Page 38 of Domino
Ashley walks away, leaving me without an answer, but with my interest in her rising all the more. When I pick up the check, I see that there’s a second, folded piece of paper beneath the check. I unfold it and smile to myself when I see her number written out in her neat, precise hand. She’s looking back at me when I glance up at her, then quickly turns away from me. Slipping it into my shirt pocket, I leave the money for my check, plus a healthy tip, then get up and start out of the restaurant.
As I pass her by, I whisper to her. “You’ll be hearing from me.”
“If I answer your call.”
I’m laughing as I walk out of the restaurant, feeling a bit more pep in my step than usual. As I walk down the sidewalk that’ll lead me to the parking lot, I’m feeling pretty damn good about myself. But as I go, I notice a black SUV with totally smoked windows rolling slowly down the street. In that moment, the idea of a drive-by flashes through my mind and standing here in my kutte makes me an easier target, and I suddenly regret leaving my sidearm in my saddlebag.
But then, the driver’s side window comes down and I see a man with tawny skin, slicked back hair. He’s got sunglasses on that are as dark as the tinting on the windows in the back. The man has a thick goatee, and I can see the tattoo on his neck. Through the window, I see a man in the passenger seat, and I’ve got a feeling there are others behind those smoked windows in the back.
They could be anybody. They could just be passing through for all I know. But there’s something about them that sets my Spidey senses tingling. There’s just something about them that doesn’t feel right to me. They don’t seem like they belong here, nor the type who would simply pass through a place like Blue Rock.
Honestly, my first thought when I see them is that they’re cartel men. But why would they be here? What do they want? And as I think about Prophet and his mood lately, I wonder for about the thousandth time… what in the hell is going on?
Chapter Fifteen
Ashley
The night is cool, and a thick marine layer is rolling in overhead, making it a bit cooler. I’ve already put Cole to bed, and now Missy and I are sitting on her back deck enjoying a glass of wine beneath the soft glow of a string of Chinese lanterns along the covering overhead.
“You gave him your number?” Missy asked.
Feeling my cheeks flush with warmth, I bury my face in my hands, unable to keep myself from giggling.
“I did,” I shake my head. “I can’t believe it, but I did. I gave him my number.”
“Look at you, getting all bold.”
It was an impulsive act. I’m normally not an impulsive person, preferring to think things through before I act. I’m usually very deliberate and methodical. But jotting my number down and slipping it to Max had been a totally spontaneous thing. It was almost like I was thumbing my nose at the old me, the girl who’d live in fear all those years and kept herself completely penned in by Ryan. It was like giving a giant middle finger to her.
Of course, that’s not to say I didn’t have immediate regrets afterward. When Max walked out of the diner, a piece of me wanted to run after him and snatch that slip of paper away from him. Thinking about it now, after the fact, I want to scream and kick myself for being so rash and impulsive. That’s not me. That’s never been me. At least, until now, I suppose.
“What am I supposed to do if he calls?” I ask, feeling like an awkward teenage girl, all of a sudden.
Missy laughs. “Talk to him? I mean, you must have given him your number for a reason, right?”
“I’m not sure. I mean… when I gave it to him, I wasn’t really thinking.”
Missy arches an eyebrow at me, a mischievous glint in her eye. “Well, you weren’t thinking with your brain, anyway.”
Laughter bursts from my throat. “You are terrible!”
“And that’s news… how?”
“True. Good point.”
Mark steps out onto the patio and stands behind Missy, laying his hands on her shoulders. He leans down and kisses the top of her head, and she looks up at him with pure adoration in her eyes. That familiar pang of jealousy shoots through me and I do my best to stuff it down, realizing I’m being ridiculous. Again.
It’s not that I’m jealous of Missy. I’m thrilled for her, actually. That she has such a wonderful man, who obviously worships her, makes me so happy for Missy. She deserves it. She deserves all the happiness in her life and more. I’m really happy that Mark so obviously cherishes her and treats her like a goddess.
My jealousy stems from the fact that I’ve never had anything approaching that. Oh, I thought I did early on with Ryan. But I see now, it was only ever a mirage. It was a façade. As I look back on things, the man Ryan is now is who he’s always been. I’ve deluded myself into thinking that he loved and cherished me in the way Mark loves and cherishes Missy. But he didn’t. Not really.
Even in the best of times, he’s always been angry. He’s always dished out the cutting remarks and insults, though he had refrained from putting his hands on me. At least until somewhat recently. He’s gotten angrier and more aggressive after his injury and the trajectory of his life changed, but deep down, I have to admit to myself that he’s always been like this. He just used to be better about hiding who he really was, and always went over the top to prove how sorry he was when he said or did something to hurt me.
There is a big part of me who wants to be with somebody who adores me and puts me up on a pedestal like Mark does with Missy. I want to have somebody look at me the way he looks at her. And yeah, I’d like to look at somebody the same way she looks at him. I’ve never had those things in my life, and I’d be lying if I said I didn’t feel a pretty big hole in the center of me.
“I went ahead and put the twins down. Running around all day with Cole wiped them out,” Mark says softly.
Missy frowns. “I’m sorry. I didn’t come in and help.”
