she wasn’t sure if she should accept even that little gesture. She seemed overwhelmed to Deuce, like a woman so tired of letdowns that she didn’t know good fortune when she saw it. He considered her. She was young, she was pretty, but she probably never met a man like Mick in her entire life. Something inside of him felt for her. Something inside of him felt for her the way he would feel for his own daughter. “Get in the car and let me take you home, child,” he said. “That man don’t wanna eat you. And I for damn sure don’t want to either. You’re too salty for me.”

  Roz couldn’t help but smile. She looked at Deuce. “I’m being pretty ridiculous, hun?”

  “With a capital R,” he said.

  Roz didn’t have to be told twice. An umbrella in this kind of rain would probably be useless after one block. And the facts were still the facts: she couldn’t stand here all night. She therefore walked across the sidewalk and got into the limo. Deuce opened the door and held up the umbrella as she sat her small body across from Mick’s big frame. When Deuce closed the door, and she saw the beauty of his limousine, down to the gold-encrusted doorknobs, and she suddenly realized the level of man she was dealing with, she felt a little bit intimidated. But she sat tall and ignored the trappings. It was only a ride home.

  Mick smiled when she first got in. “No longer concerned about being my meal for the evening?” he asked her.

  She smiled too. “Sorry about that.”

  But Mick shook his head. “Don’t be. I’m pleased you’re cautious. There are real assholes out here.”

  “But you aren’t one.”

  Mick was quick to correct her. “Yes, I am. Maybe not Jeffrey Dahmer as you suggest,” he said with a smile, “but an asshole nonetheless.”

  Roz didn’t know how to take his bluntness. Maya Angelou said when people show you who they are, believe them. But although his tongue spoke harsh and uncaringly, his actions were different. He showed her nothing but kindness. “Thank you for the lift anyway,” she said.

  Mick gave her a very slight nod of the head. “You’re quite welcome,” he responded.

  “Where to, boss?” Deuce, sitting behind the wheel, asked over the intercom.

  Mick looked at Roz.

  “Brooklyn,” she said, and gave her address.

  Mick pressed the intercom button and conveyed that information to Deuce.

  Roz looked at Mick. She was having trouble figuring him out. But he had already turned his attention away from her, and to the rain outside.

  But as the limo began to move, Roz began to feel a combination of excitement and dread. Hope and discouragement. Happiness and sadness. And she had the oddest sense. She had a sense that her life was going to change tonight, and it was going to change in a major way. She just didn’t know if it was going to be for good, or for ill.

  But before she could contemplate
it either way, a car suddenly rammed the limo so hard that it rocked them both, and then the out of control car began dragging the limo sideways. Deuce was losing control fast as they raced, not straight ahead as they had been going, but across the sidewalk, dodging nearly three different people. Deuce was able to overcorrect, to avoid a hit on Mick’s side on their collision course. But in overcorrecting, in turning the wheel one way and then the other, they went from speeding sideways to speeding head-on into the massive brick wall of a Mom and Pop, fifty-year-old consignment shop.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  As soon as the limo was first sideswiped, Mick reached over and grabbed Roz from her seat across from him, placed her on his lap with his arm around her stomach so tightly that it hurt, and braced for impact. The limo careened out of control and slammed into the brick wall so hard that it nearly jarred Roz off of Mick’s lap. It was a hard frontal hit, mangling the hood, but it had little impact in the back.

  Roz was so thrown by the sudden turn of events that she could hear her heartbeat racing. She looked at Mick, who held his arm around her as if she were his baby. He was already staring at her. “Are you okay?” he asked her.

  “Yes,” she said, nodding. “I think so.”

  Mick looked at Deuce. He was unbuckling his seatbelt and preparing to get out of the vehicle. Mick pressed the intercom button. “Deuce?”

  Deuce pressed the response button. “I’m alright, boss. I’ll check it out.”

  Mick continued to hold Roz. But at the same time, unbeknownst to her, he pressed a button and pulled a loaded gun out of a side panel beneath the limo’s door handle. He held the gun at his side, out of view.

  But unlike Mick, who wasn’t certain if this was an accident after all, Roz had more inward concerns. She was at war with her own emotions once again. They had just been in a car crash. A crash that could have gone terribly wrong. But here she was feeling like a little princess in Mick’s big arms. And she loved the feeling! And the way he grabbed her so decisively, as if he was making the statement that if anybody was going to get hurt, it wasn’t going to be her. After their rocky beginning, she was surprised by such a strong move and such a strong, unspoken statement. It disturbed and pleased her all at the same time.

  Mick was disturbed too. Not so much by the accident, although he was holding his gun and keeping his eye on the man who had hit them. The guy was out of his car, seemingly apologizing to Deuce, as Mick’s eyes glanced around to make sure it was no set up. He saw nothing suspicious, and was grateful for that. But what disturbed him more was his reaction to Rosalind. As soon as he felt that hit, his heart hammered at the thought of her being injured. He grabbed her so fast he nearly tore a muscle. And now that he had her close to him, he felt an even stronger emotion. That connection he had felt the first time he saw her had returned, as if there was a string that was binding them together. But it disturbed him mightily because he wasn’t at all sure if he wanted that kind of bond.

  What was even more remarkable was the fact that he was beginning to get an erection. In the middle of a car crash, and he was getting a fucking erection! What the fuck was wrong with him? He was no sex starved teenager! But there it was. He was rock hard and well aware of every inch of her tight ass on his lap.

  That fact wasn’t lost on Roz either. She could feel that hardness beneath her as if she was sitting on a steel rod. If she were to remind herself about his earlier proposition that so offended her, now would be the time for her to get off his lap and put an end to this once and for all. And if he hadn’t grabbed her, and protected her from what could have been harm, she would have quickly done just that. She never cared for guys whose only attraction to her was her body. But Mick had protected her. He had looked out for her. She remained right where she sat.

  But when Deuce came to the window and Mick was about to press the button to roll it down, Roz’s attention turned from Mick’s arousal to what she saw in her periphery. It looked like a gun at his side. When she realized it was indeed a gun, she looked at him with concern in her expressive eyes. “Is that a gun?” she asked.

  Mick looked at her. He would have preferred that she hadn’t seen it, but it was too late now. “Yes,”

  Roz had heard about white boys and their need to always have a gun handy, but she’d never seen it this up close before. It was a mentality she didn’t understand. “Why would you pull out a gun at a car wreck?”

  Mick attempted to smile and play it off. “To protect you,” he said.

  But when she didn’t bite, when she remained serious, he got serious too. “You can never be too careful,” he said, and then pressed the button that allowed the window to roll down.

  Deuce had the umbrella unfurled to cover him from the still hard rain. “The police are on the way, sir. But there shouldn’t be any problems. The guy is accepting all blame.”

  Mick was pleased to hear that. “Anybody hurt?”

  “No one. Thank God.”

  “We will have to be towed, yes?”

  Deuce nodded. “I’m afraid so, yes, sir. I’ll call for a backup car, but that could take some time. I don’t know what you want to do. I can hail a cab if you like.”

  Mick looked at Roz. “How were you planning to get home before we happened upon you?”

  “The Subway,” she said.

  “Is it near here?”

  “There’s one four blocks away from the theater.” She started looking around. “But it’s just a block away from where we are now.”

  “You prefer the Subway?”

  “Me? Oh, yeah. New York cab drivers will gouge you every time. They don’t get a penny from me.”

  Mick considered Roz. It was no secret to either one of them that his cock was still hardening as her ass sat on top of it. But oddly enough, it wasn’t sex that was driving his interest in her. That connection he felt for her was. That sudden feeling that no way in hell was he going to let her ride some grimy Subway train, or even ride a smelly cab, alone.

  “Let’s go catch us a train,” he said, and Roz, pleased, finally got off of him. She glanced at the package between his legs as Deuce helped her out of the limousine. It was still so aroused, so thick, that she began to feel a tingle in her vagina just from looking at the size of it. She glanced into his eyes as she moved out of the vehicle. They both felt the heat of their attraction, which led Roz to wonder how she was able to turn him down so easily earlier. But she trusted her earlier instinct more. Right now, just after something as traumatic as a car accident, they were in the fog of war. She trusted nothing in fog. She got out of the limousine.

  Mick was so aroused that he had to wait a few seconds, to go back down a tad. Then he secured the gun on his person, and got out too.

  Deuce immediately placed the huge umbrella over both Mick and Roz, but Mick took possession of it. “Miss Graham and I will be riding the Subway, Deuce,” he said to his driver.

  Roz smiled at the prospect of a man like Mick taking the train, but Deuce looked alarmed. “The Subway, sir?”

  “The Subway,” Mick said.

  “You mean, to be clear, she will be riding the Subway, sir?” Deuce asked.

  Mick smiled. He knew it had been years, decades even, since he rode anything except an expensive car or a limousine, but he was no pampered idiot. He knew his way around. “I mean, to be clear,” Mick responded, “we will be riding the Subway. She and I. You stay here, deal with the police, and call me when you’re done and backup has arrived. I’ll alert you to my location at that time.”

  Deuce couldn’t believe it. Mick Sinatra on the Subway? Wait until the guys heard about this! “Yes, sir,” he said.

  And Mick pulled Roz closer as they began to make their way toward the station. They could hear police sirens drawing nearer, as they walked away.

  And Roz couldn’t help it. She felt like a queen walking beside Mick Sinatra. He held her close, with his hand on the small of her back, as they braved the rain with brisk steps. He was even able to handle the umbrella magnific
ently. It didn’t balloon upwards not one time. She was impressed.

  She was also extremely aware of his closeness. From the press of his strong hand on her back, to his wonderful cologne scent, to the way he walked with such swag, she felt him. And the way women were giving him that assessing look as they walked pass, as if he was definitely the grand prize on these streets, made her feel special in his presence. She was still a little peeved with him, but at least she got the chance to explain where her anger was coming from. She felt good.

  When they arrived at the station, paid for tickets and made their way onto the platform, all eyes seemed to be on them. Roz was reasonably certain they weren’t staring because she and Mick were an interracial twosome. This was New York, after all. But they were staring, she believed, because of Mick. A man who dressed like him, a man who had his look and style, a limousine man, rarely rode the Subway. It wasn’t impossible, and it did happen, but not usually. Add to that the fact that Mick was drop dead gorgeous to boot, and Roz knew he was the center of their attention more so than she.

  But when they got on the nearly-packed train, it was Mick who had the exact opposite impression. Instead of noticing the ladies assessing him, he couldn’t stop staring at the guys, all of them, who were assessing Roz. After finding her a seat, sandwiched between a guy and a girl, he was forced to stand some distance away, near the back. And from his vantage point he saw guy after guy check Roz out as if she was a leg of lamb they were craving. He understood why. Just looking at her from a distance made him ever more aware of her attractiveness. And not just the fact that her brown skin was so chocolaty smooth and unblemished, or her breasts looked so big and imposing beneath that shirt she wore, but it was in the way she carried herself. She smiled, she was polite, she seemed entirely approachable to anybody watching her.

  Too approachable, Mick felt, as visions of her alone on this train at night, and some real murderous psychopath following her home and doing heaven knows what to her, disturbed his peace. He didn’t like that worried feeling that just the thought created in him. He didn’t like the fact that those men were eyeing her, some even openly salivating over her. And he especially didn’t like the fact that any of it bothered him. But it did. It bothered him mightily.