Page 8 of Attraction (Mobsters + Billionaires 3)
It makes sense in some universe, I’m sure.
I enjoy my new friends very much, even if they bring up interesting moral quandaries.
Tonight is especially crowded in the library because our new buddy, Charlie, is in the area on an op. He brought his man, and they are adorable together. Charlie’s got a Texas-Zen vibe, never without his cowboy boots and chill attitude. But his guy is interesting. Taller, with a helpless sort of vulnerable, gangly look that is so appealing. He’s a sharp dresser, Charlie’s man, and he’s already chatted up Ford and asked where he gets his style from.
They’re sitting on either side of Ford as I make the drinks, and I don’t want to be a dick and tell Tall and Gangly he’s in my seat, you know? Meanwhile, Ford is kind and doesn’t explain that he’s wearing an eight-hundred-dollar pair of pants and three-thousand-dollar loafers and instead simply makes the young man comfortable with light conversation.
“Hey, boss, it’s nice to see Charlie again,” Anthony says, joining me in the kitchen.
Which reminds me—Charlie and his guy are sober. I refresh their handcrafted seltzers, then put the finishing touches on another round of highballs made with a nice bourbon and small-batch extra-spicy ginger ale.
“I’m glad he showed up tonight. Not sure I would’ve pictured him with that guy.”
“Yeah, they don’t makeanysense on paper, but it’s a sweet story. Have Charlie tell you about it some time.”
I love it when Anthony gets gossipy. Not his usual style, but he’s good at keeping me abreast of the interesting small details.
“Yeah?”
“I’ll just say this—that guy, Justin? He’s the reason Charlie has those scars on his arms.”
My brows raise as I put the drinks on a tray. “I guess the heart doesn’t give a shit about what makes sense.”
“Nope.”
I rub my hand over my face, remembering my encounter with Ford last week. No way was he at my bar accidentally, no matter what he says. Instead of sending Benji away, I panicked and doubled down. Wanting to, I don’t know, protect Ford from my reality by shoving it in his face?
Fuck, I can’t figure myself out. I sent Benji home that night with the now depressingly familiar agreement that no one needs to know whatdoesn’thappen with me.
Anthony’s hand lands on my shoulder. Not many people have the wherewithal or permission to put their hands on me, but Anthony and I survived childhood together, and he is on the extremely short exceptions list.
So is Ford, though that’s nobody’s business but my own.
“I dunno. Maybe it makes sense after the fact. Like, life will give you the person you need, not the person you expect.”
I pick up the tray, ignoring how my heart squeezes at his perceptive words. “From your lips to God’s ears,” I say with a half-grin.
“You got it, boss. It’s all about the timing. Actually, before we go in there, we’ve got a few things to discuss, if you don’t mind.”
I spy Mads lurking around the corner, probably thirsty. No one looking at the adorable, style-challenged man would guess he’s a billionaire. He built tracking devices for athletic shoes—like our buddy Rand sells—but then expanded to the emergency fobs my escorts use.
Things escalated when the US Government decided they liked the polymer he used to encase the devices and “borrowed” his patent. It’s being used in everything from bombs to hollow-point, armor-piercing bullets, and my peaceful, funny friend feels deeply ambivalent about the whole thing.
I understand that feeling intimately.
Smiling, I gesture him over.
“Hey, Maddie. Hope you don’t mind if I keep your man here for a few more minutes. We’ve got to catch up on some business.”
Mads, who has taken to wearing a bright-green puffer jacket since his orange jacket got messed up on the subway—don’t even talk to me about the fact that the man still finds ways to ride the subway—leans up on his tiptoes and kisses Anthony’s jaw.
“No problem, Luca-baby. As long as I can keep these folks in your fine alcohol, all will be good.” Mads’ eyes go wide at his choice of nickname. “Shit, sorry.Luca. Might need to slow down on these highballs.”
Would I ever let another mobster get away with “Luca-baby?” Fuck no. But Mads can call me any name in the book because he’s a friend. Even if he’s a little skittish around me, I think he likes testing his boundaries.
Anthony, who knows me very well, snorts into his hand as I fix Mads with a glare. He swallows hard, and then Anthony and I break. I give a hardy pat to Mads’ shoulder, still laughing.
“Mads, when will you figure out that you’re not my associate? You and I don’t have to do the dance of omertà. Seite mia famiglia.”You’re my family.“And in this family, we have fun with each other, yes?”
