His (A Bad Boy Mafia Romance)(12)

“Excuse me,” I say.

She spins toward me, eyes wide with anger and surprise.

“I couldn’t help overhearing that you wanted an everything bagel…there’s actually a place a few blocks over that has the best bagels in town.”

The woman frowns, clearly not quite ready to release her anger, but whatever fanatical need it is she has for everything bagels seems to overpower everything else. So she listens as I give her directions and thanks me before glaring one final time at the cashier and leaving, but not before angrily sweeping a handful of creamers to the floor where they pop open in a milky mess.

The few people in line give me a weak round of applause. The girl behind the counter sighs and smiles gratefully toward me. “I didn’t know there was a bagel shop on 6th street, but thank you for telling her about it.”

I smirk. “There’s not one there. I gave her directions to a mental hospital.”

The woman behind me in line nearly chokes on her coffee laughing and the girl behind the register ends up thanking me by giving me breakfast free of charge. I honestly didn’t help her for a reward, but I’m about seven bills beyond letting my pride get in the way of a free meal.

Once I sit down with my breakfast—bacon egg and cheese on an asiago bagel—I make the mistake of letting my mind wander. A slight pain in my core as I sit down is all the reminder I need. I fucked a complete stranger last night. No, that’s not entirely true. He fucked me. I’ve never had sex like that before. Ever. I don’t know if it was the thrill of how wrong and stupid it was or the mixture of fear and excitement, but I still get butterflies when I think about it. It doesn’t help when I remember our “deal”. He said he’d pick me up at seven tonight for dinner, but I never told him where I live.

I had to buy a morning after pill on the way home last night. I could still feel his cum on the inside of my thighs as the girl at CVS gave me a judgmental look of disgust. It was like she knew what I did. Exactly what I did. I even felt like people were looking into my car as I drove down the highway, joking about what a slut I was. It’s completely irrational, of course, but it doesn’t stop the thoughts. Even now, I keep looking around Panera like I’m some wounded animal, thinking every glance toward me is predatory, like everyone is watching me, either trying to decide if I’m a slut or they are watching me to decide if I am going to talk about what I saw.

The thought makes me feel suddenly cold. I’ve never been into slut-shaming, but it’s hard not to feel guilty about what I did. It wasn’t just morally irresponsible, it was stupid on so many other levels. I could have gotten pregnant. He could have had an STD. I sigh. No matter how many times I try to convince myself it was a terrible decision, I don’t know that I wouldn’t walk back down that same hallway if I could go back. Those moments alone with him will always be burned brightly into my memory, and if I never see him again, I know I’ll be revisiting them for the rest of my life.

I remember walking back down that long hallway after he fucked me. I remember the tangle of emotions: fear, excitement, shame, even hope, as sad as that is. I hoped it wouldn’t be the last time. When I got back to the field, Eric barely had time to give me the score and a few talking points before I went live. It was like walking through a dream.

I sip my coffee and run my hands through my hair, forgetting I had spent an hour getting it perfectly in place to be on camera after the Jet’s practice this morning. I cringe as I feel the slightly stiff wave of hair above my forehead and know I just ruined all my hard work. I’m dreading being out in the sun wearing this turtleneck too, but the hickey he left on my neck would be visible from the nosebleed seats. Still, it gives me a strange sense of pride to carry something so intimate from him, even if I don’t want anyone to see it.

I’m about to get up and go inspect the damage to my hair when Aria comes through the front door. She’s wearing thick sunglasses that cover half of her face and my jaw nearly drops when I see who towers beside her. Ronnie fucking White. The same NFL wide receiver I saw getting bullied by those criminals last night. My head starts to spin. I barely manage a smile as they sit down across from me after ordering at the front counter.

Ronnie is 6’4 and 240 pounds of lean muscle. I know because I had to do a piece on him during training camp. He’s only 23 years old and the talking heads are practically clearing a spot in the hall of fame for him already. He’s wearing a low-key outfit: a grey T-shirt, black sweats, and a black baseball cap with shades. Somehow he manages to make it look good. Not as good as Vince would make it look. My dirty criminal. The thought rises to the surface of my mind, as unwelcome as a belch. Vince is like poison. I’ve got him in my system and everything keeps bringing my thoughts back to him.