AllFreeNovel
Share Us
“It was Taylor,” the bouncer admits. “The cocktail waitress?”
I release him, completely relaxed now.
Taylor. The adorable little blonde who looks far too innocent and wholesome to work here.
“Text me her address.”
“What are you going to do?”
I glance in the direction she sped off.
“Tomorrow, I’m going to pay her a little visit.”
Chapter 2
Taylor
The next morning I pace through my one-room apartment, gnawing on the inside of my cheek.
What I did last night was unbelievably stupid.
Not only did I break the law, but the car I hit is probably owned by someone dangerous. They only have to ask the owner of Sins, Jack Lindstrom, to pull the security video feed from the parking lot last night to get my name and address.
Which means, instead of facing a possible ticket and jacked up insurance rates, I’m probably now going to be wearing cement shoes in Lake Michigan.
I wipe the clammy sweat from my palms on my pajama shorts.
I should preemptively call Jack and confess. Maybe he can tell me who owns the car and I can try to make things right. That’s what a sane person would do.
Of course, a sane person wouldn’t have sped away like a coward.
That’s where I really screwed myself.
Okay, I need to call Jack right away. It’s the only answer. I hunt down my phone, which is still in my purse from last night. Of course, it’s dead. When I plug it in, it dings showing fourteen text messages. The knot in my stomach tightens.
Before I can open the messages to read them, a heavy pounding sounds on my door.
The tight band around my temples cinches, sending blinding pain between my eyes.
This is it. I’m a dead woman.
For one stupid moment, I consider climbing through the window and down the fire escape, but that would be making the same choice I did last night. That kind of cowardice is what got me into this in the first place. No, I need to just face this head on.
I walk to the door, square my shoulders, and throw it open, pretending I’m not terrified of what I will find on the other side.
My belly flips at what I see, but not entirely from fear. Because the man on the other side of the door is my heavy tipper.
Marco.
The very hot mafia player who was hitting on me last night. He leans against the doorframe in a deceptively casual pose, his hands shoved in the pockets of his thousand dollar Italian suit pants.
“Hello, Taylor.” There’s a smirk on his face and a Gotcha look that makes my tummy flutter even more. Heat floods between my legs–even more when he takes a slow perusal of my body.
I realize I answered the door in nothing more than a flimsy, spaghetti strap bralette and thin pajama shorts. My nipples bead up under the top.
“You don’t look surprised to see me.”
“Marco, I’m so sorry. I panicked last night after I hit your car. But I was about to try to make it right this morning, I swear.”
