Page 25 of Vows of a Mobster
“I’m sorry.”
“You could come along.”
She chuckled softly. “I don’t think so.”
“You did promise me a cup of coffee,” I reminded her.
She tilted her head, a smile playing on her beautiful lips. “I did, didn’t I?”
“You sure did.”
“I am sorry to say that particular bar doesn’t serve coffee,” she replied with a smile and started walking into the garage with me trailing behind her.
“Of course. I shouldn’t be surprised. Marcus picks the worst places.”
She gave me a side glance. “Don’t like bars?”
“Not the overcrowded ones,” I replied wryly. Not to mention it was the worst time for such a gathering in a public place.
“You know what I do when I’m cornered into going somewhere I don’t want to go?” Her eyes twinkled with little mischief.
“I’m all ears.”
She stopped. “You show up. And the individuals that are the worst gossipers… in your case pick women… make sure you say hi to them. Two, three tops.” I couldn’t help but smile at her strategy. She was all business explaining it. “Then excuse yourself to the restroom.”
“Restroom?”
“Yes, otherwise they follow you,” she rolled her eyes. “Trust me, they do. That’s why I always pick the male gossipers. Otherwise, I’d be stuck with the woman following me.”
“Ah, I see,” I marveled. “That’s why you said to pick a woman gossiper.”
“Precisely.” She rewarded me with a smile. “Then, instead of going to the restroom, you find your way to the back door, or circle around and boom. You are out. You don’t even have to order a drink.”
“You must have done that a lot?”
“A few times,” she admitted. “Initially, I would order a drink, but then it would piss me off that I paid for it and couldn’t even enjoy it. Waste of good alcohol and my money.”
“Clever,” I told her.
“I thought so too.” She shrugged nonchalantly. “Anyhow, this is me.”
She clicked her keys and the lights of a bright red Jeep Sahara came on. The same one that Antonio and I saw here about a week ago. I shouldn’t be surprised because the vehicle suited her, and I could picture her in flip flops. I didn’t have to ask her to know she loved wearing flip flops.
“Nice Jeep,” I told her.
She frowned, a shadow passed her face. “Thanks. I hate that damn color.”
I shot her a surprised look and she rolled her eyes.
“I know, why did I get red then?” she mumbled, slight agitation in her voice. “Long story.”
“Another long story?” I teased her.
Agitation left her as quickly as it appeared, and she chuckled. “Yes, I guess there are a lot of those.”
“I have to say though,” I told her. “The Vaseline piqued my interest.”
She laughed again, throwing her purse onto the passenger seat of her Jeep. It was wrong of me to admire her figure, and eyeing her body but it was hard to tear my gaze off. She moved gracefully, every motion smooth.
