His (A Bad Boy Mafia Romance)(13)

It doesn’t help that I’m still sore down there from where he relentlessly pounded me. God. I can’t believe I didn’t even think to stop him from cumming inside me. I would say I can’t believe he had the nerve to assume he could, but I can totally believe it. One look at him and I knew he was the kind of guy who did whatever the fuck he wanted. If you had a problem with it, too bad. I wish that part of him didn’t turn me on so goddamn much.

Aria leans across the table and snaps her fingers towards me. “Earth to Aubri…”

I blink, shaking my head. Was I just staring at them? “S-sorry. Long night last night.”

Ronnie smiles. He’s cute, but not my type. He’s muscular and athletic, there’s no doubt about that, but something in his features makes him seem too soft, too boyish. “I’m—”

“Ronnie White,” I say, finishing his sentence. “I know. Aubriella Lightner. I interviewed you a few times during training camp for SportsCast.”

He nods, smiling, but clearly not remembering.

A girl stops at our table and drops the food down. Ronnie looks like he ordered for three. He has two steak and cheese bagels, a bowl of soup, and a full-size salad. Aria is eating light, as usual.

I give Aria a look that says thanks for warning me that you were bringing a friend.

She gives me a slightly shameful smile in return that makes me instantly suspect she slept with him and couldn’t find a way to get rid of him in the morning. She’s always too nice to cut a guy loose, though I doubt she’s trying to cut this particular one loose. Aria doesn’t stalk football players because she’s a gold-digger. She just loves the game and, well, the uniforms.

“So,” says Aria quickly to cover the awkward looks we’re firing back and forth. “You said last night was weird? What’s up?”

I really wish I could talk to her alone right now, but Mr. Superstar is glancing up at us between mouthfuls of his breakfast-for-three.

Instead, I spend the next half-hour exchanging small talk with Aria and Ronnie, forcing myself to act interested so I don’t come off like a bitch. I nearly cry with relief when he excuses himself to go stop by his place before practice. I wait until the door closes behind him to give Aria an exasperated look.

“Couldn’t you have at least texted? Hey, bringing an NFL player along for breakfast, hope you don’t mind.”

Aria looks down and plays with her fingers. “Sorry. He took me out after the game last night and we had a little too much to drink. His place is so big that I had no idea where I left my phone and I was too embarrassed to ask about it.”

“You just left your phone at his house?”

She shrugs. “Yeah, I guess. It’s not like I planned it.”

The mom in me wants to come out and scold her for being irresponsible. Not that I’ve ever had kids, but my mom died when I was just a little girl, and I grew up watching other moms, wishing I had someone to fuss over me and protect me like that. God knew my dad wasn’t up for the job. If it wasn’t higher than two percent alcohol content, he wasn’t interested. Well, unless it involved gambling. That always got him out of bed in the morning and it was the booze that put him back down at night.

Who am I kidding? I just let a guy who was probably a mobster use me like a fuck doll last night. I’m the last person who should be lecturing her about making good decisions, so I keep my mouth shut.

“He’s cute,” I say after a brief pause.

She smirks. “I know. Soooo, tell me. You totally dodged my question about last night when Ronnie was here. You seemed fine when I talked to you before the game last night. Nervous, maybe, but you’re always like that before you go on the air. What really happened? You ran off after those goons and never came back. I even tried to find you but you were nowhere.”

I run my finger through the ring of water left by my drink on the table, unable to meet her eye. “I slept with a guy.”

Aria sputters on her drink, cupping her hand to catch the coffee that runs from her chin. When she finally gets control and swallows, she lifts her sunglasses to bulge her eyes at me. “When? At the game?”

I nod my head slowly, cheeks burning. “It might be more accurate to say we fucked.” Admitting it to her feels at least a little good, like a slight weight off my chest.

“So when you told me you weren’t attracted to the football types, you were just full of it?”

“It’s not that. I mean, it wasn’t that. He wasn’t a player.”

She quirks an eyebrow.

I suddenly regret telling her anything. Vince’s hard voice and eyes flash in my memory. He told me not to talk to anyone, about anything. Then my eye catches movement. I see a man in a long jacket sitting in the corner of the Panera. He’s talking on a cell phone not far from my table, and he keeps looking toward us as he talks. When he sees that I notice him, he unfolds a newspaper. A newspaper? Who the hell still reads newspapers?