Page 53 of I Would Beg For You
“She’s new here?” I ask once the waitress leaves. She had eyes only for him.
He nods. “Didn’t get the memo I don’t mix business with pleasure.”
I smile. Marco is what anyone would call a pretty boy. Foppish black hair, big blue eyes, the body of a male sports model. There’s just enough ruggedness on his features for him not to pass for an ephebe. Whenever I’m with him, I melt in the shadows, because people, and women in general, notice him and stay stuck on him. Another man might feel emasculated, but I like the relative anonymity I get in his presence.
Marco nods at my phone. “So?”
He’s relentless, which is both a strength and a curse. Marco’s one of the few men I trust outside of my brothers. He’s a soldier for our Borgata, like his father before him, but to me, he’s more. We were born a month apart, sharing cribs, playpens, bunk beds, then the same dorm room at college. He’s the person closest to me in the world.
And I can’t get away with fibbing where he’s concerned.
I sigh. “So, I did something.”
He narrows his eyes. “It’s either stupid or brilliant.”
Definitely the latter. Though maybe both?
“What’s her name?” Marco asks.
I sputter a little. “How’d you know it’s a woman?”
“Lucky guess,” he answers in a droll tone.
He’s right. I never get worked up.
“Naomi Smith,” I say softly.
Marco’s eyes grow wide. “Fuck!”
I wince. “It was more than that.”
“You cazzo! You know her father has it in for you. And he’s going to be Governor soon.”
There. That’s why I didn’t say it aloud before. Because this is indeed the reaction anyone in my entourage will have when I mention I got involved with Joel Smith’s daughter.
“And you know that’s just a steppingstone to becoming Senator. And then, he’ll really be coming—”
“Yes. I know,” I say, stopping his tirade.
“Fuck, man. What were you thinking?” He pauses, eyes narrowed on me. “You weren’t thinking. It was your dick doing all the work.”
I sigh. “Not that I’m saying it is, but that’s never happened to you?”
“Touché.” He nods, as if to concede. “Okay, so it started with your dick, and now it’s what?” He frowns. “Don’t tell me you lost your heart.”
I shake my head. “One day, stronzo, I really hope I’ll make you eat those words.”
“Fuck me! You lost your heart?”
“No.” I haven’t. Not yet anyway.
“So, it’s still your dick doing the talking.”
“Merda, Marco. I’m serious.”
He has the decency to stop taking the piss. “What’s going on? That’s her on the phone?”
I nod. “She’s in Tribeca. Wants us to meet.”
