Page 20 of Pocketful of Us

Now, I was anti-guns and even more anti-drugs, but right about now, I was seriously considering sitting my ass down with the grizzly gangster in the corner of the room and asking him to defile my nostrils with some of his white powder.

I was struggling to take all of this in, so I could only imagine what was running through Sketch's mind as he locked eyes with his girlfriend's secret twin.

Heck, screw being mind-blown; the big, blue ball we called the earth was officially spiraling out of control and I was an unwilling passenger.

For the briefest of moments, I thought about checking the warehouse for hidden cameras, thinking this would make for one hell of a YouTube video, but managed to refrain.

Sliding my phone out of my pocket, I quickly loaded the translator onto my internet browser and tapped in every word I could make out while Sketch, Seth, and Chris Sr. continued to converse in double freaking Dutch.

Tapping out word after random word, I discovered that Giacobbe was Italian for Jacob and the Italian word forrevengehad definitely been thrown into the mix.

"I will help you, Giacobbe," Chris Sr. declared thickly, eyeing his surrogate son with more affection than I'd ever seen him offer Sketch in the past.

Sketch, who had been completely immersed in whatever Seth was saying to him, ignored his father, turning to me instead. "What do you think?"

"What do Ithink?" I repeated, eyeballing him. "Well, I think that I wouldloveit if y'all could speakEnglish– you know, the language we've conversed in every day since Pre-freaking-K." I shook my head, feeling flustered. "Trust you to know the one damn language I didn’t take at school."

"Am I really doing that?"

"What; terrifying me to my core by speaking in your apparentmother tongue?" I shot back. "Why, yes, Harry Potter. Yes, you are. But I'd be awful grateful if you, Professor Snape, and Tom freaking Riddle over there could help a guy out with a copy of yourminutes. InEnglish."

"Jesus Christ." Looking rattled, Sketch blew out a shaky breath. "He said she's not with Cal anymore." Pain flickered in his eyes. "He said that Romi's with myfather, Pres." His voice cracked. "Calgaveher to him. She's on a fucking boat with him, man. In the middle of the goddamn Atlantic."

"Say what now?" My eyes widened in surprise. "Cal just gave Romiaway? To yourdad? As in your real dad? The mafia king?"

"Apparently." Looking sick, Sketch groaned like he was in physical pain. "Fuck, man, what am I going to do? This is my girl, Pres. MyRomi. I need to get her back."

"Well hell in a handbasket," I gasped. "And creepy creeperson over there told you that? Because I don’t trust him, Sketch. Not one damn bit. Yeah, he's sexy as sin, but dammit, we don’t know a thing about him. And sure, there's a high probability that he's packing more than just attitude in those jeans – don’t pretend you haven't noticed that big damn dick bulge – but how can we trust a word he says –"

"I speak fluent English, pretty boy," Seth interrupted, sounding amused. "And I have had no complaints regarding the size of my cock." He arched a brow. "Or my ability to use it."

"Well… this is incrediblyawkward." Red-faced, I cleared my throat. "I'm going to put your questionable cock comments on the backburner until I have time to scrutinize them in peace, but I appreciate the confirmation."

Smirking, Seth let out an air of cockiness, no pun intended, when he winked right freaking at me. "Anytime."

"My sincerest apologies, but if that was your attempt at batting your come-to-bed eyes at me, it's a hard pass." I pushed my glasses up my nose. "I'm a third date kind of guy."

"Too bad, because I am a find them and fuck them until they're broken kind of man," he countered, not missing a beat. "I would ruin you, pretty boy."

Well, hot damn…

"Well hell, you're a little forward, aren’t you?"

Seth shrugged. "Stop looking at me like you want to eat me and we won't have a problem."

Fuck.

My.

Life.

"Are they going to fuck?" Gonzalez asked, looking mildly amused, white powder still smudged on his nostril. "Is this how it is done?"

"Who the fuck knows with kids these days," Lucky chuckled from his perch against the door. "I'm out of touch with this millennial generation, man."

"I almost want him to follow through on his promise," Gonzalez half chuckled/half slurred. "I would enjoy watching your pet break, Bolillo."

In the midst of this unusually erotic conversation, no one was focusing on Sketch, who had made a beeline for Gonzalez's gun. Quick as a cat, he swiped the Glock off the table.

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