He huffs. “I’m twenty-two. Don’t tell me you were a virgin when you were my age.”
I drag my thumb over my bottom lip. Mary from down the street was the first woman I slept with. I was fifteen and past my growth spurt. She was three years older than me and had tits you could drown in. “Definitely not.”
“There you go.” He glances around, taking stock of the tables around us, and then he leans in, his voice dropping into a low whisper. “So? What are we going to do?”
“We’ve got to find something to occupy us in retirement.” That last word feels all wrong. Didn’t think I was ever going to retire, let alone do it at thirty.
Sandro gives me an assessing look. “I’ve got to admit, I’m having a hard time seeing you answer to anyone other than Rafe.”
The mention of my old boss’s name ignites a ball of fury in the pit of my stomach. So maybe I'm still in the anger stage.
He wasn’t just a boss. He was a friend. And he told me to play dead and never come back to the city that’s been home my whole life.
I did what he fucking told me to do. I saved his wife.
But Rafe fucked up that night. His mistake kicked off a sequence of events that ended in my ruin. It was an accident, but a part of me resents that I ended up being the only one paying the consequences.
I run my fist over my lips. “You couldn’t fucking pay me enough to work for anyone ever again.” I’m done giving people that much power over me. “We need to start our own business.”
“Yeah, but no funny business, right? We’ve got a second chance here, Ne—“
“Rowan.”
“Fuck, right. Rowan.” Sandro scratches at his brow and sits back in his seat. “It’s going to take me a moment to get used to calling you that.”
A waitress stops by the table and pours coffee into the white mugs in front of us. “Are you ready to order?”
“Sure, doll. I’d like a—“
“I’m not your doll.”
My gaze snaps up.
Our waitress is a tiny blond. Her hair’s pulled back in a ponytail, and she’s got a pair of striking blue eyes that are giving me a hell of a glare. I feel like a belligerent schoolboy being chastised by the sexy teacher for trying to flirt with her. It’s a ridiculous thought because she can’t be much older than Sandro, and she’s definitely younger than me.
But she is sexy. Beautiful, in an unconventional way. It sneaks up on you the longer you look at her. The pursed lips and air of hostility somehow only make her more attractive.
I scan her up and down. This makes her glare at me even harder, but it’s worth it, because beneath that uniform is a body that could cause a traffic accident.
My lips curve into a smile—the one that makes women turn to putty in my hands. “I apologize, miss. Didn’t mean to offend you.”
Her gaze lingers on my lips for a moment, but her expression doesn’t soften. She places—more like slams—the coffee jug on the table, pulls a notepad from her trousers, and fishes out a black pen from behind her ear. “What can I get you?”
“What do you recommend?”
Her eyes jump back to my face. I’m still smiling, and by this point, most women would start smiling back.
But her?
She’s giving me nothing.
Actually, she’s glowering like she still hasn’t forgiven me for calling her doll. You’d think I committed a felony with that word.
“The special today is chicken cacciatore with crispy roast potatoes and asparagus. It’s good.” Her tone is clipped.
“I’ll take it.”
She scribbles my order in the notepad and turns to Sandro. “And you?”
