Riding Dirty: Luciotti Crime Family (A Bad Boy Mafia Romance) - Kara Hart Page 0,16

I was gone. Why didn’t he just call them?

“Come on, Lucas. You can’t say no to father. You don’t have a choice in this. Ma’s making a feast. Just be there, okay?”

I groaned grudgingly, but it was obvious I had to obey. “Don’t worry. I’ll go,” I said. The car came to a stop and I jumped out. Sure, I had it made.

5

Dahlia

“You just never let up, do you?” I stood there, crossing my arms in front of myself as Lucas sat inconspicuously in the corner.

He was reading a large book called “Plants of Michigan.” Out of the corner of his right eye, he saw me and set down the paperback. “Where else would I be? There ain’t much to do in this town, you know,” he said.

“There’s a coffee shop a few blocks north,” I retorted. I grabbed a towel and dunked it into the bleach bucket and sloppily cleaned his table off.

“Yeah, well I heard their coffee sucks,” he said. “Read it on Yelp.”

I looked at him and tried not to laugh. “You looked it on Yelp, huh?”

“Is that funny to you? Seems like everything I do is to your benefit.” He was looking at me with a stern gaze. His white muscle shirt suffocated his muscles. Every peak and valley from his six-pack rippled against the fabric. There I was, staring a hole through his body. I immediately noticed myself gawking and snapped out of it.

“I can’t imagine you owning a smart phone,” I laughed. “You, a tough guy from Detroit.”

“Everyone has a smart phone. Even tough guys from Detroit,” he said. He picked his book back up and started reading.

I couldn’t believe this guy. Everything he did seemed to be a contradiction. At least it was something interesting. He was right about one thing: there wasn’t much to this town. And after living here for a while, the days started to blend together. “You a gardener now or something?”

He sighed and set the book back down. “I thought you wanted me to leave you alone,” he said.

I felt my heart race as my eyes trailed his body downward to his belt. I kept imagining him slowly threading the leather through each loop, opening the buckle like a box of treasure. I had these fantasies where I fell to my knees, waiting patiently for him. I was obedient and hungry for him. His presence filled the room, that ashy-wood smell, and he was more than willing to let me know who was boss. “Give me that cunt,” he whispered, holding his leather belt between his hands.

I had to snap myself out of it. I had a child for fuck’s sake. I had responsibilities. I couldn’t be reckless like I used to be. I gulped down, hearing that tiny click in the back of my throat. I said “I was just wondering.” I quickly shielded my red face and turned to help another customer. Finally, there are other people to distract me, I thought to myself.

“Don’t you leave without taking my order,” he said.

I stopped dead in my tracks. Without turning around, I said “Red eye with a quiche, right?”

“Hm. No, I should get something different. What do you recommend?” Fuck. He was going to force me to face him. That bastard!

“The quiche is good. I recommended the red eye last time. It’s a standard knock your socks off kind of a drink,” I said.

“Give me an iced latte. Extra shot. And a ham and cheese omelet. Make it pepper-jack.” I could feel him smiling behind me.

“Coming right up,” I said. An Iced latte? Was this guy for real? Next thing I’d know, he’d be asking me for extra caramel.

He made me feel so weird. It constantly felt like his dark and heavy eyes were staring at me. Yet, every time I turned to look at him, he was invested in that stupid plant book of his. My cheeks felt hot. Okay, just relax Dahlia, I had to tell myself. I posted his order in the kitchen window. “Order up,” I said, making eye contact with Joel, the new fill in for Carmelo.

I was actually kind of worried about Carmelo. The past few days he had called in sick and the day before that it was as if he had seen a ghost. It wasn’t like I couldn’t handle myself here. We probably got around a total of 30 customers a day. It’s just that the old Italian was never sick. He was always energetic, sometimes even rambunctious.