I meant what I said about Lily not belonging here. She was too clean and extremely naive. And, as much as I hated to admit it, something about her was familiar, but I couldn’t figure out what. There was no chance our lives would have crossed before Saturday night. Unless I was plastered and she felt like exploring outside of her comfort zone in the form of a one-night stand.
Doubt it.
Why the fuck couldn’t she have just stayed away from the basement? It would save her all this trouble.
Why the fuck am I thinking about her?
I cast my eyes down to the top of Roxy’s head and ran my fingers through her long black hair. When she looked up, the corners of her full mouth turned up slightly, and I curled my fingers against her scalp, gripping her hair at the roots as she slid her lips down around me one last time. Devouring me until the back of her throat clenched, and my hips jerked forward. She sucked until I had nothing else to give, and I shuddered and dropped my head against the door again as she cleaned up.
“I like how that looks on you,” she purred at my bobbing cock, tracing a finger around the lipstick ring.
I brushed away her touch as I pulled up my shorts, covering the wolf skull and flowers tattooed on the front of my left thigh. The ink paid homage to my country of birth, but now was a weird coincidence.
Roxy got to her feet, running her hands over my stomach and chest while I tied my drawstring. Placing a finger under my chin, she tilted my head up and moved in to kiss me. As tempting as it was, I didn’t have the mental strength to get back into anything with her, let alone another make-out session, so I pulled away.
She scoffed, a smile still toying on her lips. “You never used to have a problem kissing me after you’ve been in my mouth.”
“I’m not in the mood,” I shrugged, ducking out of the stall to check myself in the cracked bathroom mirror.
I was in my fighting gear — an unzipped hoodie, knee-length shorts, and sneakers. All black because one, it was the easiest color to buy in, and two, I liked black.
My clothes, already creased before I entered the bathroom, didn’t need as much fixing as my hair. It stood in all directions thanks to Roxy using it for grip when we stumbled into the bathroom earlier.
I combed my fingers through it until it was reasonably tame, and then leaned closer to the mirror to examine the freshly healed, thin scab on my right eyebrow. It would scar and take longer to heal if someone socked me in the face tonight.
“I guess I’ll see you later?” Roxy said as she stepped up beside me. Fussing over her appearance by applying more red lipstick and adjusting the way her breasts sat in her skin-tight, little black dress. “Yours or mine?”
I stepped back from the mirror and looked at her reflection. “Not tonight.”
She tucked the lipstick into her cleavage and turned to me. “Funny. That’s what you said last time. But then you showed up at my front door like a lost puppy, and we dated for three months after.”
“And it’ll never happen again.” I turned to leave.
“You’ve also told me that before while you fucked me over my kitchen counter.”
I paused and turned slowly, pushing my hands into my pockets as she sauntered toward me with a satisfied grin, heels clicking on the chipped tile floor.
“You have a bad habit of going back on your word, Dean. So don’t be so hard on yourself if you come crawling back to me tonight. I’m sure he’ll miss me anyway.” She nodded to the front of my shorts and reached across to trace her fingertips down the seam.
I rolled my head back, smiling out of spite, and stepped closer to her, watching her eyes glint with excitement as I brought my lips to her ear. “And you have a bad habit of not listening. It’ll never happen again,” I whispered sharply.
“We’ll see,” she purred. Her eyes lingered on my lips before she brushed past me on her way out of the bathroom, swaying her hips as she went because she knew I was watching.
I waited several seconds before heading out myself, not wanting to feed the rumors of us getting back together again if someone saw us walk out together. Though I doubted it would make a difference. She would probably start the rumor anyway.
We had been on again, off again for the past three years ever since Antonio gave her the position as The Den manager. A position she only got because her father, a chef from Manhattan, was a respectful client of Antonio’s. Roxy was hot, and I blindly fell for that, being young and stupid and desperate for a distraction. I was drawn to her by that tight ass and fiery attitude like a moth to a flame. But beauty only ran skin deep before it found personality, and hers wasn’t it. She could be an extremely petty and spiteful woman, sometimes firing those qualities at me when something didn’t go her way. Which often led to me calling it quits.
Again, and again.
Sure, we had a lot of fun fooling around, but that’s all it ever was. Deep and meaningful had a different meaning for Roxy.
I walked down to the basement, where some of Antonio’s guys were setting up for the night, lining up the metal barriers in a large circle below the stairs and sweeping the wooden floorboards that would stage the fight.
They didn’t acknowledge me, and I didn’t acknowledge them as I strode by, heading through the door to the back half of the basement as I habitually scratched at the scab on my eyebrow. The itch meant it was healing, but, fuck, it was irritating.
It had started as a small cut when Billy hit me in the face, and then I went and hit myself in the face on a fire escape. The plan was for me to pick up money Woods owed Antonio. I didn’t know what the money was for and hadn’t cared to ask. The job was meant to be an easy retrieval until Woods got greedy and decided the money was his. He shot at me, so I ran to the back of the apartment, thinking the fire escape was my best bet for a quick getaway until I slipped on a broken step and cracked my head open on the handrail.
I had no memory of getting down after that, but somehow wound up in the one-way street below and woke to a pair of bright blue doe eyes looking right back at me.
