Chapter 13
Nessa runs out of the room, like her dress is on fire, while Boris and I stand staring at each other. I can still taste her on my lips and can still picture the image of Boris' face buried between her thighs as she watched the dancers on stage.
I don't make it a habit of stalking people.
Okay, you and I both know that's a total lie.
But with Nessa, all of my reservations seem to fly out the window. There is nothing I won't do to be in her life, and that now includes trying to buddy up to her boyfriend.
It's obvious that my charm is working on him though because Boris just gave me permission to go down on his woman while he watched.
"For the record," I state, adjusting my shirt and licking my lips, "I think I made her come harder."
"Why did she just run out of here?" Boris asks, not even acknowledging that my skills in the pussy eating department are superior to his.
Fucking rude.
"She got spooked. Give her an hour or so and she will be fine." I lean back on the counter and cross my arms over my chest.
"How do you know that?"
This man looks like a hot mess right now, beyond confused over what happened. Which is hilarious because he started it. I thought for sure I would have to convince him this was a good idea. But he surprised me and came up with it all on his own.
Oh my feck. He doesn't plan on this being a long term thing. I can see it in his eyes as he stares at the door.
What did he think would happen here? That I would simply get her out of my system once I got a taste? Sorry about this one, Old Man .
Now I have even more of a reason to fight for this.
"I know her better than you might think. Maybe even better than you."
That gets his attention, his icy glare trained on me. I meet him with one of my own, daring him to say it isn't true. I know what makes her laugh. I know that I have to cover her eyes while driving if there is a dead animal on the side of the road because just the sight hurts her heart. And I also know that she loves every fecking second of our attention on her.
"What was your plan here, Old Man? Give her an idea of what could have been and then rip it out from under her nose before she had the time to get off the counter. That's what she's thinking, and it's why she ran out."
I put my hands in my leather jacket, standing to my full height. He keeps looking at me as if he wants to kill me and hug me at the same time.
It's freaking me the fuck out.
"Boris." My voice is sharp, sharper than I have ever used with him. Blue eyes snap to mine. "What. Was. Your. Plan?"
He runs a hand through his hair, looking back at the door and then to me. When they settle on the ground with a sigh, I realize that he had no plan. Which isn't like him.
This is a man I'm sure has a timer on how long he can take a shite in order to ensure his day is as productive as possible.
"I do not know," he admits quietly.
I close my eyes, internally shaking my head. This man needs to loosen up and relax a little. I've seen him do it with Nessa, so why can't he figure out how to do the same for himself?
When my lashes flutter open, that same lost look is on Boris' face and I decide, like the dashing hero I am , to extend an olive branch.
"Do you need a ride?"
That question at least gets his brain back online. "I drove."
"Five hundred bucks says she left with your car," I say with a smirk.
His phone dings and he pulls it out of his pocket, taking a very deep breath when he reads the message.
"Let's go," he says, shaking his head and pulling the bathroom door open a little too aggressively.
Catching up with him easily, I place my hands back in my pockets as we walk side by side. One thing I have come to appreciate about this man is that, while it is clear he likes nice things, he seems to have no problem with those around him who don't.
Hence, why I feel totally at ease in my black leather jacket, ripped black jeans, and laced up combat boots while he trudges along at my side in his perfectly tailored three-piece suit.
Hmm, maybe the old man is growing on me.
Don't you dare say I told you so.
As we walk outside, I direct him around to the back of the theater. Some people are fine with using the valet. I, however, do not want another soul touching my car. It's not the most expensive car, but it's my baby and one of the only things that has stayed with me for the past two years while I've stayed hidden.
I paid one of the people at the venue to keep an eye on it while I went inside.
Okay, so I might have threatened them with a gun and pretended I knew who their family was in order to make sure they kept my baby safe, but I did give him money too. I'm not all bad.
And there he is, standing guard like the perfect puppet. I wave at him as I click the unlock button on the key, causing him to startle when the lights flash and the engine roars to life.
Scaring people is one of my favorite pastimes.
Slapping another few hundreds in his hand, I give him a pat on the shoulder.
"Did good, kiddo," I say. He looks in his hands, then back at me before running off, making me chuckle.
Nessa had no idea I was hiding in the rafters above the stage during the show, watching her face the entire time. The awe, the wonder, the joy, and the sadness on her face was a sight to behold, making me even happier that I chose to tag along tonight.
I thought for sure I was going to come in my pants watching Boris go down on her a second time, but there was something that held me back.
He knew I was there.
When Boris notices my car, he rolls his eyes.
"Got something to say, Old Man?" The doors flip up, opening automatically for us.
"You think I do not see when you turn your nose up at my nice things, yet you have a two hundred and twenty thousand dollar McLaren Shark?"
He shakes his head like a disappointed father, a look I am beginning to become accustomed to from him. I slide into my seat and the doors close themselves, sealing us in as I rev the engine, smiling at him like a rebellious teen.
"I have one nice thing, everything you have is nice."
He turns in his seat to face me. "What is wrong with that?"
I think about that as I pull onto the main road because that's a good question. Typically, I don't like people who have nice things because they either treat me like I'm less than them, not knowing I could easily slit their throat before they could blink. Or because they believe their wealth makes them superior to everyone else in general.
However, now that I think about it, Boris isn't like that. He doesn't treat me like I'm less than. He opened up his home to me, his chef, and anything else I could need without me having to ask for any of it. Even in his perfectly tailored suit, he didn't walk three steps ahead of me just to create distance between us.
He is different, and he deserves to be told that.
"With you, maybe there isn't anything wrong with it. I made a judgment in the beginning, and it turns out I was wrong."
That seems to stump him, which I love. So naturally, I continue.
"At first, it was me looking at everything and trying to picture how Ness fit into all of it. Growing up, she was always one to get down and dirty with the boys, barefoot outside, learning to shoot in the mud, and she loved every moment of it."
I make a sharp turn onto the highway, taking the car to high speeds.
"Here, she's different. At first, I assumed it was because you made her that way, but now I am realizing maybe this is who she wanted to be all along. Not someone obsessed with nice things or status, but someone who now feels safe enough to enjoy all of the things her father didn't force on her."
I keep my eyes trained on the road, weaving between cars as we head back to the house. I am almost certain we will beat Nessa back at this point, and I'm not sure if that's a good thing or not.
"Want to get a milkshake?" I ask, exiting to a place I found here the other day while exploring the town.
Boris must seem to understand what I'm thinking. He needs time to process what happened, and I need to get another taste in my mouth that isn't my girl before I jack off with him in the car.
I have zero shame, I would do it.
"That sounds good," Boris says, swiping a hand down his face.
"She's going to be okay, Old Man. She just needs a minute," I say, trying to lighten the mood a bit. The poor man looks like he's about to have a heart attack. That can't be good at his age, right?
"I am not that old." His face flushes red though. "I recently turned fifty-two. Yet, I can still outrun you in the gym, and I can lift more than you on a regular basis."
"You sure about that?" I taunt, just to rile him up because I know he's right.
I nearly hurt myself the other day trying to keep up with his routine. For as much shite as I've been giving him, the dude is stacked and has the skill to back up the strength.
"I am positive."
We pull up to the drive-through, and I order mint chocolate chip before asking Boris what he would like.
"Pistachio, please."
I wrinkle my nose as I order for him.
"What's with the face?" he asks me.
"Why would you want your ice cream to taste like nuts?" I ask, constantly perplexed as to how this is even an ice cream flavor. It's supposed to be a sweet dessert, not nutty.
He chuckles. "Why do you like the taste of chocolate and toothpaste?"
What the fuck did he just say?
I slam on the brakes right before we get to the window to pay.
"You did not just insult mint chocolate chip ice cream. It is the elite flavor. Unlike your nut flavor."
"I'm not sure what your nuts taste like, Cillian, but Nessa loves mine. And she loves pistachio ice cream."
I cover my ears as I pull up the final few feet, refusing to hear this utter nonsense, there is no way that's true.
She has to be faking it. She HAS TO!
No one likes to expect something sweet and get a weird tree nut flavor instead. No one.
Boris leans over me, ignoring my antics and handing the sweet lady at the counter his card. I think I'm in shock right now.
By the time she hands us our milkshakes, I have recovered enough to thank her, but I'm still struggling to believe Nessa likes pistachio ice cream.
I thought she was a woman of great taste.
"Thanks for the ice cream," I say once we're back on our way. I decide to go the speed limit this time, as well as take the long way around. "You still owe me four hundred and eighty-nine dollars though."
If he thinks I'm letting him off the hook for my little bet, he better think again.
"What if I gave you twenty million?"
I nearly swerve the car off the road.
"What the fuck?" I say once I've gotten back in my lane.
"Twenty million and you leave tonight."