He raised both hands in surrender. “Alright, man.”
I drank my beer again, my blood boiling at the ridiculous insinuation. A man like me didn’t know love. The closest I’d ever come to it was the way I felt about my mother. I was too young to remember her vividly, but I knew how it felt to be loved by someone—even if it didn’t last long. I loved her in return, which was why I murdered the man who threw her in a dumpster. But I’d never come close to feeling anything in the stratosphere of romantic love. My life was about money, killing, and fucking.
That’s it.
A brunette approached me at the bar, a pretty woman who would normally floor me. Long hair, a nice bust, and legs that stretched for days, she was perfect. And she had a beer in her hand, which she set right in front of me. “I was going to have the bartender send you a beer, but I wanted to bring it myself—because I definitely want to buy you a drink.” Confident, she smiled at me like a woman who understood her self-worth. She wasn’t shy or coy; she was just the way Vanessa was. After being with Vanessa, I’d come to realize I had a type.