Page 54 of Cocky Jerk

“You’re still in your uniform.”

“Yeah, and I got the cruiser parked downstairs. If you like I can put the siren on while I drive you home,” he offers, wiggling his eyebrows for extra emphasis.

I laugh for two reasons. One, because it sounds completely ridiculous and I can totally see him doing it and two, I can also imagine the horror on my father’s face if he saw me pull up in a cop car.

I know it’s not funny, but if I don’t laugh, I think I might cry, and I don’t fucking cry.

“Me and my partner are pulling some overtime and working the 18thAvenue feast tonight. If you don’t want to go straight home, you can tag along.”

“And what am I supposed to do while you and your partner work?”

“Eat zeppole with me.”

Smiling faintly, I shake my head.

Forget Marco, if I don’t end things with him, my waistline is going to be in danger, and I can’t even blame that on my dad.

“I’m going to gain twenty pounds dating you,” I mutter, forgetting all about our audience. I’m sure Penelope is lurking around here too, probably putting the malocchio on me.

“I’m not seeing the issue.”

I slap his bicep playfully.

“What do you say, dollface?”

“Actually, I have plans. Can I get a raincheck, though?” I ask hopefully.

I wish I could delete the email I sent through because I don’t need advice on what to do.

I’m not ready or willing to give Marco up.

“I’m working for the next couple of nights. What do you say we go Friday night? We can have another sleepover…come to think of it. We can spend the entire weekend together.” He pauses and looks over my shoulder at Soraya. “I spoke to Tig and Delia and they’re in, so we’re all set for the party Saturday night.”

“Great,” she says. “I’m going to swing by the restaurant on my way home and confirm everything.”

He gives her a nod before turning his eyes back to me.

“You sure I can’t take you home?”

“Yes, but I’m looking forward to Friday.”

He grins.

“Me too, dollface. Me too.”

Chapter Seventeen

Marco

After working the feast forfour nights straight, I had no desire to visit what I once considered my old stomping grounds. The festival of Santa Rosalia or more commonly known as the 18thAve feast wasn’t like I remembered. For starters, it didn’t span as many blocks as it used to. The mom and pop shops that sold vintage Italian records and novelties were few and far between and the café’s that decorated the corners of every block were on their third and fourth owners. In the years that passed since I was a kid, the feast took on a Hispanic flair, and aside from the traditional Italian foods, there were vendors who sold empanadas and my personal favorite, Mexican street corn.

There were a few things that remained the same. You could still score a slice at DaVinci’s Pizzeria and on every block, there was a sausage and pepper stand. You could also find several people selling zeppoles and fried Oreos. If you got there the day the feast opened, you could score some grilled octopus too. There were carnival rides, games, and music blaring from giant speakers. People danced in the street under the festive red, white, and green lights that hung from one streetlight to the next. And the statue of Saint Rosalia was still on display and just as terrifying as it was when I was a kid.

But if you’ve been to the feast once, you’ve been a thousand times and when you’re working it, breaking up fights and making sure no one steals the dollars pinned to the saint, you’d much rather spend your Friday night curled up on the couch with your girl’s legs wrapped around your head.

Antonia, however, has other plans and instead of feasting on her, I’m watching her go to town on a bag of fried Oreos. I’m not complaining. I think one of my favorite things about Antonia is that she isn’t shy in front of me. There’s nothing worse than being on a date, ordering a steak and a loaded baked potato, and having the woman you’re with pretend she’s satisfied with the arugula on her plate. You know the second you drop her at her door, she’s fixing herself a sandwich.

Not Antonia, though.

---