more than once, and today could well be one of those days.
If
she got caught.
But she wouldn’t.
She rode past old two-story houses with porches and imagined, as she always did, what it would be like to grow up in a real house instead of above a restaurant. A couple walked along the sidewalk holding hands, and she let herself wonder about that, too. What would it be like to have someone who spoke words of love rather than want? But it worked both ways. She used Jarod, too. She gave him what he wanted, and he kept her safe. Right now, until she found a way to break free, that’s all she needed.
She squeezed all her doubts into a manageable lump as she rode into the parking lot. Like an ice cube, painful until it finally melts. And it would.
Her pulse skipped at the sight of him. She chained her bike to the rack. It never hurt to keep a guy waiting a little while. She walked across the parking lot, conscious of every move she made in her tight shorts and how her tank top edged toward her shoulder, showing off her tattoo.
He leaned against his car, long legs stretched out and crossed at the ankles. His muscles bulged when he folded his arms across his chest. He lowered his sunglasses. Just like a movie star. She might not love him, but she loved the look of him.
But she didn’t like the look of his eyes today. Seeing him like this in the middle of the day was way different than at a party at night when everybody else was smoking. It made her feel somehow not good enough. Why did he want to get high before meeting her?
With a deep breath and a forced smile, she snuggled into the arms he opened for her. “Better get our skates on.”
Jarod laughed. “I thought the skating thing was just what you made up to tell your brother.”
Rena couldn’t tell if his laugh was aimed at her or the situation. “You didn’t bring skates?”
His laugh erupted into a sound she knew was directed at her. “I don’t
own
skates.” His fingertip traced the tender area around her tattoo. “We got better ways to—”
The sound of tires crunching gravel swallowed his words. Jarod swore and shoved her away. Rena turned to see a foreign-looking car with chrome wheels pull into the parking lot. Sliding his fingers into his front pockets, Jarod motioned with his chin, a gesture telling her to walk away. Private business. She was used to that. But she wasn’t used to a car like that, or a man in a jacket and tie. He rolled the passenger window down. Jarod walked over, all cocky like some kind of thug on a cop show. He leaned into the open window.
They talked in hushed and hurried voices, and the man drove away.
Rena knew better than to ask.
Jarod pulled his hands out of his pockets. “Now, where were we?”
As his hand touched her skin, she closed her eyes and pretended she was somewhere else.
Nicky ripped off his shirt and tucked it in the back of his shorts. He slowed his pace. A subtle breeze blew off the lake, cooling his skin as the sweat evaporated. He felt good. The workout was purifying, purging his body of toxins and his mind of a build-up of negative thoughts.
It freed him to dream.
The old dream had to go, but Bracciano had to change with the times. If they didn’t, they could go under. He wouldn’t let that happen. Their specialties had been handmade only by a Fiorini for over eight decades.
It was time to move.
For months, the thought had been pestering like a persistent mosquito. He’d tried killing it, but it kept returning. Twice he’d opened his mouth to broach the subject with his father, but each time he imagined the vein in his father’s forehead pulsating, the dark eyes smoldering. His father hated change.
Except when it came to women.
A dark blue Jaguar pulled out of the parking lot as he skated toward the Javelin. Gleaming alloy wheels caught the sunlight and spun it.
Welcome to the new Bracciano, sir.
Nicky imagined the voice of the young valet he would personally train.
Enjoy your evening,