Arrogant Bastard - Julie Capulet Page 0,31

and she slips her hand from my grasp. “If we don’t kill each other first,” she says, and it’s the first hint of humor aimed in my direction. Maybe because Josie is so happy. Josie stands up, with effort, and gives Luna a hug. They’re both crying. For very different reasons.

I give them a minute to let their emotions play out as I slide my phone back into my pocket.

“Go on now,” Josie says, wiping her eyes. “You two go and have fun and start making all your grand plans together. I can’t wait to see what this place looks like next time I visit with my babies in tow.”

“You’ll hardly recognize it,” I say, and it’s true. The only direction is up for this outdated dive, that’s for damn sure. And, weirdly, I do want to make Luna’s dreams come true.

The emotions Luna is empowering are unfamiliar. Usually I do things for other people purely to get something from them. There’s always an agenda that leads to my satisfaction of one kind or another, most often relating to sex or money or sometimes both.

This feels different. I want to have sex with her—right now—but I don’t want to only have sex with her. I want to please her. And give her things she’s never had. I want to inspire more of that bell-chimed laughter.

I don’t want to want any of these things, but there it is.

“You ready?” I say, more abruptly than maybe I should. I’m agitated. I’m blue-balled and more than half-cocked. I don’t like what’s happening to me. If I could walk away right now, I would.

Don’t be a melodramatic douchebag. Of course you can walk away.

Then do it.

Put some cash in her bank account for the refurbishments, which you can direct from afar, jump on your private jet and get your ass back to Chicago.

No.

I don’t want to.

I want to take her out tonight. Then I want to spend the next few days talking through our plans. Watching that outrageous face. Counting those golden freckles. Seeing if I can get her to let me kiss that succulent pink mouth. And peel off that dress until her full, high breasts bounce free of it so I can taste those little budded nipples and suck on them like the starving wretch that I am.

I shouldn’t be starving, all things considered.

But I am. When it comes to Luna, I suddenly feel like I haven’t actually been with a woman in years. Maybe ever. Not in a way that actually means something.

Would you fucking listen to yourself?

It’s official: I’m going batshit crazy.

“Ready as I’ll ever be,” she says. Like going out with me is a necessary evil she’s dreading.

I’ll change all that.

I’m going to show her such a good time she’s going to fall in love with me and never want to leave me.

It’ll happen. Then I’ll lose interest and walk away.

No you won’t.

You know it in your twisted, jaded heart that, with this one—this starry, beautiful girl who’s glaring at you and dazzling the hell out of you at the same fucking time—it was never going to be that easy.

I’m nervous about tonight. I’m having trouble dealing with the avalanche of emotions I’m feeling, that seem to be twisted and entwined in confusing configurations.

There’s the fear. Of those long-ago hometown memories—that have suddenly bubbled up in full force after I thought I was done with them, years ago. It’s disconcerting. And annoying. There’s the sadness, that Josie will be gone by the end of the weekend. It’s so sudden and … final. There’s the fury, that Gage McCabe has taken total control of my life with one light touch on his fancy iPhone. The smug look on his face when he knew he had me right where he wanted me all along: under his control. I don’t want to be under his control, or anyone else’s, of course I don’t. Worst of all are the … cravings. The urges I’ve felt over the past two days that I wish had nothing to do with to the unexpected plot twist of the stranger coming to town. That quiet fever in me, like something inside me has just woken up and it’s hungry. I don’t know how to feel about that or what to do about it. And there’s excitement. I really do love this band’s music.

So, even though Josie insisted on styling me to perfection, I feel out of control under my polished surface layer. The tempest going on in