Page 22 of The Woman in the Garage

There was no indication that Dasha was interested in fucking me. I mean, what woman wanted to sleep with the guy who was extorting money from her business?

“It would be pretty hypocritical of me to tell you to play it smart,” Lucky said. “Since that’s never been how I’ve operated. But don’t let it blow up in Luca’s face too much. He’s pretty fucking lenient. But even he has limits.”

“Nothing is happening. She’s just all kinds of pretty. Will make the monthly visit to collect our bag a lot more pleasant.”

“Little help out here?” someone from the front of the pizzeria called, sounding frazzled and frustrated.

“I’m gonna go help them catch up,” Lucky said, already moving toward the door.

You had to respect a boss who wasn’t afraid to get his hands dirty and help out when they were in the weeds.

It was a Friday night. Lucky’s pizza places were always crazy. No matter how much staff he kept on, they could always use more hands.

I’d made up my mind to go help out too, deciding it was better than twiddling my thumbs waiting for him to come back and tell me whatever it was that I’d zoned out on earlier.

And just as I walked out, I saw a really fucking familiar face standing at the counter, looking adorably overwhelmed with all the shouting going on behind the counter—people calling out orders, telling the cooks which pizzas were getting low in the display cases, answering phones.

She stood there patiently waiting in another of those sundresses—this one a lavender color with white piping that made her look like an Easter present just begging to beunwrapped—rolling a ring on one of her fingers as her eyes darted back and forth between the girl behind the counter and Lucky, who was demanding updates on everything going on so he could take control and get things organized.

“What are we getting for you, hon?” Lucky called to her.

It was right then that she spotted me, though.

“Oh,” she said, her look of surprise morphing to pleasure as she smiled at me. “It’s you,” she said.

“What are you doing here?” I asked, moving to the counter, feeling Lucky’s curious gaze on me, but ignoring him.

“Well, I asked a few people what the best Italian place was in town. The answers were almost unanimous. So here I am.”

Alone.

On a Friday night.

Looking how she looked.

That was a fucking crime.

“They were right. And I’m not just saying that because my cousin owns it,” I said, gesturing over toward Lucky, who was still watching, even as he twirled dough around, making flour flutter down on his black shirt like snow.

“Oh, wow. Small world. Or… small town, I guess.”

“Are you in the mood for something specific, or are you open to ideas?”

“Totally open,” she said, and her face and chest went red again, making me have to bite the inside of my cheek to keep from smiling. “To, you know, suggestions.”

“How about you have a seat, and I’ll figure it out for you,” I said, gesturing toward the one empty table in the restaurant.

“Okay. Sure. I love surprises,” she said, turning and walking away.

“You done flirting? I want my order,” the guy behind her grumbled.

“Ey, who the fuck you talking to like that?” Lucky called.

The man’s face fell for a second before anger blotted his cheeks. “The customer’s always right, aren’t they?”

“Sometimes the customer is an asshole who can keep his opinions to himself and enjoy a world-class pie or can go have sub-par pizza somewhere else.”

The guy grumbled, but accepted his pizza and paid his bill.

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