Page 73 of The Cruiser
“Is this even a case to them?” I ask. “From what I know, Italy is all about macho men. I kneed one of their kind in the balls, and that’s clearly on the video.”
“Yes, I know,” he says. “I saw.”
“Can I think about it?”
It’s not what he wants to hear but he says yes anyway. On the elevator ride back down to collect the car, the frequency humming between us is almost physical in its force. I want to stay on the right side of it. I planned to ask him about what went down at the Casino last night. If my description of the other man might trigger something for him. But with him bringing up legal action, coupled with the fury of his outbreak this morning, if he hears that I wandered the streets of Monaco alone at two in the morning and stumbled upon Renan, he might flip.
When we’re back in the car, I focus on tonight. “What can I bring for dinner? I don’t like showing up empty-handed.”
“My parents have everything,” he says. “Including a wine cellar to last two generations. Just us is fine. I’ll pick you up at five. We’ll take the scenic route, so I can show you around the Cap before dinner.”
“That sounds great.”
He glances over. “You’re ready for Maman?”
“She knows we’re just working together, right?” No time like the present to ensure our stories match, although what exactly our story is, I have no clue. Chapter one is still unfolding.
“Yes,” he says, “and I don’t want to give her any false hope.”
He leaves it at that, although the tension in his voice makes me wonder if this dinner is stressing him out. He looks out the windshield in a way that makes me think he’s not seeing anything. The entire drive to the hotel, he talks about the Delmars and his initial thoughts about the concept, but my mind’s elsewhere. After what went down this morning and the look in his eyes when he said he can’t stop thinking about me, there’s more than just work going on.
But maybe it’s plain foolish to imagine a distant world where he and I make sense.
Maybe it boils down to his dick in my mouth, a couple flashes of erotic mayhem, and nothing more.
Monkeys on a tree.
