Page 28 of Cocky Jerk

That pink slip was inevitable.

But Tuesday wasn’t done. In fact, she left the biggest plot twist for the end of the day. I was powering off my computer, when a deliveryman stepped off the elevator asking for me.

My first thought was that my dad had come to his senses and decided to send me something to congratulate me on my new gig. We may be at odds, but he’s still the guy who showed up to every dance recital with the largest bouquet of pink roses, so it wasn’t that far of a stretch.

I never imagined Marco would send me something and when the delivery guy asked me to sign, I brought the arrangement straight into Soraya’s office. I mean, it was only logical to assume he was sending her, his friend, someone he knew longer than twenty-four hours, a bouquet of fresh fruit and not me, the girl he just met. It’s not like we even hit it off or anything. As far as first meetings go, ours was a disaster and totally unworthy of chocolate dipped goodness.

I set the arrangement down on Soraya’s desk, and she looked at me with confusion. Since I had sent her one yesterday to apologize for my tardiness, she must’ve thought it was from me, that it was some sort of calling card and my go-to plan for ass kissing.

“Why are you giving that to me?” she asked.

“It’s yours,” I said with a shrug. “Marco sent it to you.”

“Um, no he didn’t.”

The girl was in denial and I couldn’t blame her. I imagine her husband wouldn’t be too keen on her coming home with another fruit arrangement, especially knowing a man sent it to her. Friend or not, it was weird and shame on Marco for making the moves on a married woman.

“Marco sent that to you,” she said pointedly. “Read the card.”

My cheeks flamed as she plucked the card from the arrangement that hadmyname on it and handed it to me. Ripping it open, I turned my back to her and read the card.

I don’t want to wait until traffic court to see you again.

I read it three times and each time it became harder to ignore the unfamiliar warmth creeping into the pit of my stomach. Then embarrassment flooded me, and I grew defensive. Guys didn’t do this. Most of the men I dated were morally compromised in one fashion or another, and they surely didn’t abide by those old-school values most women look for in a man. Hell, I’m not even sure men like that exist in the real world anymore.

The point I’m trying to make is, men, don’t send me gifts and little notes expressing their desire to see me. I’m not sure if that’s because men don’t perceive me as a girl worthy of such sweet gestures, or if I’ve just sold myself short by choosing to let the wrong guys into my life.

You’re probably thinking I’m overreacting. Hell, at this point you’re probably calling me a bitch and internally shouting for me to just accept the gift and shut the fuck up. But when a girl isn’t used to being treated a certain way, I think it’s only natural for her to assume the worst. And let’s not forget, I’ve been groomed not to trust anyone with a badge since I came out of my mother’s womb.

So, convinced Marco had an ulterior motive, I grabbed the bouquet from Soraya’s desk and asked her where I could find him. At the time I didn’t think anything of it, but looking back now, I should’ve realized she was all too eager to give up his precinct. She even told me what train I should take to make sure I caught him before he left for the day.

There was only standing room on the train so you can imagine how bizarre I looked juggling the monstrosity of fruit in my arms while still trying to hold on to the stanchion. I was the laughingstock of the caboose. By the time I entered the precinct I was sure I looked like a madwoman without a plan.

I made my way toward the desk where a scary woman stood scowling at me like I was a piece of gum on her shoe. Civic hero, my ass. The second I asked for Marco, she muttered a curse under her breath and shouted for him. Apparently, she wasn’t a fan of the gifty cop either.

As soon as he came into my view, I knew I had made a major mistake. Instead of wondering what Marco’s motives might be, I should’ve anticipated how I’d feel the moment our eyes locked. But one thing is certain, I never could’ve prepared myself for how my whole body would heat under the spell of his dirty promises.

“I can’t getyou out of my fucking head. I sent it because I woke up this morning wondering what you taste like. What your body feels like. And fuck me, I couldn’t stop myself from imagining what sounds you might make when I make you come undone. When you’re writhing beneath me, begging for more.”

So here I am,in a quaint little Italian restaurant, sitting across from Marco at a tiny table draped with a red and white checkered tablecloth while Frank Sinatra croons on a speaker in the background. I have no idea what I’m doing, but walking away, pretending like our paths never crossed, seems more terrifying than sharing a meal with him.

Feeling the weight of his stare, I carefully avoid eye contact and reach for another breadstick. When in doubt, load up on carbs.

“So,” I start, clearing my throat before I take a bite of the breadstick. “…you and Soraya are close, huh?” I ask with my mouth full. Very ladylike, I know. Did I forget to mention I’m awkward when I’m nervous? Not only am I chewing like a cow, but I am also sweating like a pig too.

It’s really no wonder I attract animals like Hound.

Giving me an easy smile, he pushes the basket of focaccia and breadsticks closer to me.

“If you think the breadsticks are good, you should try the focaccia and dip it in the infused olive oil,” he suggests, reaching to grab a piece for himself.

I stop chewing and watch as he dunks the bread in the olive oil—not once, but three times. Once it’s dripping with Italian liquid gold, he leans over the table and takes a huge bite. A moan erupts from the back of his throat, and my thighs clench together at the sound. You know you have dived into the deep end when you find a man eating a piece of bread as a form of foreplay.

“Damn that’s good,” he praises, lifting his glass of water from the table. He brings it to his mouth and nearly empties the glass in one gulp. I divert my eyes to his neck, watching as he swallows.

Damn, that’s sexy too.

Setting the glass down, he clears his throat and I feel my cheeks flame as I take a piece of the focaccia.

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