Page 5 of Smitten with the Single Dad

“Naw, don’t be like that. Come on.” His tone held an edge to it, and he tried again to guide her.

Every gut instinct told Vica it was a bad idea, but when Track wrapped an arm around her and dug his fingers into her bicep, she stupidly allowed her feetto follow and him to lead her down to the beach. They were just below the pub deck when he had her up against one of the thick square posts that held up the deck.

“You don’t have to say ‘no’ anymore, V. I’m not your boss. You can finally give in to what I know has passed between us since day one.” His beer-and-nacho-scented breath made her stomach turn and when he went in for a kiss, she turned her head, and she could have sworn he growled.

Pressing her hands to his chest as best she could, she pushed him away—or at least tried to. “I think there’s been a misunderstanding, Track. I am very sorry if you think I have any feelings toward you besides friendship.” She pushed against his chest harder. “I don’t see you that way. I think you are a great guy though.”

He still wouldn’t budge.

Fear and flight swam through her veins. Her limbs tingled, her gut spun, and her breathing grew ragged. Nobody saw them head down here. Nobody really knew where she was. He could do anything he wanted and there was no one around to stop him.

“Come on, V. Don’t be like that. Don’t be such a cocktease.”

She pushed again. “Track, I want to go. Let me go. Please.”

Even though she couldn’t see his eyes in the darkness, she didn’t have to. The limited light from above, as well as the waning gibbous moon, caused harsh, menacing shadows to darken his face. It was like the devil stared back at her.

He went in for a kiss again.

She turned her head, pushed him, and tried to duck, but he grabbed her by the hand. “Not so fucking fast, you fucking Italian, cocktease bitch.”

“Track. Stop. I don’t want to do this. Please.”

His grip on her arm was that of rough play, it was the grip of a man whose ego had just been bruised and who wanted reparations for that malady. He yanked her backward until the back of her head smashed into the post.

Stars flashed in her mind, and for a second, she thought she might throw up.

“Mira al cazzo. Mira alla gola. Colpisci qualunque cosa lo farà crollare a terra eti darà la possibilità di scappare. La tua priorità numero uno è scappare. Sempre.”

Her brother’s words came back to her, “Aim for the dick. Aim for the throat. Hit whatever will make him crumble to the ground and give you a chance to escape. Your number one priority is getting away. Always.”

There was nobody else around. Nobody else could save her right now but her.

“Such a fucking cocktease bitch,” he said with another growl followed by a bunch of derogatory nicknames for Italians that she tuned out.

He had her pinned against the post with his knee between her legs and his big hands pinning her arms above her head. How could she hit his throat or knee him in the cock now?

He leaned in. “Are you going to be a good girl?”

She glared at him. “Fuck you.” Then she spat in his face.

His roar was far more restrained than she anticipated, but she also wasn’t anticipating him hauling off and backhanding her.

More stars filled her vision and the pain in her head intensified.

He reached around and grabbed her by the ponytail, planning to spin her around, but she managed to grab his arm and bite down hard.

He roared even louder. “You stupid fucking bitch!”

But this was her window. He wasn’t holding onto her anymore. She had to take this opening and run.

Only the sand was so soft and dry, and in her nude, flat sandals she couldn’t get the traction. Sand filled the gap between the sole of the shoe and the bottom of her foot, and she wasn’t nearly as fast as she hoped.

That gave Track time to wrap his hand around her ponytail again, nearly giving her whiplash when he yanked her back.

She spun around, ignoring the sharp snap of pain in her neck.

Lorenzo was back in her head, speaking to her,“Mira al cazzo. Mira alla gola.”

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