by Bella Emy
I pull the sock off my dick slowly and carefully, as to not let the come drip out, and then place it carefully on my nightstand. I’ll throw it in the bin full of dirty laundry in the morning.
I toss over to the other side and curse. Fuck… I’m sore as hell. I need to be more careful when I move and take my time. I take a deep breath and close my eyes, but when I do, all I see is her.
Chapter Nine
Carissa
“Okay, girl… all the hot juicy details? I want them! I want them all, and don’t you dare skip over anything!” Daniela urges me to tell her all about my evening Saturday night at the MMA fight.
It’s Monday morning, and as soon as I arrived at the hospital, she started hounding me to tell her about it. It’s not like there’s really anything to tell though.
Well, that’s besides the fact that Lorenzo “Guns” Trevano is now my absolute favorite name. God, he was fire on Saturday, and I was ice being melted away by his stare.
No, this doesn’t change my mind about all men being scum. Just because I’m starting to feel a little crush toward this hot man doesn’t mean I would ever date him—or anyone else for that matter. I have no intention of falling in love ever again. I plan to remain single for the rest of my life. At least this way it’s a sure thing of not getting my heart broken all over again.
We take a seat after entering the breakroom, and before I can take a bite of my pretzel, I look her in the eyes and say, “Guns is fine.”
I don’t even know where I got the courage to blurt that out, but somehow I did.
“Who’s Guns?” she asks, eyes wide.
I bite down on my bottom lip. Of course she doesn’t know who Guns is. It’s a nickname my sister and my friend gave him. “Lorenzo Trevano.”
“Oh my God! I know! He’s so hot! That face and that body? Uff… Makes me hot just thinking about him.” She fans herself.
I chuckle. “He is very gorgeous, and I can’t believe I’m even saying it.”
“Hey, there’s nothing wrong with admiring a fine-looking man. And Guns?” she asks.
I shrug. “It’s the nickname Emerson and Shannon gave him. They started referring to him as that so much because of the size of his biceps. I automatically adopted it, without even trying. Now it just comes out.”
She smirks. “Well, shit. It suits him.”
“I still can’t believe he had the balls to come in here after everything. Like, you guys were engaged, ready to be married, and he goes and sleeps with his ex? Makes no sense to me.” Shannon sits across from me at the kitchen table in my apartment. Yeah, we’re talking about this again while we wait for Emy to meet us here in a few minutes.
I shrug. “It wasn’t as though that was the first time he did it. When I caught him, he came clean about being with her multiple times in the past. He really killed my ability to trust someone. I loved him with all my heart. I never imagined he’d do this to me.”
She pops a chip into her mouth, and after chewing and swallowing, she responds. “I know. Which is why I’m surprised he came by.”
I nod. “And after so long.”
“Had he called or texted you before showing up?”
I shake my head. “Nope, not even a text.”
“And it’s not like you ever changed your number since you two broke up.”
I sip on a glass of water. “Nope, it’s been the same this whole time.”
Of course, after we first broke up, I thought of changing my number. But then, after a couple of days of him not even bothering to reach out, I figured there was no point. He didn’t even try apologizing or talking to me. So I left it at that. If I had changed it, I might have thought he tried to call me before stopping by the other day.
But does it even matter?
“What’s up, bitches!” Emy’s voice booms through the apartment. “I brought goodies!”
“We’re in the kitchen,” Shannon calls.
Moments later, Emy walks in, her hands full of brown paper bags. She places them onto the table.
“What’s in the bags?” I ask.
Emy looks at me with a wide-open smile. “Goodies.”
“Yeah, we heard you say that, but what kind of goodies?” Shannon asks.
Emy’s smile widens. “The kind of goodies sure enough to get us fucked up and make us happy.”
“That’s my girl,” Shannon states, helping Emy pull out two bottles of Ciroc and a bottle of Moscato from the paper bags.
I roll my eyes and laugh. “But of course. You know I’m not crazy about drinking.”
“Who do you think these are for?” Emy asks, pulling out a box of Entenmann’s cookies and a bottle of frozen iced coffee.
“Iced coffee! My savior!” I grab the bottle from her. I couldn’t care less about the cookies.
“Emy Claus delivers,” she answers with a wink.
Shannon laughs. “Emy Claus, that’s a good one.”
Emy walks toward the cupboard above the counters and pulls out two wine glasses, then walks them to the table and takes a seat. After pouring some Moscato into her glass, she takes her first sip. “Damn, that’s good and so fucking needed after a day at work.”
“Girl, yes. And especially after the conversation I just had with this one.” Shannon points at me with her right thumb.
“Oh, come on.” I hate that I’m the topic of discussion… again.
“Oh, shit. What conversation did I miss?” Emy asks and takes another sip.
Shannon grabs a glass from the table and fills it with Moscato. “Steve the Ass.”
Emy’s eyes widen. “Ah… Steve the Ass. This conversation also wouldn’t have anything to do with his little stunt I had to break up the other day?”
“It sure would,” Shannon answers.
Okay, so maybe now I do care about the cookies. I flip open the box and grab a handful. “It wasn’t my fault.”
“Not at all,” Emy answers. “But you should have never let him in.”
“Right, girl,” Shannon says.
I look away from them, stuff cookies into my mouth, and chew. “Can we change discussion… please.”
Emy laughs. “Sure, chunky cheeks. Let’s talk about Guns. Or should I say Lorenzo Trevano.”
I immediately dart my eyes in her direction at the mention of his name.
“Yeah, I thought that would grab your attention,” Emy says.
I throw her a questioning stare. “And what’s that supposed to mean?”
Shannon giggles to herself and chugs another mouthful of wine.
Emy sits back in her seat. “Oh, nothing… except that you are finding it hard to keep your mind off of him.”
How the hell does she know? I guess she’s my best friend for a reason, but damn. I hadn’t said as much.
“I bet she wouldn’t mind keeping something else off of him,” Shannon says, and the two of them start cracking up.
I glare at her, crumpling up a napkin, and throw it her way. “Shut up, witch.”
But deep down inside, I know she’s right.
I push my cart into aisle five: baking supplies. Shannon’s birthday is tomorrow, and I’m planning on making her a birthday cake. Red velvet cheesecake.
Cheesecake. Cream cheese. I’d better go grab some before I forget. I need to head to the dairy section of the grocery store. I always leave that aisle for last because every time I’m there, I freeze. It totally doesn’t help that I’m wearing a miniskirt right now. Like what had possessed me?
Emy is supposed to be coming over for dinner, and afterward, we’re planning to head out. Shannon can’t make up her mind on whether she wants to go to the movies or go dancing. I’m hoping she picks the movies because I really don’t want to go dancing, but it is her birthday, and I will sacrifice what I need to make her happy.
I push my cart into the dairy section and scan the items. Yogurt… butter… mozzarella… cream cheese. Bingo.
Reaching to grab it, my hand brushes against another as it tries to grab the same t
hing.
I snap my head to the left and… holy shit. What are the odds? Out of all the freaking places to be on a typical weekday afternoon… How?
Lorenzo “Guns” Trevano is here, shopping at the same freaking grocery store as me. I’m surprised he doesn’t have people to shop for him.
“Oh, I’m sorry,” I say, pulling back. My heart speeds and my hands tremble. I can’t believe he’s standing so close to me.
A warm smile forms on his face. “No, no. It’s my fault. Please, go ahead.”
I smile back, unable to withhold it. Slowly, I reach forward and grab two containers of cheese, still staring at him.
His smiling face turns into a puzzled expression. “That’s a lot of cream cheese,” he says. “Planning brunch for a big crowd?” Now he’s smiling again.
Suddenly realizing that I was grabbing more cheese off the shelf, I quickly stop. Somehow, two containers of cream cheese became four, four became five, and finally six. In no time, I had managed to clear the store of their entire stock of cream cheese by putting them all in my basket.
I feel my cheeks turning bright red. Way to embarrass yourself, Carissa.
“Oh, fu—” I catch myself before letting out the obscenity. “I’m sorry…” I begin placing the containers of cream cheese back.
He chuckles and holds out his hands to show he’s not offended. “May I?” he finally asks, pointing at the containers still in my hands, asking if he can have one.
“Oh, yes, of course!” I pass one to him. “You want more?”
He chuckles again. “No, no. One is quite enough, thanks.” He places it into his cart.
Of course it is, Carissa, you moron.
Who goes out to clear the supermarket of their entire stock of cream cheese? Only me. I place all but two of the containers back onto the shelf.
“I’ve seen you around before… I’m Lorenzo,” he says in a cool, sultry voice, extending his hand.
I reach and grab it. Holy fuck, what a grip. His hand is like twice the size of mine… maybe more. I don’t know, but my tiny one gets swallowed by his much larger one.
I nod. “Yes, I saw you at the match the other night. I’m Carissa. Nice to meet you.”
Now he nods and then our hands let go.
But our eyes don’t. We don’t let go of one another’s gaze, and I’m beginning to feel uncomfortable… self-conscious.
Shit, is my hair in place? Is this shirt too tight? Ugh… I hate questioning myself right now and feeling this way.
His eyes are completely eating me whole, and it seems like he’s staring at… my lips? Fuck, is my lipstick smeared? I want to pull out my pocket mirror from my purse, but it would be too obvious.
Okay, I need to take a deep breath and relax. I need to cool off. I need to remind myself he’s just another guy.
Another guy who is most likely another asshole.
Shit, a guy like him probably has women hanging all over him on a daily basis. He’s sure to be a complete heartbreaking asshole. They’re all the same, and I’m sure he’s as cocky, arrogant, and dick-headed as they all are.
I’ve had more than my share of it all, and I’m not looking for another way to get my heart broken.
I need to keep my cool and remind myself that all guys are no good. All guys are pricks only looking for one thing.
He breaks my train of thought with his next words. “Well, I don’t mean to hold you up. I’m sure you have places to be.” He pauses for a second, staring at my mouth again for a bit too long. “It was nice officially meeting you, Carissa.”
Damn, the way he said my name…
Nodding, I respond, “Likewise.”
Our eyes continue to take one another in, but something deep inside me is causing heat to form deep in my core.
Fuck, he’s hot. His smoldering look, burning into me… his sexy grin… He’s igniting a fire within me I’m not sure I can control.
Dammit, Carissa. Get your shit together. Focus…
Remember, he’s no good for you. He’s an asshole, only looking for one thing.
Okay, sure, all guys are pricks, assholes, and shitheads only looking for one thing, but something about the way he bores his gaze into me is making it really hard for me to follow the rules I set aside for myself.
Chapter Ten
Lorenzo
“Where’s Jordan?” I ask my sister as we’re sitting around the dining room table enjoying Mom’s Sunday dinner. He had finally reached out to her a few days ago and was supposed to be here with us today. It’s tradition for the family to be here on Sundays, but it’s not the first one he’s missed.
Marianna shrugs, failing to meet my gaze. “Away on business again.”
Shit. My sister’s husband is constantly away on business, or so he says. I don’t know if it’s true, and I know my sister is skeptical about it as well. It’s a touchy subject, but for his sake, it better be true. I’ll kill him if he hurts her.
“Ma, this rigatoni-and-sausage combo is amazing,” Max says, chiming in, and I’m thankful for the change in topic.
“Uncle Maxy… that’s a lot of food in your mouth.”
I look over at my five-year-old who has dropped her fork and is looking to her right. She’s staring wide-eyed at her Uncle Maxy scarfing down his plate of pasta.
I chuckle to myself and lean down to whisper in her ear. “And just think… When your uncle was your age, all he ate was mac and cheese. He never wanted to eat Grandma’s food.”
“But it’s so good,” she answers back quietly.
“What are you whispering to her?” Max looks at me, with a raised eyebrow.
“I know, right?” I say to her. Straightening back up, I take a glance at Max again. “Oh, so I guess now your mouth is empty enough to speak.” I chuckle again. “I wasn’t saying anything false. I was just telling her you used to always pass up Mom’s food when we were kids. Thankfully, she can’t believe it because she knows it’s delicious, even at her age. I have to say my five-year-old’s a whole lot smarter than you were back then… well, now too.” I snicker.
“You kids never quit,” my father says after swallowing a mouthful of red wine. Then, looking at his little granddaughter sitting to his left, he says, “It’s okay, sweetheart. Don’t pay them no mind. There are three bites left on your plate. Eat up.” He winks at her.
Gianna’s dumbfounded expression quickly changes. She smiles, picks her fork back up, and resumes stuffing another bite of pasta into her mouth. For a kid, she eats rather well and rarely complains when she’s served something she doesn’t recognize. Whenever my mother cooks for her, Gianna always cleans the plate.
“Enz was telling Gia what a moron you are,” Marianna states from the opposite side of the table, looking at Max.
“That’s enough, you guys!” Mom walks into the dining room carrying yet another plate full of food. This time it’s chicken cutlets, potatoes, and stuffed and roasted red peppers.
All I can say is that Sunday dinners at my parents’ house are the best. Mom always makes sure we don’t ever run out of food. I leave here ten pounds heavier than I was when I arrived.
“Ooh, Ma. Let me help,” Marianna says, rising from her seat. She picks up empty dishes from the table to make room for the second part of dinner. The first dish is always some type of pasta. The second part is usually a type of meat, followed by whatever side dishes Mom decides to make. Her stuffed and roasted red peppers are to die for.
Marianna walks to Gianna, whose plate is now completely polished. Like I said, she never leaves food behind when my mother cooks.
“Good girl!” Marianna leans down and kisses the top of Gianna’s head. She takes her plate away and continues clearing the first round of dishes.
As soon as Marianna has swiped our finished plates from the table, Mom places new ones onto the middle of it. “Here we are.”
Max is first to fork a cutlet and place it onto his plate.
I shake my head but don’t make a comment. Unfortuna
tely, my brother never did know how to let things go when it came to messing with me. You would think he would be wiser than to pick on me, since I am larger than him, but as kids, we wrestled all the time because of his mouth. I only let him win once, when I felt bad for him. His bike got stolen by some of the neighborhood kids. It was a sweet bike, one he had been wanting for months before my parents gave in and bought it for him for his birthday. While he was sad about it all day long, it didn’t stop him from starting a name-calling competition with me. I can’t remember what it was over, but most likely, it was what to watch on TV or whose turn it was to take out the trash.
As we were messing around one night after dinner, picking on one another, I let him believe I wasn’t able to win a match of arm wrestling. He was none the wiser, and I left it alone. It doesn’t need to be said that I got his bike back from those kids. It was the last time they ever messed with my brother.
Max, noticing I’m purposely watching him, places his fork down. “I am the middle child. Because of this, I get first dibs on Ma’s food.”
“That makes absolutely no sense, Max,” Marianna states as she fills her glass with wine.
Max nods and smiles. “Enz knows what I mean.”
My eyebrows narrow. “Sorry, Max. I have no clue as to what you’re referring to. I have to agree with Marianna. That makes no sense whatsoever.”
He rolls his eyes and smirks. “Growing up, I always had to make sure I got what was deserved. The oldest gets this and the youngest gets that. What about the middle child?”
“Massimo, you and Marianna are twins. There is no middle child,” my dad states, never lifting his gaze from his dish.
I chuckle. “Dad told you. Now shut up and eat.”
“There was too a middle child, and it was me!” Max exclaims.
“Cool your shorts, Massimo. Eat,” Mom states.
At this point, Gianna, Marianna, and I are cracking up.
My brother, refusing to relent, looks at me and says, “Don’t worry, big bro. In a few more years, Mother Nature will be my payback.”
