Page 43 of His Game (His Obsession 1)

LUCA

"I’m not doing anything," she told me. "I'm just trying to make conversation."

I almost believed her.

The problem was that Veda never just "tried to make conversation." She fought with me, or didn't speak to me at all, or she was sleeping. One of the three. As a matter of fact, she'd been way too pleasant this entire afternoon. It was making my ass itch. She was trying to get on my good side. But to what purpose? This relationship, fake or not, was going to end the same way, no matter what.

However, maybe it would be fun to play her game for a while.

"I grew up in New York," I told her.

“You don’t have an accent,” she commented, waiting for me to say more. When I didn't, she asked, "And how did you get here to Texas?"

I let my fingers brush the bare skin of her upper arm, watching with something akin to fascination as goose bumps trailed in their wake. "I killed someone I shouldn't have." I watched her expression as she took that in.

She took a sip of her soda. "Oh."

"And," I continued, "there was an opportunity here for our business. So, with my father's urging, I moved to Austin."

"He was trying to get rid of you?"

I shook my head. "He was trying to keep me alive. And avoid the wrath of the Russians until he could get things under control. It was a win-win situation. Now he travels back and forth between here and New York. And when he's not here, I'm in charge."

She stirred her drink with her straw, watching the bubbles float to the surface. "I don't suppose I can ask what your business is?"

"I run strip clubs." That was the public side of my business. She didn't need to know what I did illegitimately.

Her gray eyes shot to mine. "What kind of strip clubs?"

I fought the urge to smile. "Is there more than one kind?"

"Uh, yeah. There is. There's guys. Girls. Girls who were born as guys. Guys who were born as girls..."

"Girls," I said. "I run the kind with girls. I don't care if they were born that way or not. As long as they bring in customers."

Her mouth tightened with disapproval, or maybe jealousy? "Underage girls?"

"No. That would be human trafficking. And that's a fucked up thing to do. I would never get involved in that shit. All of my girls are over eighteen, clean, and work there of their own free will."

"Glad to hear you have some morals, at least."

"There’re a lot of things you don't know about me, amore." Like how every minute you’re with me makes it harder and harder to remember what I have to do.

She frowned up at me. "Why do you call me that?"

"Would you rather I called you 'Nicole'?"

"Fuck no."

I lifted one eyebrow.

"Fine. Call me whatever you want."

Ah, there was that bite. I'd missed it.

The waiter came with our pizza, and she was quiet while I thanked him and put two slices on her plate.

"Did you have friends growing up?" she asked.

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