Page 12 of Mabilia

She stares at it in confusion. “Why do you owe me money?”

“Because I plan on tearing that fucking dress to shreds so you can’t ever wear it again,” I whisper in her ear. “It should be illegal.”

Mabilia shrugs. “I’ll just buy another one,” she says with a smile.

“And I’ll tear up that one too,” I tell her.

“I don’t need a father, Tommy. I already have one. A really great one, by the way. So cut the caveman bullshit. It’s not cute.” She pulls that little black card of hers out of her clutch. “Now, can I get a cosmo?”

“You got ID?” I ask her.

“Sure do.” Mabilia reaches into her bag again before waving a laminated card in my direction with a smirk on her face. She thinks she’s won.

I turn around, pick up a pair of scissors, and watch her face fall as I cut the ID in half.

“What the hell?” she groans.

“It’s fake,” I say as I pour her a glass of soda. “Here. This is all I’m serving you.” It’s not that I care all that much if she has a drink. It’s more that I want her sober.

“Why?” she asks. “You know I can go to any other bar in this city and get served.”

“Then by all means, go,” I call her bluff. “But if you stick around until I finish up here, I’m taking you home and making good on my promise to tear up that dress.”

Mabilia appears to consider her options before she picks up her glass and takes a sip. “It’s good,” she says. “How long until you finish?”

“About two hours.”

“I have to sit here for two hours?”

“Yes, princess, some of us have to work to survive. We don’t all have fancy black cards,” I remind her.

“You do. I’ve seen it. Also, I’m not a princess.”

“Sure about that?” I raise a brow at her.

But before she can answer, Denny pushes me to the side and holds out a palm. “Hey, I’m Denny. You must be the girl my boy here is all twisted up over.”

Mabilia takes his hand and flashes him a smile. “Mabilia, and he’s not twisted up.”

“Whatever you say,” Denny tells her over a shoulder as he walks over to the other side of the bar to serve customers—something I should be doing.

I turn back to Mabilia. “You sticking around?”

“Depends,” she says.

“On?”

“On what you’re going to do with me after you tear this dress from my body?”

Leaning over the bar, I whisper into her ear for a second time, “I’m going to give you pleasure like you’ve never experienced before.”

“You have no idea the kind of pleasures I’ve experienced. So that’s a big call to make.” She smirks.

The image of her with another guy doesn’t sit well with me. In fact, I fucking hate it. “Mabilia, when you mention other guys it makes me want to pull you onto this counter and fuck you in front of everyone so every fucker in this bar knows you’re mine.”

My words take both of us by surprise. We’ve been flirting all week through text messages, and I haven’t seen her since I dropped her home three days ago. But, fuck, I don’t care.She is mine. I meant every single word.

“When did I become yours?” she asks, her teeth sinking into her bottom lip.

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