Sick Bastard (8 page)

“You know, if you wanted to touch me, all you had to do was ask.” He jokes playfully, that big charming smile on his face. Nope. Never gonna let that shit happen again …ever.

“I'll remember that next time,” I mumble down at the sidewalk, trying to brush off my crazy surge of hormones, but damn the man for being so fucking hot. It’s not fair!

“Here,” I say pointing to the restaurant in front of us, trying to change the subject. The doors of the
Gold Dragon
loom a few feet away. If I’m lucky I can ditch him, get my food and eat in peace at home on my couch in my PJ’s. “I ordered ahead for my food and it’s
to go
,” I emphasize the last part.

The briefest look of disappointment crosses his face. Did he seriously want to have dinner with me? It's beyond me why he'd want to eat with a person he knows is annoyed by him. I mean, we both seem to piss each other off when we're in the same space.

A pang of guilt hits me. Part of me hates bringing him down like that – it’s a very tiny part – but it’s still there. It’s hard to believe that I was able to cause his happy mood to sour with a few words. There’s something so different about him when he’s smiling and laughing. Happy is a good look on him.

“Maybe I can have a drink while I wait.” I offer. I’ll never understand why I just did that. After tonight, I’m going to pretend it didn’t happen.

“Really?”

“Yes, really, so don’t make me change my mind or regret it.” And there’s that full watt smile. I’m a sucker for dimples and perfectly straight white teeth. It’s a smile that would break hearts all over this lovely city if he flashed it more often.

“I promise I won’t disappoint you, London.” He says, then breathes out what sounds like a sigh of relief. He wasn’t joking this time. He really did want to have dinner with me.

“I’m gonna hold you to that.”

Before I can change my mind, he ushers me into the restaurant. Resting his hand indecently low on my back, the tips of his fingers brush the top of my ass as he guides me through the door. Ah, he’s sneaky. That small touch gives me goose bumps all over again.

He walks with purpose and authority, like he owns the place. Shrugging off his coat, he all but shoves it a man standing at the front desk. “Hang this up,” he demands. There’s the man I know that can go from laughing to rude in an instant.

Walking by patrons and employees, they nod and smile at him as we pass while women's eyes wander over his body, licking their lips and batting their lashes at him, but he ignores them all.

Walking by two women at a table, one has the balls to reach out a long, slender hand and grab him by the arm and standing up in front of him. “Hello, handsome.” We’re both stopped in the middle of the restaurant because of her blocking our way. He looks from her hand to her face, curling his lips in disgust.

“I suggest that you remove your hand. Unless you’re blind, or ignorant, you can see that I’m here with someone.”

She turns her icy gaze on me and sneers, “Why lower your standards for someone trashy like her when I’m sure you would enjoy what I have to offer so much more.”

Trashy? “Excuse me―” just as I’m about to let loose on the bitch, Dante wraps his arm around my waist.

“Don’t bother with loathsome bitches, beautiful.” With a quick wave of his hand, he grabs the attention of a man in a suit, “I think this establishment should take out the trash, don’t you agree, Vinn?”

“What the fuck?” She spits and sputters, but she doesn’t get much of a chance to say much else. A large man in a suit quickly and efficiently escorts her out. “Come with me, Miss.” Where did the big man come from?

“Fuck that bitch. Let’s get that drink.” Keeping his arm firmly around my waist, he walks us to the bar. Pulling out my chair, he nods and says softly, yet firmly, “Sit down, London.” And that’s what I do. I sit my ass down.

He takes the seat next to me, placing his chair close enough for our thighs to touch. I have to admit that watching him in action was hot. I take note of another personality―controlling. I need some cold water, and a fan would be extremely helpful.

A bubbly waitress makes her way to us, asking for our orders and of course, Mr. Personality orders for me because apparently I’m unable to order for myself. “Two house specials.”

“What’s a house special? One shot of Gin, a splash of Coke, and a side of date rape?” I joke.

Oh, that was so not funny. Turning toward me, he looks at me like I’ve just spoken Turkish. Something scary flashes across his face when he looks at me. I guess I pissed off one of the personalities. “Relax, I was just kidding.” I hold up my hands in surrender. That was a bad fucking joke and bad timing.

“You think I would rape you?” He growls. Uh, well, I don’t actually know him enough to answer yay or nay. I don’t know what he would or wouldn’t do to me. I don’t think he would, but this is a man who seems to be stalking me. I don’t think happy, smiling personality would, but crazy psycho personality might. “No. At least, I would hope not.”

“I wouldn’t do shit to you that you wouldn’t beg me to do.” Well, alright then, Mr. Full of Yourself. I don’t beg, nor do I have any intentions of doing so, but he’ll never know that.

The petite bartender scurries our drinks over with a flirtatious giggle as she hands Dante his drink. Her fingers linger on his hand longer than necessary, but I don’t get a smile, not even a glance. She just carelessly slides my drink to me and half of it sloshes onto the bar. Great customer service.

“Can I get you
anything
else?” she says to him, smiling seductively.

“No. I believe me and my beautiful date are fine. I’ll be sure to yell for you if she would like anything else.” He says as his hand finds my thigh. Not happening. I remove his hand just as the bartender looks me over with a scowl on her face before walking away to help someone else. Well fuck you very much, bitch. Do I look that bad? I’m still wearing my work clothes, but damn. I guess I should’ve dressed skank tonight to pick up my meal.

“I’m not your date,” I grumble. This is only drinks.

Dante

“Alright, this is pretty fucking good.” London concedes with a smile. I’d figured as much since it’s a girly drink. “What's in it, really?” She asks, staring into her drink.

“A little bit of this and a little bit of that, minus the date rape.” I throw her words back at her and she actually laughs. It’s soft and musical. It’s a sound I thought I would never hear coming from her beautiful mouth and it’s a sound I really fucking like.

“Honestly?” I ask her.

“Yes, honestly,” she says. I’m trying to drag this out, anything to get her to stay and talk to me.

“I have no clue.” And it’s the truth. I haven’t got the slightest idea what’s in her drink. In fact, I don’t care. I ordered it hoping she’d like it and she did, so I ordered her another, but from the waiter this time, not the trashy waitress. I’m finding that I’ll do anything just to get a few extra minutes of her time.

For a while she sits quietly, looking around the restaurant. Her eyes are everywhere, except on me. It’s annoying. It’s fucking frustrating, actually. I’ve never had to work for something like this and to be honest, I don’t know why I am. I said I was done with this shit, but I’m not. Whatever it is about London that draws me to her has me damn near eating out of her hand.

“So what's your deal, Dante?” She turns in her seat towards me and raises a perfectly sculpted eyebrow. I finally have her attention―her full attention, and she calls me by my name. That right there is a huge fucking accomplishment and I’m happy as fuck about it. Her intense gaze is focused right on me as she waits for an answer, but she’s chewing on her bottom lip and it’s fucking distracting. How am I supposed to answer her when all I can see is my dick being sucked into that lovely mouth? It’s an impossibility not to think of that with her plump, wet lips right there in front of me. My mind wanders, thinking of her on her knees in her little black skirt, hiked up to her waist while I take her right here at the bar. I can see her fingers under some lacy black panties, rubbing…

A jarring scrape of the chair on the tile gets my attention. Her drink is on the bar top and her back is to me as she’s already walking away. Fuck, I’m losing her. “I apologize.” I stop her before she can disappear through the door. Second goddamn apology and it’s to her,
again.
“I'll talk. I was just…
distracted
.” And I was. I was so distracted my dick is aching to the point of pain.

“Sit, please.” She does, but she doesn't look happy or even interested anymore. Her fingers tap impatiently on the bar top as she sighs loudly for emphasis.

She thinks I'm a pain? Well ditto, baby. This woman is the biggest pain in the ass that I've ever met and I hardly know her. She doesn't get her way and she throws a fit. It's fucking adorable, really.

“So?” She's the first one to break the silence. She really does just jump right into it.

“So?” I fire back out of instinct. I know I’m being an asshole. I guess a part of me is just trying to rile her up, see what she’s made of. I wanna know if she can handle what I want to give her.

“What's with you? You’re showing up at my house, following me around. I’d just like to know why? What’s causing you to seek me out?” I watch her face for a moment and she never falters when she speaks to me. She’s relaxed and at ease, neither scared, nor intimidated by me. I like this a lot.

“I don’t know how to explain this. I felt that I owed you a sincere apology―”

“But what, exactly, are you apologizing for?” She counters with a hard stare. Oh come the fuck on. She knows, but she wants to hear me say it. I’m not gonna beg or get on my goddamn knees and grovel. No fucking way. That shit is absolutely beneath me. She can get up and go if that’s what she’s expecting.

What do I say? This all started when I wanted to apologize for the first night I met her and how I dragged her into the alley and kissed her. She didn’t fight it, but it at the time, it was wrong. I’ve stalked her, I’ve yelled at her because of my own frustrations, practically forced myself on her, and the list goes on. Am I sorry? Fuck no, but it’s the only excuse I have to see her and talk to her. I truly don’t feel wrong about any of it. I’d do it all again. Hell, I have a lot of shit I should be sorry for, but I’m not. I don’t have time for sorry. Feeling remorseful is a weak man’s emotion.

“For being an asshole,” I proclaim loudly. There, that’s something. I probably could’ve been a little more gentle and well behaved with her, but when it comes to this woman, I have no control. Hell, I stalked her here tonight and if it were any other woman, that would’ve never happened.

“So you’re sorry for being a dick?” She laughs, and it's a real, happy sound.

“I’m an asshole, not a dick. Big difference.” I correct her.

“Either way,” she shrugs. She can call me whatever she wants as long as she stops with the angry scowls and pissed off looks.

“So which time are you sorry for being an ass? Are you apologizing for every encounter we've had, because you’ve pretty much been an ass every time?” She laughs again, drawing me in. I love the easiness and realness of it. Her face lights up and it’s the most spectacular thing I’ve ever seen. She’s fucking bewitched me.

I don't wanna spoil her happy mood , so I try to go for a little more light and playful, “I'm an ass?” I feign hurt. That smile is too good to let go so I’ll do what I have to do to keep it, and I do just that as she starts to laugh even harder. I’m not above deceit and trickery to get what I want. In fact, I’ll do whatever I can to get what I want. But in an instant, my mood goes to shit at the sight of the waiter carrying her to-go bags over. If it wouldn’t scare the living fuck out of her, I’d shoot him on the spot just to keep him away, but that option’s off the table. She notices my expression and looks toward the waiter, and for a brief, but real moment, she frowns. She doesn’t want to leave me yet, and that’s a huge fucking victory for me.

That's it. My time is up. A whole goddamn week from the last time I approached her at her apartment where I’ve been planning and waiting for the perfect moment to get her to myself, and all I get is one fucking hour. But in that time, she let her guard down, showed me a little of herself, and I got her to smile. I got her to laugh. She relaxed and spoke to me even if it was at my expense. I win. She’ll soon see me the way everyone else does, and finally, she’ll be the one who won’t be able to shake
me
from her mind.

Standing up, the waiter hands her the bag and she hesitates. “Have dinner with me.” I blurt out. She looks at me like I’ve lost my mind, but why? There’s no way she could know the game I’m playing. “Please, have dinner with me.” I try for politeness, but the word is bitter in my mouth. Even to my own ears, it sounds forced.

Those lips tip into a smile and I don’t expect what comes out of her mouth.

“No, but thanks for the offer.” Before I can say anything else stupid to stop her, she leans down and presses her full lips to my cheek, close to my ear and whispers, “As always, it's been interesting. Good night, Dante.” That didn’t fucking work, but she just succeeded in fucking my world up.

London

That…
that
was a fucking mind trip. That’s what that was. He’s everywhere. As much as I'd like to say I hate it, I don't.

There's something about him. I’m not sure if it’s his dark, broody moods or his self-assured attitude, but I haven’t filed a police report yet so that’s saying something. You could say he's growing on me in a fucked up stalker, Stockholm syndrome kind of way.

I met him a week ago and I've seen him more in that week than I have my own reflection. He has my interest and that excites me, something I haven’t felt in a long time. I stuff away all thoughts of my disturbing stalker ‘cause I have to get this food home before it gets cold. I really don’t want to see Matt acting cranky the rest of the night. One moody man tonight is enough.

~~~~~~

“Took you long enough. Were they busy tonight?” Matt complains as he digs through the bags I placed on the kitchen counter. One minute through the door and he's already bitching at me. I’m gonna smack him.

“Shut it.” I grumble, heading straight past him for my room. I need my PJ's before dealing with Matt.

My chow mein finds my hands as I make my way to the living room. I take it straight to the couch where it’s meant to be eaten. There's nothing better than sweatpants and Chinese food on the couch.

“Movie?” Matt asks, already digging though the TV cabinet. It's a sight watching him balance sweet and sour chicken in one hand while digging through a pile of movies with the other. That's a serious food talent right there. He’d drop a baby before the Sweet and Sour.

“Sure, whatever ya want.” I mutter half-heartedly. All I can think about is Dante. A movie isn’t going to help anything. His maddening good looks are stalking my thoughts. His infuriating personality is driving me crazy, and his intrusive ways baffle me.

This is what he wanted. Whether it’s good or bad, he doesn't care, as long as it's him I'm thinking about. Damn, I wish I’d never met the fucking jerk.

Matt turns his attention to me, “Spill it, sista.”

“I saw Dante on my way to get dinner, or rather, he was lying in wait for me.”

“No fuckin’ way. Really? So he’s a real life stalker?” He teases. I have a feeling stalking might be the least of his issues. “And a hot stalker, ya lucky bitch.” He adds with a grin.

“You don’t find it weird?”

“He seems strange, but who am I to say. I mean, you could probably get amazing angry sex from him and you know how I feel about angry sex.” He swoons with his hand on his heart and stars in his eyes. He's never shy, not even about the filthy stuff. He's borderline inappropriate nine times out of ten, but it works for me. “He's probably looking for sex, so give it to him and he’ll leave ya alone.” I wonder if that’s it. That makes more sense to me than anything else I’ve thought up, but he’s going out of his way to get it for some reason. After tonight, I’ve seen he can get ass easily, so why try so hard with me.

“So I just give it up to him and he’ll go away?"

“Oh come on, London. Live a little. What's it been, two-and-a-half years?”

He's right, it has been. I did the casual sex thing for a while, but it didn’t end so well. I was always nervous that I would be the one to get attached and hurt, but it turned out that he wanted what I didn’t wanna give. He wasn’t happy about it and made sure I knew it with texts, constant phone calls, flowers, even those fucking singing telegrams. Wow, thinking about it really makes me feel like shit. I am such a bitch.

“Yes, it’s been over two years and after the casual sex thing, I’m not looking to do it again. You saw how that ended. Anyways, it’s not like I'm desperate. I’ve just been so busy and seeing how women throw themselves at him, that can’t be what he really wants. Maybe he needs a loan,” I tell him. He gives me a dramatic eye roll.

“London, he's a man. Of course he wants it, and seriously, you’re fucking hot. You have a killer figure and tits for days. He wants him some of that, I promise you.”

I drop the subject and shove all that shit down, drowning it in cheap wine as I settle myself back into the couch and enjoy my dinner and movie in peace. We watch
Too Wong Foo
without another word about Dante or sex of any kind. I keep my focus on Miss Noxeema Jackson, Vida Boheme, and Chi-Chi Rodriguez. I drink and eat until I can barely move.

“Night Matt,” I say, kissing him on the cheek after the movie. I'm exhausted from today and need some sleep.

“Night, bitch.” He kisses my cheek in return before we both head to our rooms. I fall into bed face first and forget about Mr. Marx for the night, making sure I get some sleep.

~~~~~~

Dammit! I'm so late. Between working and classes, I’m exhausted. I guess I didn't realize how much sleep I actually needed until I overslept. A quick shower is all I get this morning. Scrambling around my room, I throw on a pair of black jeans, a white tee, and a gray cardigan, then I slap on my black riding boots. I run a little product through my hair but have no time for makeup.

Rushing out of the door, I stop by the kitchen on my way out. “Damn, I was about to go in there after you. You know you're late, right?” Matt asks as he hands me a glass of juice and my pill. I give him a vile look before I throw back the juice and pill in one quick gulp.

“No shit, Sherlock. Where was this concern an hour and a half ago when you should’ve been waking me up?” He only shrugs me off and goes back to digging through the fridge.

“Hey, don't blame me. I just got up myself. I don't have to be at work until noon today. You got time for an omelet?” He jokes. I could slap him.

Matt’s a stylist by day and he works at The Blue Lounge with me, tending bar at night. He loves the tips the bar provides, but styling is his passion and his appointments usually don’t start until noon. Ain’t he a lucky bitch. I give him the finger while I walk through the front door. I don't have time for his jokes or omelets this morning.

~~~~~~

I make it just in time, only to be bored to tears as class drags. All I can hear is the teachers incoherent babbling. I can't keep my mind on anything, except for Dante. I haven’t seen him since last Thursday and my mind’s been going over every encounter we’ve had, trying to see anything that could clue me in to what he wants with me. But since not hearing from him, maybe he figured I wasn’t worth the trouble. He’s probably right.

I still can’t help but wonder since he knows things about me, what do I know of him? Where does he work? What’s he doing at this exact second? Is he out stalking someone else? Is he wearing a sexy suit? Then I picture that suit strewn all over my bedroom floor. I wonder if he wears boxers.

Class ends with no assignments, just more studying for finals that I’ll be taking over the next few weeks. It’s Friday, and last night was officially my very last night of working at The Blue Lounge. It would have been tonight but hey, I did my time and after hiring a new girl to take my place, it seemed appropriate for her jump into the deep end, starting with the Friday night crowd.

This weekend is big. I have the pleasure of being Matt's date for some charity function Sunday evening. He’s styling a few people attending and his work earned him an invite to the black tie event. I'm not a huge formal dress kinda girl with a heavily made up face, but on rare occasions, I do enjoy getting all prettied up. These functions are usually dry and boring, but there’ll be free booze, and Matt and I will make our own fun with free alcohol.

I have an hour in between my first and second class, so I spend it in the library. I find all the books comforting and calming. I’m gonna miss this place. After years and years of college, it all boils down to these next few weeks.

Finding my usual spot empty, I plunk down and spread my mess out. It's in a secluded corner in the back of the second story library, among all the history books that I like to hide away in. It's quiet and private, which is just how I like it.

The top floor isn't a full floor. It's more of a wraparound balcony with a railing around the outside. You can look down and see the whole bottom floor of the library. It’s my little piece of heaven.

I’m halfway through my science homework when I'm interrupted by loud voices. “Oh come the fuck on. You’ve got to be kidding me.” I whisper to myself. I pray they go away. I don't wanna be bothered, especially when I’m in the zone. Last time I was interrupted up here was by some horny couple looking for a place to fuck. It was awkward when they started ripping clothes off only to realize I was no more than five feet away from them. I’m not looking for a repeat.

“Here you'll see the history section. You'll notice the need for new bookshelves, too.” A woman says. Cheery and high-pitched, it’s the voice of the college's representative, Ms. Jones. Her face is on posters, fliers, and commercials for the school.

“Yes, I can see.” A disinterested male voice answers back. “Are we almost finished here?” I recognize that voice too. Son of a bitch! Did that motherfucker put a tracker on me? I haven’t seen him in over a week but how the fuck does he show up here, of all places? Maybe it’s a coincidence. Before I can get up and grab my stuff to make a quick getaway, they round the corner and I have no time to escape. Why is he here in my little corner of the library, and
why
does he have to look so fucking good today? I’m frozen for a moment, staring at this sexy man in an amazing dark blue suit. He’s the epitome of handsome. His hair is its usual mess and his five o'clock shadow is now unruly. It matches his messy hair and I imagine what that would feel like between my thighs … Fuck.

Play dead, my brain shouts. Maybe if I ignore them and keep my nose in my work, they won't even notice me. One can only hope.

Holding my breath, I turn my head and pretend to read. I’m stuck. This isn’t the time or place for another awkward moment with what sounds like Mr. Grouch’s personality.

“There’s also a great need for more tables and chairs for students to study at.” Ms. Jones continues , “We could use new computers in the lab, new office supplies, and more help, possibly,” she goes on. Sighing at the fading voices, I slump back into my seat. I totally dodged that bullet.

Sitting back and relaxing, I look up and into Dante’s eyes, damn near causing me to jump out of my seat. Shit, he’s found me. His brows pull up and he looks surprised to see me, then his perfectly practiced scowl replaces his surprise.

I've got to get out of here and away from him. I stand up and start fumbling with my shit on the table like a bumbling idiot. He doesn’t speak to me, but says over his shoulder, “Ms. Jones, I'll meet you back in your office. I need a few moments.”

I look up for a moment and see the confusion on her face until she spots me, looking as if she understands his problem. “Mr. Marx, we're not finished.” She says, glaring at me. I start to gather my things faster, shoving them in my bag haphazardly. I’ll sort it all out later. I need to be gone before she decides to leave because I cannot be left alone with him.

“I need a fucking minute,” He barks at her harshly. Waving a hand toward the stairs, he dismisses her. Ms. Jones’s face flashes her anger not at him, but directly at me, but there's no argument. She only nods and leaves us. Oh good, now I'm on her shit list.

I grab my packed bag and turn to leave. I start walking, trying my best to get away quickly. “God dammit.” He growls at me under his breath, “Wait!”

He catches me right before I can escape. He wraps his hands around my waist and pulls me into him, my back flat to his front. “What the fuck are you doing?” Spinning me around, he holds me tight against him as his other hand grabs my face, covering my mouth.

A bit of terror washes over me along with a small thrill that I feel all the way down to my core. “I’ve grown to love the sound of words like
fuck
come from your lips because when I finally fuck you, and I will, I wanna hear them slip between those thick, fuckable lips of yours,” His warm, minty breath says before he leans his face into my neck. “Are you going to scream?” He teases softly. No. I’m gonna slap the shit out of him.

Shaking my head, he removes his hand from my mouth and begins to trail his fingers down my cheek as his facial scruff brushes against my ear. I shiver. I can’t fucking help it. I should be scared shitless of this man, yet he only turns me on. “Are you done running away from me,
Miss DeLacourt?
”

“No.” I say with as much determination as I possibly can, given the situation.

My back meets a bookshelf with a jarring thud and my bag falls to the floor. His hand goes behind my head, catching it before it hits the shelf while the other arm keeps me trapped. His body crowds mine into the dark corner, pressing into me―suffocating me. The hand at my head grabs a fist full of hair and tugs my head back. “Fuck, I wanna take you right here, right now,” He whispers harshly.

“W-
what
the fuck are you…” Pulling my hair more roughly, he jerks my head back so I can look up at him. “Are you done running,
Miss DeLacourt?
” he reiterates with his lips just barely touching mine, staring straight into my eyes. This is so fucking hot. I nod stupidly as I rub my legs together. “London, I’m asking you a question.”

“Yes.”

“Good. Now, I wanted to tell you how beautiful you look today,” he mutters softly against my lips. Oh no, he’s switching tactics. He knows he’s getting to me.