Page 33 of Cocky Jerk

“Fine, he can stay outside the office. You won’t even know he’s there.”

Right, because anyone from here is going to blend in at an office.

“In the parking lot,” I counter. “If I need him, I can call.”

“Only if you check in throughout the day.”

That seems reasonable.

“Deal! Oh, and it can’t be Hound.”

He narrows his eyes.

“What’s the deal with you two?”

“Nothing,” I lie. The last thing I need is to rehash that mess. “What about Ritmo or Mouse?” At this point I’d even take Cash or Butch, anyone but Hound.

“I’ll figure it out,” he replies.

“One more thing,” I start, sliding off my stool. If I didn’t spend time with Marco today, I probably wouldn’t be adding a request. “I agreed to having a tail to and from work, but dates are off-limits.”

“Tonia,” he growls.

“Dad,” I mock, flashing him a smile he never refuses.

Curling his lip, he shakes his head.

“No chaperones for now,” he grunts. Pointing a finger at me, he narrows his eyes and continues. “But I reserve the right to change my mind. Now, go on into the kitchen. Carlo was nice enough to deliver some of your favorites and do me a favor, call your mother. She won’t stop calling me because you keep ignoring her.”

I start to protest, but he stands and presses a finger to my lips, silencing me.

“It’s always good to have a lawyer in your back pocket.”

I bet.

But it would’ve been good to have a mom too.

Chapter Eleven

Marco

“IthoughtJersey Shorewentoff the air,” I mutter out loud as I scope out my On Demand options. Curiosity gets the best of me, so I click more info. A brief synopsis appears on the screen, revealing Snooki and company have returned for a new series and get this, Angelina is back. How’s that for a little pot-stirring?

I hit play and toss the remote on the cushion beside me. Settling in, I fold my hands behind my head and prop my feet up on the coffee table.

All the girls look like they spent their earnings on plastic surgery, but my man Paulie doesn’t look a day over twenty-one. It’s the Italian genes, they never fail.

Feeling nostalgic, I’m about to throw my fist in the air and give it a good pump when my phone sounds with text message. Unable to tear my gaze away from the hot mess express on my television, I blindly pat the cushion beside me. Finding the phone, I flip it over and see Antonia’s name on the screen.

Before we parted ways, I stored my number in her phone and sent myself a text, so I would have hers. I had given her instructions to call me after she sank her teeth into the meatball sandwich, but I didn’t expect her to actually come through. She doesn’t strike me as one who follows orders no matter how nicely they are delivered.

I was going to give her until eleven o’clock before I called—hence the reality tv. I needed something to get my mind off her. Something to stop me from calling and the cheap beers weren’t doing the trick.

Swiping my thumb across the screen, I open her text and nearly drop the phone when I see she sent a picture of her mouth wrapped around the sandwich. Literally, it’s all lips and bread.

Wait, I think that’s her tongue.

Christ.

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