Page 13 of The #2 Guy

6

Johnny

I crack my knuckles then snap my neck to the right feeling the comforting pop. I’m too worked up to sleep and although I wanna make my princess pay, I won’t go up there. Not the way I currently feel. I’d only tear us both apart. I’m a conflicted man. All of me burns for her but part of me burns to make her pay for her lies and the other just wants to brand the fuck out of her and get back to where we were before my world ended.

My phone vibrates in my hand. “How’s the reunion going?”

“Fuck off,” I sneer. Then I press a hand to my forehead. “It’s fucking torture. Wanting the one who betrayed you. How did you do it? How did you forgive Romina?”

“It wasn’t a choice. It was a foregone conclusion.”

“She’s fucking me up.” My right hand goes through my hair as I pace around the great room.

Roque sighs heavily. “Maybe it was a mistake to let her live.”

“What do I do with her?”

“What I did. Marry her. A ring around her finger is as good as a gag order. She can’t snitch on you and you’ll own her forever.”

I snort. “She’ll never vow to love and cherish my ass.”

“You better figure something out. You can’t stay at the Inn for long. Work it out or send her back into the basement with Rog. Either way, just get some peace.”

“Love is the opposite of peace.”

“Depends on where you are on that journey.”

“She’s a lot like your woman.”

“Ah, so my Romina is growing on you then, eh?”

I twist my mouth. “I still think she’s too much. But I love her for your sake.”

“I wanted to kill Christine. But I didn’t for your sake. Go easy. Use your head this time. The one upstairs.”

I shrug. “I’m trying. Haven’t punished her yet.”

“Go workout. Get rid of some tension that way. You have a week to get her right or I’m pulling the plug on this whole reunion of yours.”

His words ring in my head as I enter the gym. It’s small but state of the art. I get on a row machine and row my fucking boat. Sweat almost blinds me after twenty minutes. I grab a towel and my cell opening the app to the security camera I hid in her bedroom.

She’s huddled under the comforter, hiccupping in her sleep. I zoom in on her face, rubbing my thumb across the screen. “Sleep tight my little damsel in distress. Tomorrow you’re mine and I want you to beg forgiveness for what you broke. My heart. I’ll make you fall in love with me again. Despite what you said, I know we were there, babe.”

I slam my fist into the punching bag over and over. I lose track of time. All I want is to be her number one guy.

* * *

She’s playing possum.I know she’s awake. She’s testing me. Trying to figure out if I have cameras in her room. I do babe. But I’m not letting on. Instead of crawling into bed and pressing my lips to all that sleep-warmed skin, I sigh willing my cock to go down and decide to make breakfast.

The skillet sizzles as I crack an egg into the pan. I lay a pound of bacon down in a frying pan then brew a pot of coffee. My baby girl can eat, and I know she’s starving. I unlocked her room before I came down and sure as shit, it’s been less than five minutes and I hear the tell of the fifth stair creaking. My girl can’t resist the frying bacon. I know her. Despite all her lies. I know her.

I resist the urge to turn around, instead I scramble the eggs then fake a yawn, so I have an excuse to flex my biceps. I’m wearing my loose gray pajama pants and I sleep bare chested. It used to drive her wild. I remember many mornings when she’d sneak up behind me while I was at the stove, just to snake her tiny hands down the waistband and cup me.

I almost cry, I miss those days so much. “Fucking pussy,” I mutter under my breath, pressing a hand to my eye,

“Johnny? Are you?”

“What?” I spin around. “Just some grease splattered in my eye.”

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