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“Gio’s good?”
“Yeah….”
“You don’t sound so sure about that.”
“No, that’s fine. You won’t find better pizza anywhere else. Heads up, though. It’s a popular hang-out and once you pull in there with me in the car. Well, I’m sure you can piece that scenario together.”
“I know what kind of place it is.”
Since I was rapidly learning that his vocal inflection rarely changed no matter the mood he was in, I took the clenching of his hands around the steering wheel to mean I’d upset him. Confirming this when he reached out and flicked off the stereo.
If not for the purr of the hellcat’s engine I was positive I’d be able to hear a pin drop from across the street. Of course, he knew what type of place Gio’s was. Most folks didn’t barricade themselves inside their homes, only coming out to replenish their supply of liquor.
I was lucky my habit hadn’t been found out. Façade from years of high school still in place, everyone thought I was nothing more than a sweet little hermit that preferred her art studio over people, which was partially true.
“Is there something wrong with you Nova?”
For the second time that day he’d caught me off guard. Yes, there was most certainly something wrong with me, but I wasn’t about to go spilling my sins to the devil.
“Depends on what you mean,” I replied, keeping my tone light.
“I’m curious. Tell me why I should give a fuck if people see us together.”
I shrugged. “You shouldn’t. I don’t. Folks will just link us together.”
“We are together.”
Despite the situation I laughed. “Rhett, you know what I mean.”
“I mean the same thing as you do,” he retorted. “If I’m fucking you, no one else will be. And since you’ll be the only one riding my dick that sounds to me like we’re exclusive, which means we’re together. If someone doesn’t like that it isn’t our problem.”
It took gnawing on my inner cheek to stop myself from laughing again.
He either avoided a question or was refreshingly blunt and straightforward.
“I can agree with all that,” I said.
“Good. Now tell me what you like on your pizza.”
By the time we reached the Westfield my stomach was in my back. I seriously regretted skipping out on breakfast. The overwhelming aroma of pepperoni, sausage, and peppers had my mouth watering.
Rhett hit the button on his visor and the garage door all the way on the end began to lift. Inside was the Porsche I’d seen two nights ago, and an Alfa Romero. The pick-up was missing.
“How many cars do you have?”
“Two. The Porsche is Angel’s. The Alfa is Tripp’s.”
I waited for him to elaborate on who Angel was, but he simply got out, circling around to open my door for me.
He grabbed the pizzas from my lap, and I trailed behind him, running down a list of things I knew about who he was. The most obvious, that he had money.
You didn’t move to a four-million-dollar summer cabin and bring along your personal hot-rods if you were middle class. He was also confidant, cocky, and unapologetic, which led me to believe he wasn’t someone that didn’t often get his way.
We entered the estate through the front door, the atmosphere without a zillion people around completely different than what I’d seen before. The beauty of the home could be appreciated much better this way.
All glass windows from floor to ceiling let natural lighting flow inside, creating a warm ambiance. Everywhere gave some sort of view of the surrounding lake.
Rhett went into the kitchen, placing the pizza on the stonewash island.
“This place is really nice.”
“It has its perks.” He grabbed us some plates and napkins, loading them on top of one of the boxes and leaving the other behind. I followed him up a set of stairs and down an open hall. From behind one of the doors was the distinct sound of a running shower.
“Who all lives here?” I didn’t care, I just needed to focus on something other than my gnawing hunger and ball of nerves.
“A few of us.” Stopping at a cedar door, I reached around and opened it since his hands were full, and then followed him inside.
The room smelled of his cologne and an underlying scent of pine-sol. Against the center wall was a massive bed built from thick timber, the bedding a mixture of deep burgundies and black. There was a matching desk off to the left, an armoire, and a flat screen mounted above fireplace. The view he had of the lake was incredible, I may have been a little jealous.
“Get comfortable,” he told me, placing everything at the foot of the bed. I kicked off my flip-flops and climbed up, plopping down on what felt like a cloud. He went over to the wardrobe and pulled open both doors, revealing it was nothing more than a mini bar. An extremely well stocked one at that.
