Page 308 of The Tempted

“Why? Why can’t this night just end?” he cried up to the heavens, before bringing his phone to his ear.

I think he might have a screw loose.

“Yeah, Prez,” he said into the phone, nodding toward the passenger door. “Get in.”

And his attitude sucked too.

“Yeah, I got the sister,” he continued, to whoever was on the phone. “I’m dropping her ass off to her loony toon of a mother and getting the fuck away from anyone with the last name Bianci,” he said, climbing into the truck beside me.

Well, that was rude.

He disconnected the call, throwing his phone into the console and glanced at me.

“What?” he demanded.

“You’re kind of a dick,” I commented.

“And you’re a pain in the ass so we’re even,” he argued, starting up the truck. “It was supposed to be an easy job. Pick up the mother and the kid—take them to Bianci. That was it, the Bulldog said. But no, God wanted to fuck with me by adding to my misery—getting whacked with a frying pan by that lunatic of a woman, tying the bitch up and dragging her to Long Island just wasn’t enough. I needed to get saddled bringing “Mama Leone” upstate to spend quality time with her daughter while the gangster son goes off the grid too. Fuck this shit!” He said, punching the steering wheel. “And instead of dropping off “Carmela Soprano” and running the fuck away from her, I get stuck in more Bianci family drama,” he continued to rant, piercing me with a look. “Picked a fine time to become a stripper little girl,” he hissed.

“I’m not a stripper!” I seethed.

“You’re no fucking nurse, that’s for sure,” he retorted. “Fucking tease,” he muttered

“Excuse me?” I asked, feeling my cheeks redden with anger. I wanted to throttle this asshole.

He grinned sarcastically and holy hell…his smile…there were no words. For one split second I lost my mind and wished we had gotten off on a different foot. I really wanted to see that smile again.

He’s rude. He has insulted your family. Stop looking at his crotch.

“Stop smiling!” I demanded.

“I called you a fucking tease,” he confirmed.

“I don’t see—”

“Shouldn’t slop all that shit on your face, you are way fucking prettier without it,” he said, cutting me off.

Oh, wow.

That was kind of nice.

“So…which is the truth? Are you little Miss innocent or you some wild child looking for a good time?” he asked, diverting his eyes back to the road.

I thought about his question for a while and wondered if I should answer him truthfully. If I told him I was tired of being the good girl, tired of pleasing everyone and just wanted to live. I wondered what he would say.

I’m not saying I want to live recklessly, but would it be so bad to take chances? To experience life and find out what I really wanted from it?

“I liked the naughty school girl bit you had going on tonight, but this…” he said, waving his hand at me, “…this wholesome thing is pretty hot too,” he complimented, shrugging his shoulders.

“Who are you?” I asked dumbfounded.

He looked back toward the road, driving with one hand and the other hand pointed to the name on his leather vest.

I squinted and peered over the rim of my glasses to read the name from his patch.

“Riggs?”

He dropped his hand to the shifter and nodded.

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