by Sam Mariano
I’m not sure if all of that seems really insightful because I’m drunk, or because it is. “You have an awful lot of information about me. Do you have a ‘Rafe Morelli’ dossier tucked away in your apartment somewhere?”
Smiling faintly, she taps her temple. “I keep it all up here, whether I want to or not.”
“I like to observe people, too,” I tell her.
“I know,” she says indulgently.
“Of course you do,” I murmur. “Seems like you know more about me than I know about myself.”
“Probably. People can never see themselves as clearly as they think. I see you, though. That’s why I will not fuck you tonight and make everything weird forever, so don’t even try it. I’m wise to your tricks.”
I shoot her a harmless smile. “Oh, come on. Surely a hand job wouldn’t make things weird?”
Smothering her laughter, she unlocks her car and opens the driver seat. “Get your drunken ass in the car.”
I open her passenger door and drop into the seat, yanking the door shut. “Do you like bookstores?” I ask her.
She hits the locks, then pushes her key into the ignition. “I love bookstores. Do you?”
“I liked going to them with Laurel. As you mentioned, bookstore dates are a little too serious for me.”
I say it like I’m joking, but now that she’s called me on it, I can’t deny it. I can invite a woman to a club for drinks, or my restaurant for dinner, and it doesn’t have to mean anything. But taking a girl out during daytime hours to a bookstore? They’d start getting ideas about seriousness. That’s a damned shame. I don’t think Sin will let Laurel go to the bookstore alone with me until the baby gets here, and then there’s a kid tagging along. Not the same.
I want someone to go to bookstores with, but not someone who’s going to be a pain in the ass and start wanting things I won’t want to give.
Maybe I just want a friend.
Huh. I haven’t tried being friends with a woman since… Nope, I can’t remember. Grade school, probably.
“Where do you fall on the ‘can men and women be friends’ theory?” I ask her.
“Depends. Personally, I have had zero lasting male friendships, but I’m sure they’re possible between the right people.” Glancing over at me, she asks, “You?”
I would invariably screw it up by wanting to fuck her. Laurel is trying like hell to be my friend now, but I have to keep her at a distance. I still think about fucking her most Sundays, especially when she wears that tiny ass bikini by the pool. Only reason it hasn’t happened is because of Sin. Obviously it never will as long as Sin is around, but a single female friend wouldn’t have Sin to fend me off.
“I’d be bad at it,” I admit.
Virginia cracks a smile. “Hey, at least you’re honest. That’s one of the things I admire most about you. You pretty much know who you are and you don’t try to hide it. It would be really easy for you to be sleazy, but I’ve never seen you pretend to be anything you’re not.”
“Are you territorial?” I ask, though I can’t say why. Curiosity. I’ve always thought of Virginia as incredibly bright, but right now I want her to tell me more things. She should stay at my house all night and keep telling me all her thoughts and observations.
“I don’t date, so it’s not really an issue for me,” she tells me.
“Why don’t you date?”
Cracking a smile, she says, “Because most people are disappointing, and I don’t feel like dealing with it at this point in time.”
Side-eyeing her, I tell her, “Isn’t that my thing?”
“You have to share your thing,” she states.
“Hey, I’m damn good at sharing my thing,” I inform her.
“Of course you had to make it dirty,” she says, sighing at my antics.
“If you have all the answers, you should take your own advice,” I tell her, leaning my head against her car door.
“Are your ears broken? I’m not lost. I don’t need advice. I don’t desire a relationship, so I don’t have one. Simple.”
Now she’s speaking my language. “See? We could fuck and it wouldn’t be a big deal.”
“No,” she says, shaking her head. “And if you keep bringing that up, I’m for sure not going to spend the night platonically.”
I’m tempted to keep her talking, but I’m more interested in convincing her to stay the night, so I lean my head back against the seat and close my eyes while she drives me home.
I already know she’ll come in, so I don’t bother asking, and I don’t waste my time floating an insincere “good night” to see if she needs convincing. Once we’re in my driveway, I just open the car door and climb out, expecting her to follow.
She does, but she balks a little bit. “I still think this is a terrible idea. How about I’ll make sure you make it all the way up to your bed, but then you pass out and I leave?”
I smirk at her attempt to make me compromise. “How about no?” I counter.
“I’ve been working all day. I’m gross. I don’t want to sleep on your undoubtedly nice bed in my stinky work clothes.”
“So shower and wear one of my shirts.”
Appearing to choke on nothing, she looks horrified. “No.”
“Haven’t you ever had a platonic sleepover before, Virginia? Didn’t you have girlfriends growing up?”
“Sure, but they lacked dicks, so it was a little different.”
“Dicks make everything better,” I assure her.
Laughing, she tells me, “You have that very wrong.”
I push open my front door and gesture for her to walk in ahead of me. She stares at the inside of my house like it’s an elevator to hell, her feet seemingly rooted to the stoop outside.
“Are you a vampire?” I ask. “Do I have to vocalize the invitation?”
“Maybe,” she says, nodding. “Let’s go with that. I’m a vampire. It’s impossible for me to step over that threshold.”
“Nothing is impossible,” I assure her. “Virginia, I would like to invite you inside my house. Go on in. There, all better.”
“Well, now I’m going to suck you dry, so that was a bad idea.”
My head lolls back. “Jesus Christ, woman.”
She snorts, realizing what she said. “Sorry. No, I’m not going to do that. I meant your blood. It’s not a good idea to invite supernatural predators into your house.”
Following her inside, I say, “Since there’s no such thing, I think I’ll be okay.”
“You’re lucky I’m not really a vampire, you’d be so dead.”
Gesturing to my weapons armoire, I tell her, “I keep my wooden stakes in there. I’d be all right.”
“You’d have to train a new waitress though. Can you imagine trying to replace me? It would be a nightmare. You could never enjoy dinner properly again.”
“She wouldn’t anticipate my needs. I would have to actually ask for drinks.” I shudder theatrically. “Unbearable.”
Virginia grins. “All right, let’s get you to bed. I’m tired. I want to go home.”
“You’re not going home,” I remind her.
“You’re going to pass out in three minutes flat. You consumed enough tonight alcohol to tranquilize a large horse.”
“I’m not going to make the obvious joke about my dick,” I tell her.
“Much appreciated,” she replies, following me up the stairs.
“What’s your favorite book?” I ask her.
“My favorite book? You’re really hung up on this bookstore thing, aren’t you? That’s probably the first real date you’ve been on in a long time, huh? That makes sense. You put in some effort and still lost. That must sting.”
“I did not ask for more psychoanalysis,” I point out. “I asked about your favorite book.”
“I have a lot of favorite books. I don’t see how I could pick just one,” she answers.
“What about music?”
“I don’t have a favorite band.”
“Favorite song?”
She shakes her head wordlessly.
I cock an eyebrow. “TV show?”
She smiles. “Nope.”
The little pain in the ass isn’t going to answer any of my damn questions. I’m too drunk to pursue it right now. I’ll find out eventually.
My bedroom door is open already. She hesitates outside, but I already see it coming, so I grab her arm and drag her inside.
She sighs like I’m murdering her. I have half a mind to tell her how many women would trade their left tit to have me this adamant they spend the night, but she already knows.
I’m frustrated for a moment, the goddamn alcohol clouding my senses as I kick off my shoes and try to figure out why she’s being a pain in the ass. Normally she accommodates me. Obviously she doesn’t want to be here, but she is. It takes me a minute to work through it. She stays close to the door like she’s preparing to run and watches me warily. This isn’t going to work. Gotta disarm her. Too much alcohol sloshing around to think clearly.
“Unbutton my shirt,” I tell her.
“Why?” she inquires, looking mildly horrified again.
“There’s two of every button. It’s gonna take me a minute and I’m going to look like a drunken asshole.”
Her horror gives way to mild amusement, but she finally walks closer, since I’m in need. “You are a drunken asshole,” she tells me. Her tone is pleasant, though, and her fingers are already popping the buttons through holes, so that’s okay.
My gaze drifts from her fingers to her face. I watch intently as she unbuttons my shirt. She’s focusing too hard, like she’s the one seeing two of every button. Like it’s a complex task I’ve assigned her, and it requires every bit of her mental acumen to accomplish. The scent of her shampoo wafts up to me and I lean in to keep it coming. Virginia swallows audibly, quickly popping the last button through the hole. I know she’s about to step back, so I grab her before she can.
“Rafe…”
There’s a warning in her tone, but I don’t believe it. I know she finds me attractive. If she’s not looking for a relationship, why can’t we fuck around? I wonder what she’d do if I just took the decision out of her hands, tossed her little ass on the bed, and stripped off her clothes. Could she keep saying no when she feels that much tension unbuttoning my shirt?
“I don’t believe you,” I tell her, dragging her against my chest.
“You don’t believe you’re a drunken asshole?” she asks, still trying to maintain levity, but struggling hard. Physical contact shorts out her circuits. Is it like that with all men, or just me? Is it real discomfort, or attraction she’s trying hard to ignore? I think it’s the latter.
“I think you shouldn’t follow drunken assholes to their bedroom,” I tell her, keeping her close, my fingers slipping the first button on her black dress shirt through the hole.
“Huh. Seems like you’ve recovered from your inability to work buttons,” she tells me, catching my hand and pushing it away.
“It’s a miracle,” I tell her, blinking and reaching for the next button on her shirt.
“Someone add a chapter to the bible so we can share this inspirational story with the masses.” Barely missing a beat, she looks up at me and says firmly, “Let me go.”
“Why?”
“Because I asked you to. Because even drunk, you know this is not okay. Because you’re fumbling, and you have an image to protect. Pick a reason.”
“I am not fumbling,” I mutter, even as I fumble with the third button.
“Rafe,” she says again, shoving my hand away and re-buttoning the shirt. “I’m not going to fuck you.”
“No?” I ask, grabbing her again and tugging her close. Closer this time. I grab her hips and pull them against me, making her feel the outline of my cock in my pants. It’s hard, and it wants to come out to play.
“Do you know how I usually respond to aggressive drunks? By hurting their dicks. Do you want me to hurt your dick?”
“Go ahead,” I challenge, knowing she won’t do it. Just to egg her on, I lock my arms around her, truly trapping her against my chest. She swallows and refuses to look at me, but she won’t speak, and she certainly doesn’t try to fight back. “Go on,” I tell her. “Get out of my hold. Punch me in the dick. Knee me in the face. I’ll deserve it, I won’t be mad.”
“I’m not going to do that,” she mutters.
“Who got aggressive with you?” I ask.
“What? You, right now.”
I roll my eyes. “You said aggressive drunks. Do you mean my guys, when you’ve given them a ride home? I need names, I’ll have a talk with them.”
“Sin took care of it.”
“Good ol’ Sin,” I mutter dryly. “You should’ve told me. I would have handled it myself.”
“You would have told me to stop giving people rides home, and I wouldn’t have listened. Telling Sin worked out nicely. They’re mostly dead now anyway—or, missing,” she says, her tone obviously unconvinced. “Most of them don’t come around since Gio disappeared, so I drew the logical conclusion.”
“Mm.” I don’t confirm or deny that, but she doesn’t expect me to. Sin may share more than he should with Laurel, but that’s not how I was raised.
Seeing an opening, she brings her hands up against my chest and pushes me back. “Now, get in bed.”
“Belt,” I tell her, nodding down toward my hips.
She sighs, but nonetheless unbuckles my belt and draws it off. “Pants?” she questions, glancing up at me.
I nod my head.
She swallows again. I swear, I hear it every fucking time. I wonder if I would hear her swallowing my cum. I wonder how she looks kneeling, those big brown eyes gazing up at me.
“What do you like in the bedroom?” I ask her.
“Sleeping,” she replies, giving me a shove toward the bed. “On the bed, come on. I don’t have all night.”
Luckily for her, I wore boxer briefs tonight, but my cock is still at the ready. She avoids looking down and lets go of me to pull back my blankets, like a maid.
I should hire her. I should make her be my maid, not just my waitress. Then she’d be stuck here all the time. I could follow her around the fucking house making her answer my questions. Then again, I have a rule about not fucking my employees.
Oh, wait, she is my employee. Whoops. How did that slip my mind? Oh well. I fall into the bed and sigh. I love my fucking bed.
Virginia smiles softly and pulls the blanket up over me, tucking me in like I’m a little kid. “Now, get some sleep. Want me to get you a glass of water for the bedside table before I go?”
“I told you to stay.”
“Yes, but then you did all sorts of things that made me decide against it,” she reminds me.
I don’t know why she lingers close when she knows I have no qualms about grabbing her, but she does, so I reach out, grab her hips, and drag her on top of me.
“Rafe,” she complains again.
“Rafe,” I mock her. “If you don’t like it, don’t stand so close.”
“I didn’t realize I needed to treat you like a sexual predator,” she informs me, primly.
Grinning, I roll her onto her back and move on top of her. “I am a sexual predator. Come from a long line of ‘em. I’m actually one of the more decent ones out of the bunch.”
Unintimidated, she pokes me in the chest with her finger. “Off. Now.”
“I wanna play,” I tell her, eyeing up her neck.
She must be able to see my intentions, because her voice is suddenly much firmer. “If you kiss me, I’ll quit.”
“Quit?”
“My job. Effective immediately.”
Her job.
Because she works for me.
I should not be on top of her right now.
I frown, feeling mildly confused, but I’m not sure about what. How the fuck did I get here?
It’s manipulative as hell, but I can’t stop myself. “Why do you wan
t to leave me?”
Her whole face falls, like I just killed her dog right in front of her. She’s struck momentarily speechless, her mouth opening, then closing before she can utter a single syllable. It takes her a minute before she can formulate words, and I almost feel bad about the guilty look on her face when she finally does. “I’ll stay until you fall asleep. Just don’t try to kiss me, okay? Please?”
“Why?”
“Because I asked you not to.”
I shake my head at her. “No. Come on, give me this. You’ve dodged every single question I’ve asked tonight. You won’t even tell me your favorite fucking song. Give me one real answer, Virginia. Just one.”
Her face flushes, like I’ve asked much more of her than I have. The silence stretches on for such a long moment, I don’t think she’s going to answer me. I’m just about to push a little harder when she finally speaks.
“Because you’re drunk, and you’ll be able to forget all about it. But I won’t. I’ll never be able to forget. I will memorize all of it. I’ll remember the way your lips feel against mine, and the way you smell, and the look in your eyes. I will remember everything. A kiss wouldn’t cost you anything, but it would cost me a lot. It would mean too much to me, and not enough to you.” She shakes her head, her eyes glistening with unshed tears that make me feel a little more sober. I know I’m the reason the tears are there, but I don’t know why. I don’t know what I did this time.
I swallow, rolling off her and back to my own spot. “Okay. I’m sorry.”
“No need to apologize,” she assures me, blinking, trying to disguise the fact that she teared up. “I sort of wish I could. I do wonder what it would be like, just… not curious enough to foot that bill.”
Since I don’t want her to be upset, I try to joke with her. “Maybe we need to get you drunk first.”
