Page 96 of Driftwood Daffodil 2

I ran into the house to take the world’s quickest shower before going to the diner to beat Nova’s ass.

NOVALEE

Iofficially knew what a cow felt like. Not because of the archaic marriage contract I sold myself into–though one could argue that cattle were sold in the same fashion–but because I’d been branded.

That’s right, there was now a bright red Gio cut into my body. And I was pretty sure it was deep enough to scar. It felt deep enough anyway. So it probably wouldn’t be going away anytime soon.

Not some horrible flower or other image I decided to get tattooed when I was drunk, but a name. And not just any name, but Gio Mancini’s name.

Don’t get me wrong, it was entirely possible that when I decided to get said drunken tattoo, I would pick a name, but that was beside the point. I didn’t sign up to be property.

“What is he doing?”

Oh, and there was that.

I followed Memphis’s stare to the booth in the corner where Gio was seated.

“Watching me.”

Apparently Gio decided to completely forgo his horrible attempts at stalking and blatantly follow me around. At least that guy Tony sat out in the parking lot.

“What do you mean he’s watching you?”

How did he need more of an explanation? I thought that statement was obvious. “I mean he’s watching me.”

And chasing away any male customer that smiled at me. One guy he physically tossed out the door. I wasn’t complaining. Less customers meant less work, and usually we were busy in the morning. It was hard to fuck up eggs. Even for a cook like Daryl.

“How long has he been here?” Memphis asked.

“I don’t know.” I shrugged. “Like three hours.”

“Three hours? What’s he been doing?”

My eyes narrowed on the open laptop sitting on Gio’s table. “That’s a good question.”

He was awfully focused. What was he doing on that thing? I tried to get a peek a couple of times, but he snapped it shut before I could see anything. Needless to say, my curiosity was piqued.

“Maybe he’s doing homework.” Memphis suggested.

I shot him an are you kidding look. “What teenager does homework?”

“I do.”

“That’s only because your dad makes you.” He needed a better argument than that.

Memphis propped his elbow up on the counter and dropped his chin in his palm. “You do homework too.”

That argument wasn’t going to work either. “I have the Maw Maw factor.”

“Gio has a dad.”

“Yeah, I don’t think that’s a factor for him.”

Something told me that Gio’s dad didn’t take much interest in his son’s education. I was sure he took interest in his son at all. They were barely in the same room together. I know, I hadn’t spent a lot of time in the Mancini Mansion, but even I could sense the tension between them. Cesare didn’t hate his son. I got more disregard form him then hate. Gio however, he hated his dad.

“Okay,” Memphis once again turned his gaze back to Gio. “So, what do you think he’s doing then.”

Nothing good.

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