Page 14 of Falling for the Mafia Dom
So there ARE juicy details?
You put out on the first date?
You little slut!
I’m on my way!
And I expect there to be margaritas!
For someone who has sex as frequently as Lyla, she has an almost unhealthy interest in my nearly non-existent sex life.
We couldn’t have timed that better if we tried. I am walking back up to the main house when I see Lyla parking her car near the front steps.
“I want every last salacious detail,” she hugs me tightly before stepping back and pulling a bottle of tequila from her bag, “right after we blend up these margaritas.”
Lyla follows me past the two armed guards at the front door, pausing for a moment to look them both over.
I won’t lie, it’s almost like there’s some sort of GQ model requirement to be a member of the mob or something.
“If your guy looks anything like either of them,” she says as she walks down the hallway, “Damn, girl!”
“Better,” I wink at her as I pull the bottle of tequila from her bag.
She pauses again when we reach the open door to Sal’s office and he looks up from his desk.
“We’re making margaritas, Sal,” I jokingly hold up the bottle of tequila, “Want one?”
“No man in his right mind turns down a drink with two, beautiful, young ladies,” he stands from his desk and walks to the door, “But I kindly request we make Italian margaritas.”
“What the fuck is an Italian margarita?” Lyla scoffs. I smack her arm.
“The best fucking margarita you’ll ever have,” he gently flicks his finger under her chin and jealousy rings through me. “Let me grab something from the bar and I’ll meet you in the kitchen.”
When Lyla and I reach the kitchen, she leans close and whispers, “Who’s the sexy fucking daddy?”
“That’s Sal. He’s the dad of the woman I’m nannying for. This is his house,” I whisper back at her. “And no.”
I don’t want her to mess this job up for me. But when she looks back at me with an overly expressive pout, I truly am not sure why I told her no.
But the thought of him touching her…
Sal enters the kitchen and places a bottle of Aperol on the counter. Lyla and I both make the same slightly confused face, and he says, “Instead of orange liquor. Trust me.”
Sal pulls a pitcher from beneath the counter and begins pouring in the liquors and lime juice. As he mixes them, I grab three glasses and fill them with ice. The margaritas he pours are a little orange in color instead of light green, he passes me the first glass, and his fingers linger against mine a moment longer than necessary.
Taking a sip, a delighted moan grumbles in my throat. “Oh my god, Sal. That’s delicious.”
“I know what you’ll like, sweetheart,” Sal smirks at me as he hands a glass to Lyla, and I nearly choke on my margarita. Her eyes widen to my response as they dart suspiciously between me and Sal.
“You pretty girls have fun,” Sal takes the third glass from the counter, “I have work to get back to.”
“Did you-” Lyla begins to question.
“Shhhh,” I grab the pitcher and begin walking toward the door, “When we get upstairs.”
“Bitch,” she scurries behind me, “You better fucking walk faster.”
I no more than shut the bedroom door and Lyla blurts out, “Are you fucking the hot as fuck granddaddy downstairs?”
