Page 29 of Cocky Jerk

“Where were we…oh, right, Soraya?” he shrugs noncommittally. “I’ve known her since we were kids. Me, her, and my cousin Tig all grew up in the same neighborhood. Things changed once Tig met his wife, Delia, though. The three of them remained tight, but I kind of just went off on my own. Then a couple of years ago, when she and Graham were first starting out, they hit a rough patch. She and Tig suckered me into pretending to be her boyfriend.”

I stop dunking the bread in the oil and lift my eyes to his.

“You’re kidding,” I accuse.

He shakes his head and laughs, pointing a finger toward the side of his face.

“Graham broke my jaw, and they lived happily ever after.”

“Oh God,” I groan, slapping a palm to my forehead. “And last night was a cheap reenactment,” I add, pulling my hand away.

Our eyes lock.

“A cheap reenactment?” he questions.

“Yeah, at least Soraya was a friend, I’m a stranger. Big difference.”

He shrugs his shoulders and taps his knuckles against the table as a gorgeous smile spreads across his lips.

“Well, we’re changing that now, aren’t we?” he probes.

“I guess we are,” I reply, returning the smile.

The waiter, a little old man with bushy eyebrows and thinning gray hair, appears to take our order. The name embroidered to his apron says Luigi. As she and Marco chat I learn he’s the owner of the restaurant and the man behind the killer meatball hero.

Both men praise one another before Luigi turns to me and thanks me. Apparently, Marco isn’t a fan of dining alone and always takes his food to go. Tonight, is the first time Luigi is having the pleasure of serving his favorite patron. I don’t know why I find that so surprising. You would think there’s a long list of girls who’d happily go to dinner with him.

“We’ll take two meatball parm heroes on garlic bread and go heavy on the fresh mootz.” He pauses and turns to me. “Would you like something else to drink?” he questions, tipping his chin toward the glass of water sitting in front of me. “Luigi’s wife makes a mean glass of sangria.”

“Ah, si, molto bene,” Luigi says.

Pulling my lower lip between my teeth, I stare back at Marco. It’s tempting.

“I shouldn’t drink.”

“Why not?” Marco questions. “I can drive you home.”

Someone calls for Luigi and he excuses himself, promising to return with a pitcher of Sangria and more focaccia. I look back at Marco and he raises an eyebrow waiting me to respond to his question.

If this was a date between two normal people that would be ideal, but my bike is at the office and even if it wasn’t, Marco dropping me off at the compound would be a disaster. Forget Hound, he’d have to field questions from the entire club, including my dad. I think I’ll stick with the water.

“Another time, my bike is at the garage,” I say.

“Already thinking about another time, huh?”

Realizing my slipup, I roll my eyes and Marco just smirks.

I wonder how many girls have lost their panties to that grin.

“I guess it all depends on whether Luigi’s meatball parm hero lives up to my expectations or not,” I answer.

“You’ll be moaning in twenty minutes,” he says confidently.

“You sound sure.”

Propping his thick forearms on the table, he leans forward.

“There are two things guaranteed to make you moan. The first is Luigi’s meatballs, the second is me. It’s going to take him twenty minutes to plate our food, that gives us time to sneak into the bathroom and test the second theory.”

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