Page 31 of Cocky Jerk

If they knew a man was the cause of my smile all hell would break loose.

Some of the guys, the younger ones who are close to my age, would crack endless jokes. The old-timers, the guys who took the oath with my dad, wouldn’t find it so funny and they would be out for blood. Hound would be a wildcard, though. He’d likely be swayed to my dad’s side and not because he’s got some undying attachment to me. The man is so far up my old man’s ass, it’s hard to tell where he begins and my dad ends. He’d also put two and two together, figure it was Marco and my smile would be permanently destroyed.

Fixing a scowl to my face, I reach for the brown bag I tucked into my saddlebags. No matter how hard I try not to give in, the smile reappears instantly as I tuck the meatball hero under my arm.

When he dropped me off, there was this awkward moment where neither of us knew what to do. Then he got out of the car, leaving me still in the passenger seat. He walked around the front of the car and get this…he opened my door for me. To him it was no big deal. To me it was everything. It’s true what they say, that it’s the little things. The things that make you feel respected and not just wanted. Once you get a taste of that, even if it is just a small taste, you’ll find yourself reevaluating your selection in men. You’ll ask yourself why you ever settled for less than what you deserve, and ladies, we all deserve a man who will open our car door.

After extending a hand and helping me out of the car, Marco reached into the backseat and handed me one of the to-go bags Luigi packed for us.

If he sends you on your way with a meatball sandwich sure to make you moan, that’s a bonus. If you’re like me, you’ll smile and without giving it much thought, you will raise the bar for yourself.

As he walked me toward my bike, I wondered if he would try to kiss me. Would I let him? Did I even want him to? Oh, who the fuck am I kidding, I totally wanted him to kiss me and I needed the kiss to be awful too.

Sloppy and rushed.

A flaw in an otherwise perfect package.

Sadly, Marco did not kiss me, so the jury is still out. Instead, he stood close and watched me straddle my bike, holding my sandwich hostage until I gave him my phone. I must’ve lost my mind in the last twenty-four hours because like a smitten fool, I handed him my phone. He stored his number under “Make You Moan Marco”, tucked the brown bag into my saddlebag, and checked to see if my chinstrap was fastened. Tapping a finger to my nose, he told me to call him after I ate the sandwich. I was too flabbergasted to do anything but nod. He flashed me that panty-dropping grin of his and I watched as he leisurely strolled to his car. Once he was tucked into the driver’s seat and out of my view, I revved my engine and the smile hasn’t left my face since.

“Where the fuck were you? Your father has been waiting for over an hour.”

Well that will do the trick.

Turning around, my lips settle into a thin line as Hound comes into view. Marching toward me, he flicks his cigarette into the street. The sight of him paired with the way he greeted me, really puts things into perspective.I bet Marco doesn’t talk to women like that.

Dismissing the comparison,I stare at Hound unimpressed.

“You should really learn how to mind your business,” I advise. I go to step around him, but he grabs a hold of my arm, keeping me in front of him.

“You are my business.”

Tugging my arm free, I lift my eyes to his. Hound doesn’t get to ruin my day. He doesn’t get to wipe away the smile another man planted on my face and he certainly doesn’t have the right to put his fucking hands on me.

Smacking my lips together, I point a finger at him.

“Keep your hands to yourself or you just might lose one. Not an ideal disability to have when you ride with the Corrupt Hellraisers, but I’m sure they’ll find something for you to do. Maybe you can clean the clubhouse. Those rooms can get pretty dirty, especially yours. Are you still collecting condom wrappers on the floor?”

I flip my hair over my shoulder and turn my back to him. I’ve wasted enough time on him. Reaching the door to the clubhouse, I pull it open and step inside the smoke-filled room. It’s the bewitching hour and everyone is either drunk, high, or both—a typical Tuesday for the Hellraisers. In another hour or two, this place will be full of random girls, all of them ready to drop to their knees on command.

I spot my father sitting at the end of the bar, smoking a cigar and make my way over to him. He doesn’t look too pissed that I missed our dinner, but then again, my father prides himself on having a killer poker face. It’s how he stays out of jail. Well, that’s what he would tell you. My mother, the fancy criminal defense attorney, will say she is the reason he remains free. I guess they make a hell of a team. Too bad their coalition only works in the courtroom and the bedroom.

Sliding into the stool beside him, I lay the bag with my sandwich on the bar and reach for the bottle of whiskey sitting in front of him.

“I’m sorry I’m late,” I start as I fill his shot glass. “I got tied up at work.”

The lie weighs between us and guilt swarms me as I take a swig from the bottle. Too much of a coward to look at him, I keep my eyes pinned to Mouse who sits beside him rolling a blunt as thick as an Italian sausage link.

“That so?” my dad questions as he leans his beefy forearms on the wooden bar. Out of the corner of my eye, I watch him flick the ashes of his cigar into a red solo cup.

“Yes, but I’m here now.”

Bringing the cigar back to his lips, he turns his head and studies me.

“What’s in the bag?”

“Um…” my voice trails as I glance down at the bag.

“We had a dinner reservation at Il Perlino for six,” he continues. “I figured it’s been a while since we visited Carlo and Rosa.”

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