Total pages in book: 80
Estimated words: 76065 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 380(@200wpm)___ 304(@250wpm)___ 254(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 76065 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 380(@200wpm)___ 304(@250wpm)___ 254(@300wpm)
“A collar? Why?”
“See if he belongs to someone else. If you got a collar and a tag made up, maybe even put a GPS on him to see where he goes, you’d know for sure.”
The food came then and Kick dominated the conversation by asking me a shitton of questions about Brooklyn, about how different it was now than when I’d grown up. And, eventually, how I came to own a meat shop.
“Kinda fell into my lap, honestly,” I told her. I went ahead and left out the part about some mild torture that was involved in the whole process. “Seemed like a solid investment. The meat shop has been around, under different ownerships, for something like seventy years. So it’s clearly something the neighborhood wants. I figured it would be easy enough to take over. What?” I asked as she gave me a long, thoughtful look.
“It’s kind of nice to be around someone who didn’t have it all figured out from a young age. I always felt like I was alone in stumbling around, not sure what I wanted to do with my life.”
I’d been pretty sure up until that point that she didn’t know who I was, what I did. But right then, I was sure. Because anyone who knew what I did for a living knew that I’d been working at this shit for decades, been carving out a name and reputation for myself. Anyone who knew anything about the Lombardi crime family knew me.
“You got plenty of time to figure it out. But, hey, there’s nothing wrong with just… working a job. Not everyone wants or needs to have some job they’re passionate about and shit. So long as it pays the bills and doesn’t make you miserable, there’s nothing wrong with just clocking your time and going home to do the shit you care about.”
“That’s… surprisingly comforting,” Kick declared.
But a sad look replaced the relief.
Before I could ask what caused it, though—let alone why it fucking mattered to me in the first place that it did—the server came back, asking how the food was and if we wanted dessert.
“I think I’ve already eaten a weeks’ worth of food,” Kick said, sucking in a deep breath before slowly releasing it.
I waited for the check then stashed several bills in the folder as Kick reached for her wallet.
“Absolutely not,” I said, holding the check presenter out to the server as he passed.
“What about the tip?” she asked.
“Already covered,” I told her, getting to my feet, then moving to her side of the table to pull her chair out a bit.
With that, we left the restaurant, walking home discussing different places as we passed them by.
Entirely too soon, we were making our way back into her building, the air crackling around us as we stood silently in the elevator.
By the time we were at her door, she had just fished her key out of her purse.
I reached for it, nearly pinning her to the door in the process. Maybe if she hadn’t sucked in her breath, or if her blueberry scent wasn’t overwhelming my senses, or her gaze didn’t flick up to mine, heavy-lidded and filled with need, I might have moved away, might have turned around, walked away, and kept shit professional.
But she did.
And then, as I leaned inward, just wanting to get another hit of that blueberry scent, a shiver moved through her and this little mewling sound escaped her.
My nose teased up her neck as she leaned to the side, silently inviting more.
I would have kept going. I would have pressed my lips to hers, pushed her into her apartment, walked her into her bedroom, and gotten rid of the tension that was sizzling between us.
But two doors down, someone slammed their door, the unexpected sound making us pull apart, breaking the spell of the moment.
“Thanks for, you know, checking in on me,” she said, giving me a tight smile. “And for dinner.”
“Glad you’re doing better,” I said.
“I’ll be back tomorrow,” she told me, reaching to open the door, then stepping inside.
“Goodnight, Kick,” I said, watching as she closed the door, then sucked in a deep breath and walked away, trying the whole walk home to tell myself it was for the best.
Even if nothing about that felt true.
CHAPTER TEN
Kick
Rico and I sort of just… didn’t happen to interact when I returned to work the next day. Or the days following that.
It wasn’t exactly, you know, unusual. There were many days when Rico either only dropped in for a few minutes, or didn’t show up at all. The place practically ran itself. There was no reason for him to micromanage it.
I wouldn’t lie and say some part of me wasn’t disappointed, though. Even if the logical part of my brain was constantly reminding me that the last thing I needed right now was a complicated fling with my boss.