Page 55 of Cocky Jerk

If only I could get her to be as open and honest about the rest of her life as she is with her appetite, I might consider her my dream girl. She still hasn’t told me who her father is and won’t let me anywhere near her house. I tried to drive her home on Monday, and she brushed me off. After that, she got real quiet on me. Every time I called or text, she’d rush me off the phone or give me one-word answers. I couldn’t be mad, though, because I had given her the same treatment the week before.

Then Thursday rolled around, and she was chipper as fuck. She flirted with me and sent me pics of herself in about a half a dozen outfits, asking me which I liked best for Tig and Delia’s party. Truth be told, she looked fantastic in everything, but we decided on a black leather mini skirt and a red crop top. I couldn’t fucking wait until tomorrow, especially since I convinced her that underwear was not an option with that skirt.

Anyway, I think she might be bipolar.

It’s okay, I dig it.

What I don’t dig is that fuck who follows her around. According to the database, his road name is Ritmo. I noticed he was lurking around the parking garage when I dropped her off on Tuesday morning and that’s why I hijacked Richie and our cruiser to swing by her office and offer her a ride home, which of course, she declined.

I don’t think he is out to harm her, though. From what I gather about these guys, they pride themselves on some sort of brotherhood and when they’re not fucking the law, they take care of one another’s family. I want to believe this Ritmo character is following Antonia for protection, but that worries me too because I have no idea what she needs protection from. A guy like Tank Deluca has a lot of enemies and any street guy knows the way to hurt a man is to go after what he loves.

“You know I’m disappointed in you,” Antonia says.

The sound of her voice forces me back to the present. My brows draw together as I study her for a moment. She lifts a fried Oreo to my lips and grins. “I thought you would eat me under the table.”

I raise an eyebrow.

Now, we’re talking.

“Find a table and it’s on.”

She laughs and gives my chest a playful punch.

“I don’t mean that. Take a bite,” she encourages, pressing the artery clogging dessert to my lips. Sticking out my tongue, I get a taste of the powdered sugar before she pushes the entire Oreo into my mouth. Chewing, I watch as a satisfied smirk crosses her lips. Unable to help myself, I dip my head and crash my lips against hers. She licks the excess sugar from my lips before pushing her tongue into my mouth. My hands slide around her waist, and I pull her closer. In a crowded street, she’s all that exists, and that’s just as terrifying as the chipped saint wearing the black frizzy wig.

She breaks the kiss first and reaches up to finger the gold horn dangling from my neck.

“I think I need one of these,” she says.

“An Italian horn?”

“It wards off the malocchio.”

“It’s supposed to,” I say.

“I’m pretty sure Penelope wants me dead after your little display of affection on Tuesday. Is there a place I can get one here?”

Lacing our fingers together, I laugh.

“There’s a shop one block up that sells them. We can get you a horn and a shirt that says,“Italians Do It Better.”You can wear it to bed after I fuck you senseless.”

“I thought you prefer me naked.”

“I do, but my apartment can be drafty.”

She loops her arm through mine and I lead her to the little shop on the corner of 69thStreet. We grab a horn and two shirts. Just as I’m about to check out, Antonia stops me and asks the little old man helping us if he has anything to honor Saint Gerard that we could purchase.

It’s not necessarily an odd request, my mom prays to Saint Anthony every morning. I guess I wasn’t expecting Antonia to be much of a holy roller.

“Is that your patron saint?”

She shakes her head.

“Saint Gerard is the patron saint of fertility. I thought maybe we could get something for Tig and Delia.” She pauses, pulling her lower lip between her teeth as she lifts her gaze to me. “Wait, is that insensitive? How would you feel if you’re meeting someone for the first time and she hands you a prayer card to help with your infertility?” She shakes her head. “Oh, God, forget it. You said the whole point of the party was to get their mind off their struggles and here I am suggesting we throw it in their faces. Forget it, sir!”

I touch a hand to her cheek and coax her eyes back to mine.

“I think it’s very thoughtful.”

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