“Damn,” Junior says.
“What?”
He just shakes his head and mutters, “And I thought you were hot in scrubs.”
Okay, I might be starting to feel a little better, even though the heaviness still pushes at my chest.
I pack some gym clothes and we head down the stairs. “When is Paolo coming?” I ask.
“He’ll be here in time for Zumba. Gio will be all right for an hour while we go to breakfast.”
“You’re speaking with all your medical expertise?” I can’t help giving him a hard time. It’s like it’s a job I was born to do.
“I’d slap your ass, but I have a feeling today would be the day you’d deck me for it.”
I’m getting closer to smiling.
* * *
Junior
I force myself to work out at the gym, because Dio, if I watch Desiree shaking those hips in her yoga pants and tank during Zumba, I’m going to march in there, throw her over my shoulder and carry her to the locker room shower. And let me tell you, I wouldn’t be washing her hair in that shower.
I text Earl to find out the significance of the day for Desiree.
He replies right away—it’s the boy’s birthday.
Well, fuck.
I know how hard those dates are. Except my child is dead. And Desiree’s isn’t, he’s been stolen from her. I fire off another text to Earl putting more pressure on him to find her son. Hire every detective in town. Get them all on the case, I tell him. I want this kid found yesterday.
Cheering people up isn’t my strong suit, as evidenced by my wife’s mental state following Mia’s death.
I wait for her outside her class. Fuck if it isn’t still going and I do get an eyeful of those hips lighting the room on fire. The class runs over and I can’t move because I don’t want to miss a single second of it.
It’s worse knowing what she likes, because I start imagining forcing her to have sex in a thousand dirty ways. But she doesn’t want that.
Not anymore.
And the fantasy’s only hot if she’s actually into it.
The five minutes feel like fifty, but finally the class ends and she walks out, a towel around her neck. I don’t dare look at the way her breasts stretch that tank top or I’ll sprout a chub that everyone will see.
“I’m gonna take a quick shower,” she tells me. “Meet you outside the locker room.”
I nod and watch her ass as she walks away. She’s not strutting—I still see the defeat in her posture—but she has all the right junk in the trunk.
Desiree is the full package. Smart, sassy, hot as hell. I wonder what went wrong with her marriage. The guy has to be a douche not to do everything he could to keep her.
Well, obviously he’s more than a douche. He’s a testa di cazzo. He stole their kid from her.
I shower and change and meet her outside the locker room. Her hair’s still wet, like she rushed to get out and meet me. It’s fucking freezing outside.
“Get back in there and dry your hair,” I tell her. “You’ll fucking freeze.”
She rolls her eyes. “I’ll be fine.”
I block her path. “Hey,” I make my voice sharp, like I’m coming down on one of my soldiers for disrespect.
She jerks a little, then slaps my chest. “Jesus, you are such an asshole. Do you seriously have to bully me every second of the day?”
I might feel bad, considering she’s having a shit day, but it’s good to see the spark back in her. I give her a hard stare until she rolls her eyes and turns around with a huff, marching back to the locker room.
When she comes back out, her hair is a dark, glossy curtain over her shoulders, framing her lovely face. She always has it back in a ponytail, so I’m momentarily struck by her model-worthy beauty.
I look at my phone. “No messages from Paolo. I’m taking you shopping.”
She doesn’t want to like it, but I can tell she does. I know she’s been scraping by. A woman like her deserves to be spoiled.
We’re not close to any big malls, but I take her to an area of my suburb with the fancy shops and find a spot to park on the street. I should probably call in one of the guys to stand as bodyguard, because Vlad could be anywhere, but I don’t think I’ve been followed, and I don’t see anything suspicious.
“You have three thousand dollars to spend in fifty minutes. You don’t get to keep any money you don’t spend, and everything you buy has to be for yourself.”
She stops and turns rounded eyes on me, lips parting.
I want to kiss them.
Fuck.
What’s wrong with me?
It’s one thing to want to fuck a girl. But kissing? I haven’t kissed a woman since Marne. Not one.