Page 58 of Cocky Jerk

I shrug my bag high on my shoulder and give Marco’s arm a squeeze. He takes my cue and starts to lead me away. As we’re about to pass my father, he leans forward.

“You’re making a mistake, Antonia.”

Those words make me freeze. How can he still think Marco is anything but sincere when he just attacked Hound on my behalf? If there was any doubt in my mind that Marco’s intentions weren’t pure, they are obliterated.

“If I’m making a mistake, it’s mine to make. Surely, you can understand that seeing as you have made so many yourself.” I turn my head. “Let’s go, please.”

Marco nods, and without another word, we walk away from them. We make our way through the crowd and are stopped by two police officers. They question Marco, but he doesn’t give away much. All he tells them is there was a disagreement before pulling me away.

In the car, he remains silent and I try to decide how I’m going to come clean about everything. Now that he’s met my father there is no use in hiding any part of my life from him. If this is going to go anywhere, he should be aware of how thoroughly fucked up my family is.

I steal a glance at him from the corner of my eye.

“How’s your hand?”

He flexes it around the steering wheel and cringes, but he doesn’t say anything. Another minute passes before he slows for a light and draws out a deep breath.

“Is your father always such a dick?” he questions. He must regret the words because he closes his eyes and shakes his head. “I’m sorry, I—”

“No,” I interrupt, pausing to pinpoint exactly when my father went from being my best friend to my number one enemy. “He started to lose his shit when I took the job at “Ask Ida” and then when he found out I was dating a cop that just drove him over the edge.”

“He doesn’t like cops, huh?”

I cock my head to the side and study him.

“C’mon Marco,” I murmur softly. “You saw his vest. You probably know better than I do what kind of man my dad is. He doesn’t play well with your kind.”

His fingers tighten around the steering wheel.

“What exactly is my kind? Because I didn’t see your dad putting that asshole in his place.”

“That’s not what I meant.” Sighing, I push the hair away from my eyes and turn my attention toward the window. “He doesn’t trust cops, okay? He thinks they’re all out to get him and the only reason you’re dating me is because you want to get close to him.”

The minute he slams his foot on the brake, I feel his eyes on me.

“What did you just say?” he asks.

A horn honks behind us, causing me to sneak a glance at the sideview mirror.

“Marco, you’re holding up traffic.”

“I don’t give a fuck,” he grinds out. “Look at me, Antonia.”

Hesitantly, I turn my head and drag my eyes to his.

“Two weeks ago, I was sitting outside the Brooklyn Battery Tunnel in my cruiser when a motorcycle zoomed past me and blew through a red light. I flipped my siren on and pulled you over. I didn’t know jack shit about you other than you were the most gorgeous thing I ever laid eyes on. Then I got a dose of your smart mouth, and I was hooked. It was pure chance that you wound up working for Soraya, and I spent most of our lunch asking about you. I brought you your license because I needed to see you again. I thought if I got you out of my system, I could forget our paths ever crossed, but I was only fooling myself. You’re not the kind of girl you purge or even forget and I’m starting to think we would’ve found one another whether you worked for “Ask Ida” or not.”

“Traffic court,” I whisper.

He reaches across the console and touches his good hand to my cheek.

“I don’t give a fuck about your father or what he does. It’s not the reason I wake up anxious to see your face or hear your voice.”

I swallow hard, emotion clogging my throat. A whole slew of horns beep behind us and one driver shouts for us to “move our fucking car”—we ignore both.

“I didn’t want to believe him.”

“Then don’t because he’s full of shit,” he grinds out, dropping his hand away from my cheek. He turns his head and brings both hands to the steering wheel, gripping it as tight as his battered knuckles allow.

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