Page 27 of Forgotten Deal

But I’ve already exited the SUV and closed the door before he can even clean up his messy dick. Climbing behind the wheel of my car, I pull out of the parking lot.

There. Feels so much better now that I’m back in control of our little game.

Chapter

Nine

Kat

Sleeping late into the day, I take a nice long shower before heading downstairs to forage for sustenance. Opening the fridge reminds me I’m past due for a supermarket run. Like two weeks past due. I toss the carton of expired milk and a questionable takeout container—when the hell did I have Chinese?—closing the fridge door with a frustrated sigh.

The doorbell rings, and I walk to the door and glance out the peephole. Opening the door, I retrieve the bag and look around, but no sign of the number one suspect.

Smiling, I close the door and place the bag on the coffee table, finding a note on top.

Be my taste tester and give me your opinion of the new dishes for my restaurant.

Not your friend,

Fabio

I snort a laugh at his sign-off. Grabbing a fork, I open the first container and take a bite of mouthwatering pasta. “Damn, that’s good.” Sampling a bite from each of the containers, the velvety pasta is my favorite, but they’re all delicious.

My phone buzzes, and I grab it, reading the message from Taylor.

You wanna grab a bite before shift?

Sorry, I’m eating as we speak. And I’m not working tonight.

Why? I thought you were scheduled with me this evening.

Dunno. The schedule got changed.

Not exactly true, but Taylor doesn’t need to know about my deal with a mob boss.

That sucks.

“Sucks,” I agree, twirling another pillowy bite of pasta around my fork and bringing it to my mouth.

My phone buzzes again, and I check the message, expecting another from Taylor; but it’s from an unknown sender.

Meet me in the back parking lot of my restaurant tonight. I need you to dress up.

How did you get my number?

I told you, Katerina, I’ve got your number.

Uh-huh. Well, thanks for the food. It’s all delicious, but the pasta is my favorite.

I pause my fingers over the keyboard, my heart beating noticeably faster. “Fuck it.” I type what I’m really thinking. I hold my breath as I hit send.

If we’re not friends, then what are we?

Dots appear as Fabio types his reply.

I can only speak for myself, but what I am is a man starving to have your delicious pussy plastered over my face. Molded to my fingers. Wrapped around my dick. Dealer’s choice on the sequence of those events.

I squirm in my seat. When did it get so hot in here?

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