Page 25 of Her Bad Boy

The older woman leaned back in her chair and sighed contentedly. "If he's only letting you come sparingly, it's no wonder you fidgeted through dinner! You must be as horny as I am! But that was still wonderful!"

Allie eyed her wryly. "Wanna cigarette?"

"Practically," Laura laughed. "But the big question is, are you happy?"

"Blissfully."

"And is he happy?"

She paused for only a second before answering, "I think he is, yes, maybe even more than I am, because he told me that he loved me, and I…didn't say it back."

That caught Laura's attention. "Because you don't feel it or because you feel guilty about it or what?"

"Because I'm not quite ready to. I'm working on letting go of the guilt about all of this, but it's hard."

"Good for you! You deserve some of this kind of happiness in your life! It's short—you gotta get yours! I wish you both well."

Allie wanted to be happy—in general and at her friend's happiness for her—but she groaned. "I wish I thought it was going to turn out well, but, realistically that's not likely to happen."

"Why not?" Laura sounded almost insulted.

Her eyebrow rose. "Heard of many mobsters marrying the D.A.s who are trying to nab them living happily ever after lately?"

"No, but—"

"No. There aren't any buts. It's doomed, and I think we're both just trying to get as much as possible out of it while we can."

"That's thoroughly depressing."

Allie took a sip of her coffee. "Yeah, but it's the truth."

"The truth is overrated. It sucks. I vote for true love!"

Although she flashed her friend a smile, she knew that what she'd said was the crux of the situation, that she and Lucas had to do exactly what she'd said they were already doing—take what they can while they could before the whole thing blew up in their faces.

Despite the downturn in the conversational tone, she was upbeat and happy when she hugged Laura goodbye and headed home, because she was going to see him. By the time she was at the gate, her body was thrumming in readiness for him and whatever he had planned for them this evening.

She parked her car in one of the private spots not too far from the door and hurried towards it, to be met by Joey Zullo, Lucas' worshipful chief cook and bottle washer, before she could even get to it.

"Hi, Joey!" She smiled up at him.

But, surprisingly, he didn't smile back, nodding much too formally since they had been on a first name basis for a while now. "Miss Barstow."

She took a step towards him, and he mirrored it, refusing to budge, doing the same thing when she moved to the left and right.

Then she stopped and took a step back from him, a chill descending over her as she said the words out loud that she knew in her heart were true, but addressed them to his fine leather oxfords. "I take it I have become, for some reason I will probably never know, persona non-grata, then?"

Joey raised his arms, wishing he could hug her without ending up dead, but then he dropped them again. "I'm sorry, Miss Barstow. I'm just following orders."

She could tell by the emotion in his voice that he truly was sorry.

"I know, Joey, and I'm sorry you have to do this. Is this a permanent situation, do you think, or—" she began, cutting herself off rather than putting him in that awkward position. Besides, it didn't really matter whether Lucas thought it was permanent or not.

He had made it permanent by treating her in this cowardly manner, discharging her from his life for no apparent reason and not even having the basic courtesy to be the one to tell her about it.

Basic courtesy, she almost snorted out loud. She was actually standing there, expecting basic courtesy from a mobster.

With a quick, "Thank you, Joey," she turned around and headed back to her car, so stunned she couldn't even cry.

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