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11
-G.- I whispered angrily.- Don't take my food.
- You can eat mine, sweetie- He pointed with his knife at a chicken fillet with cheese sauce. I almost drool over how good it looked. I sighed. Pasta or chicken. A difficult decision.- I'm not going to change it. I said share- He rolled his eyes and cut a piece of chicken that soon shoved it into my mouth.
I was going to tell him that it wasn't a baby I could feed, but the cheese touched my taste buds and I was about to die on the spot. I closed my eyes and enjoyed that flavor that was a clear example of what the clouds in the sky knew. A finger pressed against my nose, pulling me out of my beautiful dreams of angels and cheese platters. I opened my eyes and found the idiot looking at me amused. Insensitive idiot. Didn't he know how to enjoy the food of the Olympian gods?
He looks like a god, so you should like him - said my inner being.
What? I
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The mobster and the writer 12
- You shouldn't do such self-destructive things, cutie- I was trying to avoid the topic. Nice try avoiding the big pink elephant in the room- If I hadn't come to see how you were...- It was fine- I said through my teeth. He didn't give a shit about what happened to me. You shouldn't care. - Nothing was wrong with me.-Does it happen often? - He frowned and I clenched my teeth feeling how the anger was rising to anger. I preferred the normal idiot, not this version who cared about my life.-No.- Period and end. I slipped out of his arms and stood up. I needed space.I grabbed a handful of clothes in my hand and went into the bathroom, past G. I bolted it so the young man wouldn't have weird ideas of joining me or whatever. I took off my dress, feeling bad without it. The underwear followed. I almost jerked my earrings off and stepped into the shower. I let the hot water wash away the makeup that had embedded in my face. I hated not removing my makeup when
The mobster and the writer 13
To say that mafia life is not boring is to have no idea. Surely the "rank and file soldiers", as I call them, have action and all those dangerous tasks that come to mind when we think of the term "mafia". The problem is that not everyone in that world is “private”. I certainly wasn't. I was the "prisoner-guest." I had been practically locked in my room for a week and except for visits from Cami and G, I was alone. At least I had my laptop to write and not go crazy. The positive part of my isolation is that I made a lot of progress in the new novel. My imagination, which previously seemed stunted, was now fired. The latest romantic incident (or whatever it was) with G had given me a needed push. The negative side of my loneliness: I was starting to go crazy.I have always liked to talk. I have studied many languages because of the need to express myself. I like meeting people and talking about anything. I need people in my life. I need company and locked up the onl
The mobster and the writer 14
G took my arm and squeezed it, dragging me away from the spot where just moments ago one of the strangest scenes I'd ever seen had just happened. Bad boys aren't that rare in books. Of course, G didn't stop even though I told him a couple of times that his grip hurt. He was going to leave a mark on me. I sensed it. It wasn't until he threw me on my bed that he was quiet. He slammed the door. I shrugged and covered myself with the pillow, the most effective shield I found around me.He did not apologize. He looked at me unfriendly and I wished the G from this morning would come back. The one in front of me looked too much like the one who came into my apartment not long ago, that is, not G, but theidiot. In my head, they weren't the same person. G was the nice one, and the idiot was ... well, idiot. It was easy to recognize one from the other. His eyes threw daggers at me. I sighed.- I haven't done anything, G- I mumbled. He didn't want a fight now.
The mobster and the writer 15
I sat down on Hunter's couch and my heart decided to go back to beating as usual. She hated being tense, but these past weeks she'd had more than enough excuse. Surely after this, he was going to have heart problems. I signed up on my mental note blog to go for a doctor checkup. I would have to make an appointment. A finger touched my forehead and I jumped.Hunter was in front of me while I was head over heels. It used to happen to me. I was easily blank. I smiled at him a little. I didn't understand how I could have behaved so badly with him before with how nice he was. And handsome. Remember how handsome he was. I sighed. It was the prototype Calvin Klein model. He smiled back at me a little wider than mine.- What is that little head of yours thinking about?- He sat next to me, too close for my liking.-I would like to know you better.- My big mouth made an appearance again.- I mean that after what I thought better of before. I am an idiot. I should have list
The mobster and the writer 16
- He can't even stand me- I laughed- He hates me. How is he going to let me get close to him?- Sam, you're blind- I didn't understand. What did you mean?-Don't you mean that...?- I'm not saying anything- He made that funny gesture that his mouth was closed with a padlock. He pretended to drop the key and I jumped to pretend to take it. - They are assumptions. If something happens, he must be the one to tell you. Not me. If it were the other way around, I wouldn't want him to be the one to tell you.- Say what?- Why was he speaking in Morse? Couldn't it be clearer?- Leave it, Sam- He ruffled my hair like a dog- What do you want to do?- I want you to tell me that assumption of yours- I wasn't going to let him get away with it. I was not going to forget the subject so easily.- I have the Magic Mike movie out there ...- Indeed I forgot everything.- MAGIC MIKE!- I jumped out of bed and went to the couch before he
The mobster and the writer 17
He dragged me to his car, a shiny sports Ferrari. You could tell he did not like to attract attention. I helped him put things in the trunk and got into the passenger seat. Before I could close the door, he did it for me.Once inside he put his sunglasses on me and covered my head with a black cap. Surely the paparazzi didn't recognize me like that. G acted like we were famous. I laughed softly, and he listened to me because he always did. He turned on the radio, changing stations until Eminem filled the silence. His musical tastes matched mine.I sang in tandem with the rapper, earning several funny looks from my crazy date. It mattered little to me. Rather, I raised the tone until I and my failures were heard more than Eminem himself. I know, I shouldn't spoil your songs with my pokey voice, but what can I say? Life is very short and I am not going to waste it quietly when I can raise my voice all I want. Maybe not that much either, because G might get tired of
The mobster and the writer 18
-Excuse me?- I frowned and looked back at his growing erection. How had that happened? We had hardly done anything.-You started it by dressing as if you were a Christmas present waiting to be unwrapped.- He ran his index finger over my collarbone and looked down at my chest, where my black bra was visible. It looked like a neon sign in Vegas. He took me by the waist and sat me on his lap. Now I felt it much more against my femininity. Interesting.- Aren't you going too fast? We just kissed for the first time- I had to be the one to bring up the uncomfortable topic.-It's been the second time, cutie- He laughed as he bit my earlobe- The first time was at Hunter's house, where you behaved like a shameful virgin- I blushed and looked away-Samantha... Are you a virgin?- I coughed a little.- Maybe?- I felt like I was in hell and everything around me was on fire. I wish the ground had been opened at that time. He wasn't sure if admitting that to her wa
The mobster and the writer 19
Time alone passed more slowly than with the idiot next to her. I spent my time trying to make him a good meal, not what he made the other day that was inedible. I was still gagging from the steak. I shuddered to relive that again. The last time I ate meat cooked by him. I pursed my lips in an attempt to think, but every time I tried, G came back to my mind, but this time in objectionable thoughts.I opened the drawers and the refrigerator to distract myself. There were tomato, minced meat, and cheese and in a cupboard, I found plates of lasagna. The food was already fixed. I took my cell phone and turned on the music. The funniest thing about cooking was music. He made the task be done with more love and affection and that in the end, the food was richer. I had it checked. My mother never understood why she made mistakes at lunchtime and it was for this reason.Can't Help Falling in love flooded the entire kitchen. It was the version sung by Christina Grimmie on vocals
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