Chapter Ten
Vince
I give it roughly one hour and four tumblers of whiskey before I haul my ass back over to Carly’s apartment and pound on the door.
It took me a few minutes to get past almost calling her Mia, but she was triggering the same bullshit Mia did and I didn’t fucking like it. Basic reasoning did eventually lead me to the obvious conclusion that this isn’t the same situation, though, and now I realize I’m being kind of an asshole. I mean, I guess I knew I was being an asshole; I just wanted to see if she would put up with it.
She’s tried to spend time with me, she’s tried to be my girlfriend without a title, and when I got spooked, she backed off. We’ve never even been on an actual date, so I have no ground to stand on.
I’m still gonna kick this asshole out of her house. I don’t give a fuck if I have the right or not.
Carly levels me a look to let me knows she’s unimpressed as soon as the door swings open. She’s wearing the same midriff-baring shirt as earlier, but she changed out of her leggings and into a tight black mini-skirt. She looks sexy as hell, and it pisses me right off. “What are you doing here, Vince? You know I have company.”
“Then you know what I’m doing here,” I inform her, shoving the door open and heading inside without an invite.
Sighing heavily, she follows after me. “Vince, come on.”
There’s a man sitting at her table, eating her spaghetti and meatballs smothered in Nana’s goddamn spaghetti sauce. This is fucking unacceptable. I want to hold his face in a pot of boiling spaghetti sauce until it either melts off or he drowns—and that’s not even accounting for the possibility that he’s already touched her. Even a hug, a kiss—I want to rip this dirtbag apart.
Instead, I practice self-control, towering over the table and glaring down at him. This little shit remains seated, staring up at me with wide eyes. His Adam’s apple bobs as he swallows. I point back at the door and tell him firmly, “Go.”
Carly sighs and rolls her eyes at me, but she doesn’t even bother to contradict me. I take that to mean she really doesn’t want this asshole here, either.
“Uh, excuse me,” he says, awkwardly pushing back his chair and standing. He’s torn between not looking like a little chicken shit and being intimidated by me, but he couldn’t look like more of a pussy if he crawled under the table and barreled out on his knees.
Since he doesn’t leave as quickly as I want him to, I lean in a little more menacingly. “I said, get the fuck out.”
He moves away from me, walking around the far side of the table. He looks at Carly. “Should I…?”
“Just leave,” she tells him. “I’m sorry about this.”
“Do you need me to…? Are you okay here?”
“I’m good. Don’t worry about it.”
The guy casts a wary look back at me, extracting his phone so I can see it as he heads for the door.
Since I can see where he’s going with this, I add, “Call the cops and I’ll give you a fucking reason to.”
Carly follows Pencil Dick to the door, quietly assuring him, “I’m really fine. He’s fine. Honestly. Everything is fine. I don’t need a hero. Don’t do anything stupid, just go.”
Pencil Dick is clearly not convinced. Now that there’s an apartment’s length between us, he’s feeling a little less cowardly. “I hate to see a nice girl like you—”
Carly cuts him off, rolling her eyes. “Dude, save it.”
He halts, looking a little insulted, and she closes the door in his face.
She backs herself against the door, watching me for a few seconds, assessing the situation. She must decide she can handle me, because then she pushes off the wall and heads my way.
“You can’t do this, Vince. You had no right—”
“I told you not to have that stupid asshole over here,” I tell her.
Her eyes narrow. She plants a hand on that sexy fucking hip of hers and tells me, “No, you did not.”
“Well, I meant to.”
“My mind reading skills only go so far.”
I want to tell her that’s awfully funny coming from Miss I Can’t Order Myself Popcorn, but she’s showing too much skin and I can’t concentrate. I’m too riled up from the alcohol and the thoughts of some other asshole touching her that have been tormenting me since she told me what her plan was for this evening.
“I don’t like games,” I inform her, taking a slow step toward her, then another.
In response to my movements, she takes a step back, and then another, regarding me with caution. “I’m not playing games. I’m living my life. You’re the one playing games.”
“I’ll show you a fucking game,” I tell her, my gaze raking over her body as her back presses against the wall. God, she is killing me with this tiny-ass shirt. I can’t keep from touching her. I try to, I want to, but my fingers just go right to that patch of soft, perfect skin exposed beneath the thin, white fabric. I skim her sides, my gaze lingering on her breasts, then rising to her mouth. Those fucking blowjob lips of hers.