Blame It on the Shame (Blame It on the Shame: Lou-Lou and Ricardo's Story #1) (12 page)

I walk around my apartment for a moment unsure of exactly where to deposit her.

The only option is the bedroom. I wouldn't feel right about making her sleep in the living room.

Since I live in a single one-bedroom apartment, my bedroom is big—big enough to have both a bed and a sofa.

Which unfortunately for me, looks like I'll be crashing on tonight.

Well, for the mere two hours of sleep that I'll actually manage to get—before my own nightmares kick in.

I hear a knock on the door and I'm kind of hoping it's Tyrone so I can apologize for going off on him.

I place Lou-Lou on the bed and put a blanket over her since she's still trembling. I make a mental note to adjust the central air since she obviously gets cold easily. Probably because she's so tiny.

I answer the door and cringe when I see who's on the other side of it.

Fuck...it's
Scarlet
.

Otherwise known as the tall, long-legged, curves for days, redhead stripper that I sort of—
kind
of have a thing with.

And by '
thing
'— I mean meaningless sex on a semi-regular basis.

I don't recall making plans with her and she knows I don't like when people drop by my place unexpectedly.

Suffice it to say I'm not all that happy to see her at the moment.

Especially when the last time we slept together, she hinted that she wanted more than I could ever offer her.

Even though I told her from the get-go that we could
never
be anything more than just fuck buddies and I thought she understood.

Clearly, I thought wrong.

The reason I can't give her more
isn't
because I'm some kind of asshole, either.

Well...maybe it is.

However, my
actual
reason for never getting into a serious relationship is because I'm DeLuca's son.

I'd have to be a heartless bastard to
ever
pursue something serious with a woman and bring her into the mob world.

And while I'm not exactly a heartless bastard...I'm sure as fuck not some kind of monk. I enjoy sex...lots of it. Especially the part that involves getting a woman off.

Overall, it's just a fuck of a lot easier for me to detach myself and have a casual sexual relationship with a woman.

I don't need the extra baggage that comes with a relationship and they don't need the danger. I'm firm in my resolve about this and there's not a woman in the world who could ever change my mind.

I make sure any and all women in my life know this and accept the rules I lay out before things heat up. Hell, I even make it a point not to kiss them in order to reduce any sense of intimacy between us.

I also make sure they know that whenever we're together sexually...
I'm
the one doing the touching and providing the pleasure. It's never the other way around.

Shit
, my encounters would be a lot easier if my dick swung the other way.

But one look at Scarlet's mile-long legs and full breasts and I know that won't ever happen.

Dammit,
why
must women be so beautiful? And not just Scarlet...I mean
all
women.

I've yet to find a woman on this earth who doesn't possess at least
one
beautiful trait that snags my attention.

Whether it's their curves, supple backside, nice legs, great eyes, pretty face, soft skin, silky hair, the way their ass swings when they walk or the way their breasts bounce when they move.

From the 21-year-old at the local college to the 88-year-old grandmother stocking up on her
werther's originals
and cat food at the grocery store...all women are beautiful to me.

And it sucks when you're the man who's about to break a woman's heart.

“Can I come in?” Scarlet asks while shuffling her feet.

“I don't think that's a good idea.”

“What's going on with you, Ricardo? You never answer my text messages or my phone calls anymore. It's been almost two weeks now. What did I do wrong?”

I squeeze my neck, hating this conversation. “You didn't do anything wrong, Scar.” I look into her pretty green eyes and reach for her hand. “You deserve better than me. You knew from the start what this was and what this wasn't between us.”

She nods and a tear falls down her cheek. “I know. I just—I thought...maybe.”

“You were going to be the one to change me?” I finish for her.

She nods again and another tear falls. “Yeah.”

I let go of her hand and take a step back. “Sorry, honey. I can't change and God said '
fuck it
' and took the day off when it was time to create my soulmate. That shouldn't stop you from finding yours, though.”

I take another step back. “Take care of yourself, Scarlet. I hope you find what you're looking for one day.”

I wait until I see her walk down the hallway before I close the door.

All things considered, that could have gone worse.

I turn the central air down and walk back into the bedroom. She's still trembling. I graze her arm and she feels fine, not too hot and not too cold.

“No!” she screams and I jerk my hand back.

Christ what in the world has she been through to cause her to scream like this?

I layer another blanket on top of her and my stomach fills with lead.

In my experience, prayers don't tend to work when you're the son of the devil...but I say one anyway.

I pray that this feeling in my gut isn't right and I'm mistaken.

I pray that DeLuca didn't do what I think he did to this girl.

I pray he didn't destroy and ruin another beautiful soul...again.

I pray he didn't do to her what he did to my mother.

I scrub a hand down my face and swing my legs over the couch. The good thing about sleeping on a sofa that's too small for my almost 6'4 frame was that I hardly slept at all.

I look over at Lou-Lou who's still sleeping. She's huddled up in a little corner of my bed, her small frame barely taking up any room on the king sized mattress.

She looks so innocent when she's sleeping, it's like night and day.

My senses are on high alert when I hear the sound of my front door opening.

I immediately reach for my jeans on the floor and pull my gun out of my pocket.

I'm two steps outside my bedroom when I hear both Tyrone and Jackson in my kitchen.

I tuck my gun into the waistband of my boxers and make my way over to the kitchen table where they're eating breakfast.

“Help yourself, guys,” I mutter while walking to the cabinet.

Jackson looks up from his bowl. “Sorry, we were out of cereal.”

Tyrone shakes the now almost empty plastic container. “And milk.”

I join them at the table, take the milk from him and pour it into my bowl. “Sorry about going off on you last night,” I mumble.

“It's cool,” he says between spoonfuls of his cereal.

That's the thing about being a guy, either we pummel one another when we're pissed, or we mumble an apology and move the fuck on like it never happened.

Unless you're Tyrone.

Tyrone always likes to talk shit out. There's a reason Jackson and me dub him '
Dr. Phil
.”

He takes another bite. “I didn't know you were serious about her, man. Should have just told me.”

I'm not really sure what to say to him at the moment. I don't know whether it's best to play along and let him think what he wants or to set him straight about me having absolutely no interest in her.

But then I realize that if I let him
think
we're messing around...it might be the best way of dealing with this whole ordeal.

There's a bro code—you don't mess around with your buddies chick.

Letting him think that Lou-Lou and I are having some kind of fling will keep him from hitting on her, thus keeping him safe from DeLuca. It's a no brainier.

“Yeah,” I say. “Guess you're right about that.”

“You sure you're going to be okay with tons of guys ogling her in the cage?” Jackson asks.

“Trust me, I'll be fine.” He gives me an odd look but I shrug it off and walk back into the bedroom for my cellphone so I can call the super.

I take my gun out of my waistband but point it directly at Lou-Lou on instinct when she starts screaming and comes at me. “You asshole!”

“Asshole?” I question, trying my hardest to figure out why she's so agitated.

She starts running around the room throwing random objects at me.

A remote, a pillow, an alarm clock.

“What the fuck is your problem?” I roar while ducking just in time to miss the bottle of whiskey being chucked at my head.

It hits the surface with a loud crash, the amber liquid now drizzling down the white wall behind me. “You
crazy
bitch.”

I'll admit, I'm not usually one to call women bitches...but in the case...I think it's warranted.

She's going bat-shit crazy for no reason. I haven't done a thing to this girl other than check up on her all night.

“I can't believe you fucked me while I was passed out. Do you know what that's
called
, asshole!” she screams at the top of her lungs before storming out of the bedroom like the Tasmanian devil.

What. The. Actual. Fuck.

Does she honestly think I'm capable of something like that?

I fight that reoccurring thought from last night running through my head again as I follow behind her.

Tyrone and Jackson are on their feet, utter shock across their faces.

I grab her arm but she flinches so I drop it. “I didn't
rape
you.”

My stomach knots and I want to fucking puke because never in my life did I
ever
think I'd have to utter that statement; or be in the position of defending myself against something so heinous.

She puts her hands on her hips and her eyes scrape over my body. “Then why aren't you wearing any clothes?”

I'm about to answer but then she screams, “And why was I in
your
bed when I woke up this morning?”

She throws her hands up in the air. “I mean, what the hell else am I supposed to think?”

Not that...anything but
that
.

“First of all—I had no choice but to bring you here since I don't have the key to your place.”

I look down at my boxers. “Secondly—I turned the air down for you because you were trembling. I thought you were cold and I wanted you to be comfortable. However,
I
got hot in the middle of the night...hence my state of undress.”

She opens her mouth but I cut her off. “And finally—I put you in my bed because I was
trying
to be a gentleman. I slept on the couch in my room the entire night—I slept on the couch in my room
instead
of the one in the living room because you were passed out drunk and I wanted to make sure you were okay. I didn't want to be too far away in case you needed me.”

Her eyes open wide and her hand covers her mouth. “Shit—” She pauses and closes her eyes. “I'm—”

Then before she can finish that statement or give me the apology I think I
deserve
, she bolts right out the front door.

I look across the room at Tyrone and Jackson who are standing there with their mouths wide open.

Tyrone points his spoon at the door. “Women,” he says. “The hot ones are always the craziest.”

Beside him Jackson nods. “True...but that was still a fucked up thing to be accused of.” He looks at me. “Where the hell did you find this girl?”