Total pages in book: 74
Estimated words: 72973 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 365(@200wpm)___ 292(@250wpm)___ 243(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 72973 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 365(@200wpm)___ 292(@250wpm)___ 243(@300wpm)
Letting out a chuckle, I pick up the glass and take a sip of the bubbly liquid that’s the best alcohol I’ve ever tasted.
“Wow. This tastes good.”
“I’m going to assume by the chuckle that you feel uncomfortable talking about your family.”
“Yeah. It’s not my favorite topic.” I take another sip, then say, “I have no idea who my father is and my mother…let’s just say we don’t get along at all.”
My tongue darts out to collect the drops on my lips, then I ask, “What about you?”
Dario inhales deeply, then says, “I lost my parents at a young age.”
“I’m sorry,” I murmur. “Do you have any other family?”
He nods, but not telling me about them, he changes the subject by asking, “Have you always loved dancing?”
I shrug as I think about how to answer him.
“It’s a nice hobby that helps me deal with stress.”
“Just a hobby? Why didn’t you pursue a career as a dancer?”
“God, I could never do that. I’ve seen the pressure the ballerinas are under. That shit’s not for me. I’ve only danced in front of two people. My neighbor…and you.”
A frown instantly forms on his forehead. “Your neighbor?”
A soft smile spreads over my face. “Tyrone. He’s like a father to me.”
Memories of the past pop into my head, drawing a happy chuckle from me.
“When I was younger, I used to put on little shows for him, and he would cheer and clap as if it was the best performance he’s ever seen.”
The door opens, and the conversation is paused while the server brings in our food.
So far, the date is going better than I expected. Hopefully, I don’t screw things up because I’m enjoying it.
Chapter 12
Dario
When the server leaves the room again, I say, “It’s spicy Korean brisket.” There’s a relieved expression on Eden’s face that has me asking, “Were you worried it would be something else?”
“Yeah, I don’t eat shellfish. They’re like the roaches of the ocean.”
I’ve interacted with hundreds of women, and none of them are as straightforward as Eden. It’s like she doesn’t care about what she says or who’s there to hear it. It’s refreshing.
When I pick up my chopsticks and spoon, Eden watches me take a bite before she grabs her fork and says, “I’ve never eaten with those things, and I’m not about to start.”
Wanting her to feel comfortable, I swap my chopsticks for a fork, earning a smile from her.
Resuming the conversation, I say, “Tell me more about Tyrone.”
“Oh, I’ve known him since forever. We look out for each other.”
“I’m glad you have someone who cares about you,” I mention. Wanting to know more about her, I ask, “Do you live close to the ballet company?”
Her features tense as she shakes her head, then she exhales a sigh and says, “I live on the other side of the city.”
Feeling like she’s hiding something from me, I murmur, “We’ve had sex, Tesoro. I think it’s safe for you to tell me where you live.”
A frown line forms between her eyes. “Is that Italian?” When I nod, she asks, “What does it mean?”
“The direct translation is treasure, but it can also be used for sweetheart.”
“Oh.”
She takes hold of her glass and twirls it on the white tablecloth, giving me the impression she’s feeling awkward again.
Her eyes flick to mine before focusing on the bubbles in her champagne.
“Which one do you mean when you say it?”
I wait until her eyes flick to mine again, then answer, “Both.”
I watch as she takes two sips of the expensive drink. She clears her throat, and picking up her fork, she focuses too much attention on her meal.
Suddenly, she pins me with a serious expression. “Why did you ask me on a date?”
“Why not?”
She drops the fork in the bowl, and straightening her spine, it looks like she’s getting ready for a fight.
“We come from different worlds,” she states the obvious. “Honestly, it’s the first time I’m in a nice place like this. It’s obvious you’re used to expensive things.”
I shrug and tilt my head. “Your point being?”
“You’re rich, and I’m not.”
I stare at her for a long moment, realizing money is a big issue for her.
My tone is soft as I say, “It’s not a problem for me.”
She gives me a mocking look. “Yeah, until you find out where I live.” Her shoulders slump slightly, then she says, “Look, the sex was great, and I’ve enjoyed hanging out with you, but I don’t see this going anywhere.”
Feeling tense, I mutter, “I think you’re wrong. As you said, the sex was great. That alone is a reason to keep seeing each other.”
“I’m not going to be your fuck buddy.”
“I don’t take my fuck buddies on dates.”
She rubs her palm over her forehead, looking frustrated, then she suddenly admits, “I live in Brownsville.”
Christ.
It’s impossible for me to hide the shock at hearing she lives in one of the most dangerous neighborhoods in New York. Brownsville is a fucking thorn in the Cosa Nostra’s side with all the drug dealers and gangs running rampant in the area.