“That was... wow,” I say when we walk away from the theater. “I don’t even have words right now.”
“Yet you’re talking.” He makes a puppet out of his hand as he holds it up, right in my face, saying, “blah, blah, blah, blah, blah...”
I shove his hand away with a laugh. “Fuck off.”
He looks at me and smiles. He smiles. It’s genuine, no more than a flicker of happiness, but it’s there, and I see it, and it does something to me.
There’s that damn pitter-pattering again.
“There’s something about you, Lorenzo,” I say, shaking my head as I look away, unconsciously returning his smile. “Sometimes I think you might just be human.”
“You’re making shit weird again, Scarlet.”
I roll my eyes. “Whatever.”
“So, where to now?” he asks, stopping on the nearby corner, waiting for the light to change to cross the street.
“I don’t know... nowhere, I guess?” I shrug, waving back toward the theater. “I’m not sure how that could be topped.”
He looks at me, raising his eyebrows. “Is that a challenge?”
“Uh, no...”
“It sounds like one.”
“Well, it isn’t.”
He grins, a sly kind of smile just as the light changes, leaning closer to whisper, “challenge accepted,” before walking away, crossing the street.
I’m not sure what he’s thinking right now, but my stomach twists all up in knots. Shit.
I’ve got a bad feeling about this.
But I’ve got to admit... I kind of like it.
Seven lives in a little brown cookie-cutter townhouse. Potted plants line the steps, the flowers in them starting to bloom.
Purple. And pink.
Seriously, he’s got purple and pink flowers leading to his front door.
He stands there in the doorway, dressed like usual but yet barefoot, his eyes scanning us with confusion, like we’re the last people he expected to see when his doorbell rang a moment ago.
“Bruno, love, who is it?” a woman’s voice calls out from behind him inside.
“It’s, uh...”
Seven doesn’t finish, but he really doesn’t have to, because the woman pops up in the doorway beside him. She’s everything you’d expect from someone with potted plants leading to her door, the kind of woman that just looks like she’d pack her husband healthy snacks before sending him off to work—burgundy ruffled blouse, black pencil skirt, with perfectly straight blonde hair, wearing the kind of makeup that doesn’t look like makeup.
You know what I’m saying?
She looks out at us, eyes widening only slightly. She’s either got one hell of a poker face or she’s gotten used to Lorenzo. “Oh, hello, Mr. Gambini.”
He merely nods at her.
Her gaze shifts to me as she smiles. “Hi, there! I’m Sarah. You are...?”
“Morgan,” I say, a little caught off guard by her politeness. “Morgan Myers.”
“Nice to meet you, Miss Myers,” she says.
“You, too,” I say, because I don’t know what else to say to that.
“Morgan is, uh... Lorenzo’s girlfriend.”
Oh, whoa, buddy...
My eyes dart to Lorenzo, stunned, and see he’s making a face similar to the one he makes when he sees me crying. He’s disturbed. That should probably offend me, right? Should probably want to hit him. Instead, it makes me laugh.
“Oh, wow, that’s great,” Sarah says, still smiling at me. “I was just finishing up dinner. We’re having tacos. Would you like to join us? There’s plenty to go around.”
“Oh, Jesus, yes,” I say, the words flying out of my mouth without me even thinking about them.
Sarah laughs. “Well, then, come on in!”
Seven looks insanely nervous, watching his wife as she walks away, before he turns to Lorenzo. “Boss?”
Lorenzo just stands there.
He says nothing.
I don’t have it in me to try to figure out their exchange, because my stomach is growling and the woman said tacos. Shrugging it off, I head up the steps, my movement bringing Lorenzo back around to reality.
“Relax, Seven,” Lorenzo says, following me inside. “It’ll be fine.”
I don’t know if Seven agrees with that, because he says nothing, too preoccupied as his wife calls out for him to set two more places at the table.
I start to follow, but Lorenzo grabs my arm, stopping me right in the entryway to the town house. His voice is low as he says, “Do me a favor and be on your best behavior.”
My brow furrows. “What do you think I’m planning to do here, straddle the woman’s lap and motorboat her titties? It’s dinner.”
Lorenzo lets out a laugh of disbelief, not letting go of my arm. “They’re Mormon.”
Okay, that stalls me. “What?”
“Watch what you say,” he continues. “Don’t talk about stealing, or killing, or fucking...”
“What are we supposed to talk about?”
“I don’t know,” he says. “Whatever people talk about that aren’t those things.”
“Wait, hold on,” I say when he finally lets go. “If she’s super-conservative, how does the dude get away with working for you?”
It strikes me, as soon as I ask that, that she doesn’t know.
“We deal in oranges, Scarlet,” he says, turning away. “It’s a lucrative business.”
I head to the kitchen, because well, there’s no getting out of this now. Tacos, it turns out, aren’t the kind of tacos I’m thinking about. They’re fancy homemade chicken tacos with some kind of yogurt sauce. We sit down at the table, and they bless the food with a prayer.
Yeah, I got us in deep here…
“So, tell me about yourself, Morgan,” Sarah says as we start to eat. “What is it you do?”
Oh, boy.
I’m waiting for one of the guys to chime in for me, but nope. I’m on my own here.
“I’m kind of in between gigs right now,” I say. “Still trying to figure out what I want to do with my life.”
“You’re young. You’ve got plenty of time.” She smiles. Always smiling. “How’d you two meet?”
She motions toward Lorenzo, who is eagerly eating like the guy has never eaten before, avoiding having to talk. Figures.
“Just ran into him on the street one day,” I say. “It’s kind of a funny story, actually... you see, he lost his wallet and I happened upon it and he tracked me down to get it back. I never expected to see him again, much less somehow become his girlfriend.”
Lorenzo chokes.
Not even kidding.
He starts choking, coughing, his face turning red.
Seven jumps up, like he’s about to give him CPR, but Lorenzo pulls himself together before the man can touch him.
“I’m fine,” he grumbles, waving him off. “Sit back down.”
The subject changes, thanks to Seven, who finally decides to chime in and distract his wife, taking the attention off of us. I slouch in my chair, leaning toward Lorenzo, whispering, “It’s just a word. They’re only words, remember?”
Lorenzo cuts his eyes my way. I know he’s got some choice words for me right now, but he stays on his best behavior.
Dinner is over quickly, and Lorenzo makes an excuse about having work to do in order to flee the house. Sarah draws me to her in a hug... a hug... before telling me to stop by anytime I’d like.
Seven walks us out, stalling near the potted plants as I head down onto the sidewalk to wait. So weird, their perfect little life. I didn’t expect it.
“I need that address,” Lorenzo tells Seven. “You got it for me yet?”
“Yeah, hold on.” Seven goes back inside, returning a moment later with a slip of scrap paper, something written on it. “Do you need me to—?”
“No, I got it,” Lorenzo says, fisting the paper. “Tell the missus we appreciate dinner.”
“Sure thing, boss.”
Se
ven goes back inside, closing the door, visit over.
Lorenzo turns to me, slowly approaching, and says nothing, although I know there’s so much he could say at the moment.
“That totally didn’t top The Lion King,” I tell him.
“Yeah, well, you did that shit to yourself, Scarlet.”
He walks away.
Again, I follow.
I don’t know where we’re going, and he doesn’t ask me for ideas this time, so I’m pretty sure he’s got another destination in mind.
As we head deeper into Brooklyn, my nerves grow more frayed. We end up down in Manhattan Beach after sunset, in front of a decently sized gray house. Open and airy, modern architecture with massive windows and a second-story terrace. The lights are all off, nobody home that I can tell.
“You ever been here before?” Lorenzo asks.
“Uh, no.” I look at him with confusion. “Should I have?”
He shrugs.
Oh-kay.
Before I can question that, he scales the fence surrounding the place and heads for it. Shit.
I follow, not nearly as gracefully, keeping my head down. Lorenzo circles the outside, surveying the house, before focusing his attention on the terrace.
I’ve snuck into enough abandoned buildings in my life to know exactly what he’s doing.
“You want me to, like, give you a hand up?” I ask. “Maybe get down on my hands and knees and let you stand on my back?”
“Would you?” he asks.
I shrug. “Why not? Won’t be the first time a guy stepped all over me.”
He laughs, shaking his head. “Actually, it might be easier if I helped you up there.”
“To do what, break in?”
“Yes.”
I sigh, staring up at the terrace. Fuck it. “Fine, let’s do this.”
He has the audacity to look surprised, like he doubted my commitment to delinquency (seriously?), but he kneels down, saying, “Climb on my shoulders.”
It’s awkward, but I do it, straddling his neck while wearing a dress, sitting on his shoulders like we’re playing a game of Chicken. I grip him tightly, holding on, as he stands up again, lifting me just high enough to reach the terrace.
Look, I’m not even going to pretend that swinging on poles day after day doesn’t have its benefits. As soon as I get my hands on the railing, I pull myself up, no problem. Climbing is a breeze. Getting down is usually a different story, though. Gravity can be a bitch.
I approach the terrace door, tugging on it.
Locked. Of course.
“Just wiggle it,” he calls up to me. “The locks on those are usually shit.”
“Yeah, yeah,” I mutter, reaching into my bra and pulling out my knife. What, you didn’t think I stopped carrying it, did you? Pffttt. I open the blade, sliding it in the crack, toying with it for a moment before it pops open. “Ha!”
“Good girl.”
I swing around, scowling at those words as I look down at him. “Seriously?”
He waves me off. “Just come let me in, woman.”
I mock salute him, slipping inside what turns out to be a bedroom. A very clean bedroom. Spotless. I tiptoe through the house, making my way downstairs where Lorenzo waits.
I unlock the back door, letting him in.
He locks it right behind him again.
Lorenzo starts searching the house. I don’t know what he’s looking for, but I just roll with it, wandering through the kitchen and finding a stack of mail on the counter. I glance at the top envelope, freezing as my eyes gloss across the name on it.
Gabriel Jones.
“Seriously?” I hiss, turning to Lorenzo as he opens drawers, glancing inside of them. “We broke into a detective’s house? Do you want to get arrested?”
“Not sure,” he says. “Never been.”
“Never been arrested?”
“Nope.”
“How?”
He laughs.
He’s been laughing a lot tonight.
“Maybe I’m just good at what I do,” he says.
“That’s insane,” I say. “It’s like you cast some spell that makes you invincible. You’re a fucking wizard.”
He cuts his eyes at me. “Voodoo?”
“Yes!”
He laughs. Again.
“What are we looking for, anyway?”
He shrugs. “Figured I’d take a peek around while I was here, but really, I just wanted to fuck you in his bed.”
He says that so flippantly that it almost doesn’t register with me.
“We broke into Gabe’s house,” I say, “so you could fuck me in his bed.”
“Yes.”
I blink at him, and I know he’s about to laugh again as he heads my way. “You’re insane.”
“You’re starting to sound like a broken record with that shit,” he says, grabbing my arm and pulling me to him. “Is it so wrong that I want to take you upstairs and turn you out where that asshole lays his head? Make you come, over and over... make you scream my name into his pillow? I want his bed sheets to smell like us... want them to smell like that beautiful pussy, the one he’ll never again know, the one he never deserved. Is that really so bad?”
“Yes.” I wrap my arms around his neck, gazing at him. “It’s demented.”
“You think?”
“Absolutely,” I say, “but that doesn’t mean we shouldn’t do it.”
He grins, leaning closer, kissing me softly before whispering, “I knew there was a reason I tolerated you.”
Now it’s my turn to laugh.
Grabbing my hand (seriously, he’s holding my hand again), Lorenzo leads me upstairs, straight to the bedroom with the terrace. The second we’re inside, he’s all over me. Lips and fingertips explore hidden places, kissing and touching, as I paw at his clothes. We strip down quickly, because who knows how long we have before Gabe shows up, and he shoves me down onto the bed, on my stomach, not being gentle about it. He strokes me before shoving between my legs, raising my ass up off the bed just enough to slide right in.
“Fuck,” I moan as he fills me. “Lorenzo.”
He kisses my back, biting along my shoulder blades, sucking on the skin. I know he’s leaving marks, I can feel the sting, and I know he’s doing it intentionally, like he’s marking his territory, but I don’t mind. Gabe will never see it, but I let him have his moment. If anybody deserved it, it sure as hell would be him.
“Rub your clit,” he says, his voice strained as he thrusts. “Make yourself come.”
“Pretty sure that’s your job.”
“Aren’t I doing enough of the work here?”
“Seriously?” I laugh. “You lazy son of a bitch.”
I reach beneath me, to touch myself, but he beats me to it, smacking my hand away. His touch is rough, borderline painful, as he strokes my clit hard and fast. My breath hitches, a shrill cry escaping.
I come damn near instantly.
“Oh god. Fuck.” Pleasure rushes through me as I fist the sheets. “Christ, I take it back. You’re not lazy. Jesus...”
He fucks me. There’s no other way to describe it. This way, that way, upside down, inside out, he fucks me until my muscles quake and my body aches, my senses all jumbled. I’m covered in sweat, utterly exhausted, and I think it has probably only been minutes but it feels like hours.
“Lorenzo?”
“Yeah?”
“Make yourself come.”
He laughs, mocking me as he says, “Pretty sure that’s your job.”
I clench around him, squeezing his cock.
He groans.
That does it.
He comes.
He doesn’t pull out, coming inside of me, grunting as he fills me, thrusting a few more times before stilling. His lips find my back again, kissing along the sweaty skin, as he slowly pulls out. He starts to say something, but I don’t know what, because noise outside silences him.
The sound of a gate opening.
The sound of a c
ar door.
Gabe’s home.
“Fun’s over,” I say, shoving Lorenzo off of me to get to my feet, scrambling for my clothes as I throw Lorenzo’s at him. We dress, and I’m looking around, tossing the comforter. “Fuck, where’s my underwear?”
“Leave them,” Lorenzo says, grabbing me as a door unlocks downstairs. “We have to go.”
I want to argue, but I can’t, because we need to get out of here right now. Lorenzo shoves the terrace door open, motioning for me to go, and he follows me outside, again closing the door.
“Shit.” I glare down. “I have to jump, don’t I?”
Lorenzo doesn’t answer, because he doesn’t have to. The man swings himself over the railing, just leaping, landing on his feet in the grass.
Asshole makes it look easy.
Me? I fall.
Lorenzo tries to catch me, but there’s no helping it as I hurl through the air, landing on my back with a thud. I flash him all the goods, since my underwear is gone, nearly taking him down with me.
“You’re a fucking mess,” he says, yanking me to my feet before shoving me toward the fence. “Now you get to do it again.”
I do it again, because I have no choice, managing to land on my feet this time since the drop is lower. Lorenzo lands beside me, not hesitating at all, snatching my hand and dragging me away from the place before anyone sees us.
I’m distracted as he pulls me along, staring down at our hands. It’s not some gushy interlocking fingers handhold, but still, he’s holding my hand yet again, and that’s just... whoa.
“You know he’s going to figure it out,” I say, shaking off whatever feelings are stirring up, because it’s neither the time nor the place for it. “I mean, he’s going to find my underwear tangled up in his sheets or something.”
“So?”
“So? So he’ll know.”
“Doesn’t matter,” he says. “What’s he going to do, call the police? Wah-wah, nothing got stolen, but someone broke in and fucked in my bed.”
I laugh, because he’s right.
Nobody would give a shit but him.
It’s late, so we make the trek back to Queens. Lorenzo finally lets go of my hand when we hit the subway. The house is dark, Leo still at work, Melody off wherever, so it’s again just the two of us.
“Thank you,” I say, stalling in the foyer. “I’m glad you came along.”