Page 26 of Craving the Player

Chapter Twelve

BRADEN

“So, fill me in. Considering that you’ve been too preoccupied to make time for your old withering mother these past few weeks, Ican only assume you’ve been busy to the absolute tits.” My mother wears adeep-set scowl that makes me laugh. It’sthe same scowl I’ve been on the receiving end of far too many times. Ever since Iturned old enough to speak or walk, really.

“You’re not old nor withering, Mom. Stop being dramatic.” Itwirl aglob of spaghetti around my fork before shoving it in my mouth. After ahefty swallow, Imoan, “Damn, Antonio. Give my compliments to the chef. This is fucking delicious, as always.”

My step-dad sends me awarm, appreciative smile and dips his head. Paninaro’shas been in Antonio’sfamily for generations, opened up by his great, great grandfather afew years after he migrated to Canada from asmall town in Italy. Idon’tknow much more than that. The relationship that Ihave with my step-dad is slim, only built out of necessity and the respect he’searned from treating my mom so well.

“You’re welcome to come here anytime, Braden,” Antonio says. “Quello che èmio ètuo.”What’smine is yours. Iknow he means it, and for aflicker of time Ifeel guilty for not building acloser father-son relationship with the guy. He tries really hard. That has to count for something.

Iserve the table atight lipped smile. “Grazie.”

Antonio would never say it, but he appreciates the fact that I’ve tried to learn his language. Ican see it in the way his green-speckled eyes shine as they stare at me afterward every Italian word Ispeak. Sometimes I’mrather ass at it, but Itry nonetheless.

“How’syour father and his child bride?” Mom asks the question so casually, her wine glasses tipped back as she takes asmall sip, eyebrow lifted. The red liquid sloshes the sides of the glass when she sets it back down on the table cloth. Itry to string together aresponse, but fail.

“Jesus Christ, woman,” Antonio whispers, shaking his head and reaching over to place his hand on hers. “You can not call her achild bride. It is rude.”

“Is that not what she is, Tony? She is our son’sage. It’sinappropriate!”

Istare at her, lips slightly parted, unsure of what to say.

My parents got divorced when Iwas young. The entire thing was messy and rough for everyone, but it was nothing compared to the arguments they’ve encountered since Dad’sbeen with Lana. Mom doesn’tdo well with change, and if my shock and confusion was anything like what my mother felt, then Iwould say her reaction was and is completely warranted.

It’snot that we both don’twant him to be happy. My father was my fucking role model growing up—my super hero, even. He deserves happiness more than anyone Iknow. But is this the way to get it? Are we keeping him from being happy? Is he just going through aphase? His version of amid-life crisis? Fuck. Idon’twant to think about it anymore.

“You should talk to him about it, Mom. He’sstill waiting to hear back from you about your wedding RSVP,” Isay between mouthfuls.

Mom opens her mouth to speak, and from the passion in her stare, Ican tell words are being thrown my way. But I’mno longer paying attention. I’mfocused elsewhere now, on afigure wrapped in apowder blue dress, moving with near-lightning speed towards the bathrooms, wound up like acoiled spring.

She seems completely unaware of her surroundings, mind set only on fleeing whatever has her spine straight as asteel rod and hands fisted. Itune out my step-dad'sconcerned tone as he says my name afew times, trying to grab my attention again, asking if I’mokay. It’snot until Sierra disappears behind my mother'sback—completely out of my view—that Iretrace her steps.

My brow collide, pulling tightly together. Iknow I’mglaring mildly at the two women residing at the table Sierra scurried from—who by the look of their collected relief—couldn'tbe happier to see Sierra bee-lining it to the washroom. However, Ifeel my eyes narrow into amore cold, intimidating glare when Inotice the rest of the group.

Sitting across from the women are two businessmen types—the kind of men who spend more money on custom tailored suits and name brand watches than they do on what kind of luxury car they drive. The first one, let’scall him Bert, sits on the inside of the booth, watching the breasts of the blonde across from him rise and fall with each breath she takes. There’ssomething carnal in the way he eyes her. Something that makes my gut twist. He’sclearly aboss or somebody who holds some sort of power over her. Ican tell by the way she’swatching him: cautious and nervous but trying to play it off with acoy, flirtatious smile. I’ve seen Jade wear that same look every time Jim Sullivan walks into his bar. It pisses me off here and now just the same as it does then.

Irelax the fingers that Idon'tremember fisting and move my stare to the second guy at the table—Ernie. He wears confidence nearly as well as Ido. Relaxed shoulders, one arm extended, forearm resting on the table so he can show off his expensive watch. The light from the ceiling lamp above the table reflects off of the tiny diamonds embedded around the face of the watch, making each one in what appears to be athousand, dance around the room. His jaw is covered in abrown scruff—like he hasn’tbothered shaving for afew days—yet the lines of it aren’thidden in any way. Idecide without asliver of doubt that Idon’tlike him.

"Excuse me," Imutter, pushing away from the table, ignoring my mom'squestions as Ifollow Sierra. Ibump the shoulder of one of the waiters as he rounds the corner and nod apologetically at him before Icome to astop beside the ladies room door. Ifight back the need to whip open the door and stomp inside to see her with an ineligible grumble. I’mnot her boyfriend. She’smore than capable of dealing with her own shit, Iknow that.

I’mabout to leave in an effort to save my pride when Ismell Sierra'sperfume. The smell of fresh cut flowers and vanilla brings out my smile. Iturn to her when she steps through the door and covers her shock-ridden, parted lips with her hand.

The tight material of her knee-length dress emphasizes every single one of the delicious curves—the ones that Ihope are still covered in the bruises the shape of my fingertips—as she leans back on her right foot with asense of forced confidence. She might think that she'spulling off her little “I’mtoo confident to be shaken by anything” act that fooled her table, but it won’twork on me. Imay not know her all that well yet, but I’ve begun to pay attention to the little mannerisms that she tries to hide.

Ifind myself speaking before Ican stop myself. "Iknew it was you who rushed past me out there. Icould never forget that ass."

"Braden," she sighs, exasperated. "Why am Inot surprised to see you here? Trapping women in public bathrooms seems to be your thing."

"They are when it comes to you.” My mouth curves up.

It'spurely coincidence, really. Iwouldn'thave guessed that Iwould run into her at my family’srestaurant of all places. Barely anyone Iknow ever comes here. Ilike it that way.

"Did you need something? Ihave to go back out there." Her voice wobbles slightly as she speaks and looks past my shoulder at the table barely visible around the corner. Ifollow her gaze and bite back my laugh when Isee Ernie cough and reach down to the front of his slacks to adjust his dick, palming it slightly. He’swatching the girl beside the blonde suck from apaper straw, clearly hoping she’ll suck something else after dinner.

"Ithink they're fine without you." Ilaugh, turning back to her, letting my shoulder brush her neck. Ifeel her shiver. "Who are those people anyway? Don'ttell me you work for asex ring and that'syour pimp. I'mway too broke to start paying you."

Iwant to knee myself in the balls as soon as I’ve finished speaking. Yeah, that was definitely the wrong thing to say. Her scoff is immediate, cheeks flushing red as she slaps my chest—hard. "Do Ilook like aprostitute to you, asshole?"

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