Fuck. “No, no, that’s not how I meant it.”
“How did you mean it?”
I evade. “The food court it is. Come on.” I move in her direction, even though I’ve no idea where the food court is. The mall curves, and a massive food court appears kind of like the Cinderella’s Castle at Disneyland. It just appears as if out of nowhere.
Princess squeals with excitement. I laugh because she’s so easy to please. God knows I’ve dated women. I am in my late thirties, after all. I’ve had my fill of the high-end places, the fake conversations, the meaningless sex, the uncomfortable moments when they realize I don’t give a flying fuck about them after we fuck. I’m not anyone’s daddy or brother or boyfriend. Why should I care? They’re all big girls, after all.
But this one is mine. My wife. And I care. I care that she’s happy and excited, and frankly, her happiness is infectious and puts me in a better mood.
I spot an ice cream place. A German ice cream place whose name I can barely pronounce.
“You want to get ice cream?” Princess asks.
I snap my gaze to her. She’s perceptive and wants to please me, so I have to be sure she’s not always pleasing me but also doing things that please her. “What did you come here for?” I counter.
“Nothing in particular.”
“Pizza?”
“I’m not hungry.”
People going places for no reason is a strange concept for me to grasp. I always have a purpose. A goal. A reason. And if I don’t at the start, I’ll find one quickly. Like finding ice cream. “Do you like ice-cream?” I ask.
“Hell, yes.”
We each get three scoops in huge sugar cones dipped in chocolate. She tops her flavors with chocolate and nuts. Istick with plain lemon, coffee, and something pink the kid at the counter recommended. Licking my pink ice cream, I keep strolling around the food court, hoping one of the toddlers doesn’t run into my leg and bust his nose.
Everything is fine until I see a man stand up from one of the tables all the way on the other side of the court. “Benny!” he calls.
My wife turns and searches the tables, and I watch her reaction like a hawk. She smiles widely, seeming thrilled to see the man, but her eyes give her away. I can’t quite understand, but I will soon enough. “That’s my cousin. Come on.”
Benny rushes to his table while the boy (boy for me, since he’s maybe twenty years old) glares at me. The glare lasts a second or two before he schools his face for my wife, but I caught it. She hugs the man, and I stand back, watching how his hands squeeze her, how his eyes flutter and close at the feel of her body pressed against him. I’m getting all kinds of wrong vibes from this guy.
I am a jealous and possessive husband.
But I’m also protective, and this dude is raising that side of me, so something’s not quite right.
I extend a hand and introduce myself. “Hudson. Benny’s husband.”
He shakes it. “Brando.”
Ding. Ding. Ding. The enforcer who restructured my security team in my absence, then disappeared from the premises when I returned.
I measure him from tip to toe. He’s about six feet tall, wearing black jeans, a plain black T-shirt (not a crisp polo with a nice collar), and a black leather jacket. With white stitches. He’s got green eyes and dark-brown hair, and he’s a handsome boy.
Sitting down with them at the table, I watch his body language. He’s leaning into her, touching her hands whenever anopportunity presents itself without looking like it was deliberate on his part. I don’t know how Benny doesn’t see it, but this man likes her far more than a cousin should. Not only is that creepy, it’s dangerous.
Right then and there, mentally, I draw a target on his forehead. A little circular red mark. This man needs to stay away or die. He’ll choose which when I can get him alone.
“Do you need help with bags?” he asks me.
“No, thank you.”
“You sure? Princess loves to shop. She’s just getting started.”
“Princess?” I repeat in a confrontational tone.
“Yeah,” he says as if it’s normal he’s calling her princess. “She’s the family princess. You get that, right?”
