Page 41 of Nicoletta
Forget how I did just that last night. How she melted for me. How she screamed out my name, and those goddamn moans coming from deep within her.
Forget how she just turned on the shower, and right now the water is pounding over her perfect body.
Fuck me, I’m screwed.
CHAPTER 15
BOLT
The next morning, I went to the cafe on the corner, but all I got was our coffee. Nicoletta looked as tense as I feel, and I didn’t think either of us was up for a big Mexican breakfast.
The hours before a job are always tense. In the bad old days, a few lines of coke made me feel like the king of the world, chased with a few shots of Jack to take the edge off. But those days are far behind me. Now, the best I can do is a pack of smokes and gallons of strong, hot, black coffee.
When I return to the apartment, Nicoletta’s staring at one of the novellas, but I don’t think she’s listening to it. I hand her the coffee, and she sips at it. She doesn’t make her usual comments on how delicious it tastes, so I’m guessing she’s not even tasting it.
With this fuckin’ weirdness between us, and the country club job, my nerves are wound tight. I can’t sit still, so I go out into the lot, straddle my bike and rev the throttle. A ride usually settles me, but the whole time, I can’t forget that the job tonight is about way more than taking down some rich assholes.
It’s about figuring out what I want. What Nicoletta wants.Life in Tijuana is way different than her life in L.A., and life with the Royal Harlots/Royal Bastards is a planet away from her old life.
I return to The Tropics hours later, feeling no calmer or settled than when I left.
When I enter the bar, I head down the back hall, and swipe my keycard over the pad. The door to the chapel unlocks, and I’m faced with Smoke, Blood, Diesel and Manny, all in their catering uniforms.
Diesel points at me. “Don’t say one fuckin’ word.”
“Gotta say, you guys look authentic.” I contain my grin and give them a once-over. “Badges and all.”
“Your woman made sure we got everything we need,” Blood says.
I don’t correct him with the “your woman” comment even though I’m sure after the night is over, she’ll go back to L.A., never to be seen again.
Manny points to himself. “We may be wearing these dumbass uniforms, but I can’t wait to see your ass in a tux later.”
They all laugh with comments and cracks about me in a monkey suit, and finding a tux to fit me, until Smoke glances at this phone. “Better hit it. Caterers have to get there early.” He pulls a face. “Don’t wanna piss off the boss.”
The event at Riviera starts with cocktails promptly at six. Dinner at seven, then the long-awaited awards.
Manny pats the front of his uniform. “Got everything I need tucked underneath.”
I walk them out to the lot, and we all tap fists. Smoke says, “See you on the other side, brother.”
They pile into the Escalade ESV eight-seater with Manny behind the wheel. Taking their bikes is too conspicuous, especially since each of us has the Royal Bastards logo stenciled onto the engines.
I trudge upstairs, and Marisol is helping Nicoletta with her hair and makeup in my bedroom. Can’t help noticing how they’ve bonded over the last two weeks. Probably because they came from the same money background. Along with fathers who were assholes.
“I’m leaving soon, and you can have your bedroom back,” Marisol offers, then points to a garment bag hanging on the closet door. “That’s your tux.”
“Can’t wait.” I roll my eyes. Marisol laughs, but Nicoletta has no reaction. At this point, Marisol has said more to me than Nicoletta, and I don’t know if it’s because she wants to stay focused, or she’s pissed ‘cause of all the shit that’s passed between us.
I shower and dress. Or more like I put on the tuxedo pants because I don’t wanna be strapped into the rest of those clothes any sooner than necessary.
When I come out of the bathroom, my bedroom door is closed, so I take that to meanstay out. I pad into the living room, not really sure how all these clothes go together. I lay the polished shoes on the floor, not looking forward to squeezing my size fourteen feet into those stiff, narrow shoes. I lay the shirt, jacket, vest and suspenders over the back of the couch.
Thank fuck, Nicoletta said I could nix the bowtie. She mumbled something about it being trendy and fashion-forward to go without it. Who the fuck knows what that means? With my thick neck, I’m just happy I won’t be strangled all night. Although, I’m not so sure about the white shirt. Looks to me like, if I have to throw a punch, it’ll be ripping away like Hulk Hogan.
NICOLETTA
“I know I’m being a pain in the ass, but do you really think I look all right?” I ask Marisol for probably the tenth time.
