Page 272 of Vicious Saint
After the excitement died down on the field, anyone who was anyone dispersed to get ready for the post-win celebration at LACE. Saint went off with his team to the locker rooms, drenched in the Gatorade that was spilled over his and coach Balkan’s heads.
Given he’s a complete control freak over his belongings, Saint wasn’t thrilled, something his coach and entire team seemed to know by how hard they were laughing.
I almost expected him to go halfyou know whoon them at first, maybe get zappy happy on them with Halo. But was pleasantly surprised when the only pain he inflicted was a few kicks in the asses.
That was two hours ago, and most of the time has been spent with me putting on my best face and sexiest outfit to drive my man absolutely insane.
My man.
I can’t believe how natural those two words have been rolling off my tongue, or how content they make me feel.
With twenty minutes left to spare, I’ve got everything cleaned, shaved, bangs swooped, waves loose and falling just under my collarbone.
I tried on a lot of banging outfits before settling on the moody black one I’m running my hands down in the mirror. My favorite pair of dark blue skinny jeans, black mesh top tucked behind them, matching bra. Paired with a black leather, gold emblem Gucci belt and thigh high boots.
Flat ones this time.
My fingers twist the horn by my sternum, which doesn’t quite go with the ensemble, but I promised Carlo I’d never take it off. Something I know pisses off who’ll be bursting in the room any minute, but that sounds like the caveman’s ultimate caveman problem.
Carlo is no longer just a bodyguard to me, he’s the family I never wanted but can’t imagine not having now.
I’ve just finished applying my mauve lipstick whenone, two, threegentle knocks come from the door.
“Signorina…” Carlo calls from the hall, asking if I’m dressed and if he can come in.
“Yeah, all good!” I shout, still looking myself over in the mirror.
The door opens but doesn’t close.
“Oh,eh.” Carlo looks uncomfortably around the room as I turn to face him, holding out my arms to seek his opinion.
“What? You don’t like it?” I ask, kinda bummed because he’s myhonestshopping buddy compared to Archer.
Still unable to make eye contact, he says, “Very beautiful,signorina, but,eh.” He shoots a quick glance at my chest, which is when I’m reminded of the almost clear view of my bra and cleavage pressed against the tight top. Carlo responds withsomething I translate to be “it’s not appropriate for me to look at you.”
A valid, and very modest point.
Similar to one Vic would make if he was a sweet, scary mobster.
With a humored sigh, I turn and make my way to the dresser, where my mini clutch and the lipstick waiting to be stuffed into it is. A few strides back to Carlo, and I hand the bag over for him to store inside his suit pocket. He does so without an ounce of macho man reluctance.
What?
I hate carrying bags when I don’t have to.
Lifting onto my toes, I pop a kiss on his stubbly cheek, then squeeze his chin in an adoring way. “My favorite friendly mobster.”
Carlo ruffles my hair, and I scold him playfully with a nudge to his shoulder.
I’m smoothing the frizz in the mirror as a furious Saint growl rumbles from the doorway. “You’ve gotta be fucking kidding me.”
“Mannaggia…” Carlo mutters his annoyance with an eye roll, then moves out of the way for the storm he knows is coming.
“What the fuck do you think you’re doing, Jimi?” Saint’s jaw is a chiseled glass of fury and lust as he takes in my outfit. By outfit, I mean the boobs I’ve been torturing him with for a year.
I can’t stop my eyes as they gravitate to his body too.
Saint’s hair is styled differently, more wavy than sleek as it parts a bit to the side. The looser strands allow a few hairs to fall against his forehead, giving him a less polished, naturally scuffed look.
