Shameless - Sybil Bartel Page 0,8
get you anything else? Some to-go containers?”
“Princess?”
“No,” she snapped at me before looking at the waiter and toning it down. “Just the check, please.”
The waiter pulled the check out, and she reached for it.
Knocking her hand away, I gave the waiter my credit card.
“I’ll be right back.” The waiter took off.
Rehab glared at me. “What the hell was that?”
“No woman buys me a meal.” Trust fund teenager or otherwise.
She looked at me like I was certifiable. “Why?”
“I’m Italian.” Women didn’t buy me fucking food. Period.
“So?”
“If you have to question it, there’s zero point explaining it.”
“What, so this is some kind of cultural, old-world thing? You’re Italian,” she mocked, mimicking my deep voice. “You can’t let a woman buy you a meal because you’ll lose your man card?” She snorted. “Whatever.”
I looked her dead in the eye. “It’s respect. You’re welcome.”
The disdain wiped clean from her expression, and she blinked. Her cheeks flushed, and her mouth closed. She didn’t say shit.
The waiter showed back up.
My eyes on her, I took the receipt. Briefly glancing at the amount, I added tip, signed and stood. “Let’s go.” I held my hand out to her.
Her blue-eyed gaze cut nervously from my hand to the ink on my inner wrist.
“Not a ploy, princess. Just helping you out of the booth.”
With a quick inhale, she took my hand, and the feigned indifference I’d heard earlier in her tone came back. “I didn’t think it was.” Sliding off the seat, she looked up at me. “You’re not that subtle.”
She was fucking astute for her age, and I didn’t argue, because she was right. I was about to drop her hand when her expensive perfume hit me and shit clouded my judgment. Smelling like a woman and not a teenager, I stared at her young-as-fuck face for a beat, and something buried deep that I didn’t ever fucking let out anymore tried to surface.
Before I could think twice about saying shit, I opened my mouth. “Don’t let any man disrespect you.” Still holding her small-as-fuck hand, suddenly feeling like I needed to protect her from the whole damn world, I tightened my grip. “I don’t give a shit who it is.”
Her voice went quiet. “You disrespect me every time you call me Rehab or princess.”
“Not the same.” She knew what I meant.
“I’m not ashamed of going to rehab, but I don’t like being called that.”
Christ, she was honest, but she didn’t get it. “I don’t engage with clients, let alone share a meal and conversation. You walk into a restaurant with a man, he pays. Period. That’s all I’m saying, and point taken on the nickname.”
She half laughed. “So you’re saying this was a date?”
She still didn’t get it. “No.” I didn’t bother giving women enough attention to shell out advice, let alone the respect of a meal. Not even the ones I fucked. My first deployment taught me life was fucking short—too damn short to get attached to shit.
Her smile dropped, and she forced indifference. “Oh. Right. You save that for Cara.”
I wasn’t suicidal. “I never went out to eat with her.” Cara was a moment of weakness that lasted too damn long.
Fucking her under her husband’s nose was a sorry substitute for the adrenaline rushes downrange I’d been jonesing for since going civilian. I didn’t do shit with Cara except pussy chase. I used her, and she used me. There wasn’t a damn thing between us outside the sex. And I sure as hell never had a conversation with her like I was having with this fucking nineteen-year-old.
“Right,” Summer scoffed. “You broke up with someone you dated but didn’t go out to eat with. Sounds logical. And super sustainable. How long did that last?” she asked flippantly.
“I didn’t date her. I fucked her.” Big difference. “How long is none of your business.” Too goddamn long. I should’ve had Luna pull me from her detail after the first day. But Carabella Vincenzo had trained her gaze on my ink, then my junk, and I’d made it my personal mission to get under her skirt just for the fuck of it.
“Sounds like that’s a habit for you,” Summer teased easily.
“More like a lifestyle.” Or sanity preservation, take your pick. I didn’t date or do relationships. I fucked the type of women who could handle my proclivities, then moved on. And that sure as hell wasn’t gonna happen with little Miss Rehab. Letting go of her, I dropped my hand to the small of her back. “Let’s go.”
“Aye, aye,