Loan Shark Love

I feel restless in my own home, my body aches to be close to her.

I watched those brown eyes rake over me, and I couldn’t get enough then.

I wonder what her father might think of me. Would he allow his daughter to date a loan shark? Would she care what he thought, or would she ignore his wishes?

A thought strikes me, and I grip the wall, using it as an anchor.

Rose is out there on her own with the weight of her father’s business on her shoulders. She has the stress of it all on her pretty head, dragging her down.

There is a knock at my office door. I turn, looking over my shoulder.

“Mr. Kingston,” my assistant says from the doorway. She has her pale face poked around the half-open door. “Your sister called saying she’s coming by in fifteen minutes, and she has food, so you better be here.” When I raise my eyebrow, the assistant blushes, stuttering, “That was uh…those are her words, sir. I wasn’t trying to sound as if—”

“It’s alright,” I tell her, waving a hand. “Go ahead. I’ll be here.”

The assistant nods at me, and then suddenly, the door opens, revealing Natalie behind her. She pushes into the room with her arms full of takeout packages.

“No need, dear brother,” she says, grinning at me. “I brought Chinese food.”

“Orange chicken with soy sauce?” I ask her, helping with the bags.

“Of course,” Natalie tells me, pushing the containers across my desk.

“This is my work desk,” I tell her, but Natalie just grins.

“I know,” she says with a shrug. “You work too hard, Grey. You need a break.”

Natalie opens a container of chicken lo-mein and dives in with her chopsticks, drowning the noodles in various packets of soy sauce. She slurps a mouthful, pointing one of her utensils at me, waving it like it’s a finger of disapproval.

“What?” I ask her, sighing as I stab a fork into my sticky orange chicken. It’s gooey and bright orange like how I like it. “What is the problem this time, Nat?”

“We should go to a club,” she says, nodding. My heart rate picks up at her words. I think of Rose and the club and how we might run into one another, and I wait for her to continue. “I think you really need a good, strong drink and a few dances with a pretty girl.”

“You always think I need a drink,” I point out, shaking my head at her.

“And you always do,” Natalie answers, grinning at me with her straight teeth.

She looks so much like our harsh, dead-and-gone father that it’s unnerving. But even though she has the same sharp, green eyes that he gave me, her soft, pretty features are all from her ginger mother, who lives in a little cottage in Florida.

“We can go,” I tell her, grabbing a buttery sugar roll from one of the containers. “What did you find out about the mold in your apartment? Is it black mold?”

“The landlord said he would cover it with paint,” Natalie tells me, making a face.

“You can stay here,” I tell her. The house gets lonely, and Natalie is the closest thing to a friend that I have. “You’re not going back to an apartment with mold. You’re here all the time anyway. The west wing is yours if you want it.”

“The whole thing? Like all of the west wing? Are you sure?” Natalie asks me, freezing comically with a mouthful of shiny lo-mein noodles in her mouth.

I nod, closing my takeout container. “There’s a bathroom and a kitchenette. It’s a few rooms away from the movie theater too. You can use it whenever you want.”

My sister would be safer if she were closer to me anyway. She was one of the few people that could be used against me, and it would be better if she were in the house with me.

Natalie grins. “I always forget how rich you are, dear brother. I would love to stay.”

I roll my eyes. “Wonderful. I’ll have movers come by later today for your things.”

“Cool,” Natalie said, standing. “Now go and get ready, Grey. We’re going out.”

CHAPTER THREE

Rose

I can’t seem to shake Grey Kingston from my thoughts.

I stand in front of the mirror in my pink, sparkly dress, shimmering back at me in my reflection. I run a hand over the slight pudge in my belly, and I can’t help but wonder if Grey would be disgusted by it.

Would he avoid touching me because of my size?

Could he ever be into someone like me?

I imagine those big, elegant hands running over my skin.

I imagine that he’s warm and heavy as he hovers over me, pressing kisses to my neck. I can almost smell his scent as he moves closer toward my mouth. My whole body feels warm, and I jump when one of my friends calls for me to come down.