Ruckus (Sinners of Saint #2)(13)

"You want to be a good sister? You can start by accepting the goddamn ticket I'm going to buy you."

"The answer is no," she drawled, sighing big. "Is English not your native tongue? Should I say no in another language? I don't speak Asshole fluently, but I can try," she grunted.

"Vicious is dead serious about this. He is going to come here and drag you himself. I'm the lesser of two evils, Baby LeBlanc. You're coming with me," I repeated. Not that any of them deserved any favors from me, but I was happy for Vicious and Millie. Even happier to spend a week with Baby LeBlanc. I'd been crushing hard on her creamy, round ass for years now. It was time for me to claim it.

Rosie looked away, folding her arms like a stubborn kid. "Nope."

"Yup," I said in the exact same tone. "And you better pack a fucking bag, because the flight leaves Friday morning, and we both have a busy week ahead of us."



       
         
       
        

She blinked, not answering.

"Let's cut a nice deal, shall we?" I got in her face, my elbows on the island. Her body followed suit, gravitating toward me. We were aligned, and she didn't know it, but we looked like two, sculptured bodies. Made for each other. What she also didn't know was that we were going to test my theory and see if we were going to match. Soon. Real fucking soon. "I'll take you to the devil's den, because you have to come." I knew how impossible Vicious could be. "But I'm on call if you need anything. Think about it. It's a good way to get to know each other." I offered her a dimpled smile.

"I don't want to get to know you. Everything I know about you, which is quite a bit, I don't like," Rosie said. "If we're not going to talk about my rent, let me know, and I'll leave."

"Come to Todos Santos with me." I ignored her last statement.

Fuck, she was so persistent. Why did that turn me on? Maybe because most women had the tendency to act different in front of me. They were agreeable, extra nice, and flirty. Three things you couldn't blame Baby LeBlanc for being.

"Forget it," she muttered, hopping down from the stool.

"Rosie," I warned.

"Dean." It was her turn to mimic me. She rolled her eyes. "Let me know what my new rent is before the end of the month, please. I need to make the necessary arrangements if I can't keep the apartment."

She walked to the door and slammed it in my face before I had the chance to tell her that her rent would stay the same if she came along.

That was fine, I had patience, as long as things went my way.

Baby LeBlanc was going to bow down to me eventually.

Her clock was ticking faster, and I was done letting her waste our time.





What makes you feel alive?

Taking a bus with a route I don't know. Walking the long way home. Feeling my senses heighten as my body becomes more alert to the unfamiliar scenery around me.



"SICK PLAYLIST, CHICA," MY BEST friend remarked the following Wednesday, as I plugged my USB into The Black Hole's laptop. I made an eight-hour playlist of the best of the best, just like I had done on every other shift I had. People came in from all over New York to hear my playlists. Customers said I gave them Williamsburg from the comfort of their Manhattan residency. From French electric pop, anarchist punk to old British rock-my music was like a milkshake. It brought all the boys to the yard and made them pay five bucks for a small latte. So. Much. Win.

"Thanks, boo." I winked, moving away from the laptop and wiping the counter in front of me for the hundredth time that morning. Even though I had one hundred percent disability because of my illness, I chose to work. Productivity spun my straw into gold. Working was my saving grace, because when you're my kind of sick, your whole adulthood is on probation. 

"How is your hot neighbor doing?" Elle asked, her elbows pressed against the counter, her legs tapping to the tune of "I'm Shipping Up to Boston" by Dropkick Murphys that played in the background. "Still mega-rich?"

"Oh, yeah. Also, still a mega-douche." I coughed out my answer. I wish my blonde, curvy, gorgeous friend, Elle, hadn't met Dean last month for two seconds. I didn't think he noticed her existence as he met us in the elevator and asked if I wanted to come, and when I asked where, he said on his tongue, but she noticed him, all right. And when she found out he was one of the CEOs to the monstrous investment firm Fiscal Heights Holdings on top of being good-looking, all bets were off. She'd pretty much been bugging me about him ever since.

"We don't care about that." She waved her hand around, ignoring a table of desperate customers on the far end of the shop who signaled for her to hand them the check a century ago. They could dance the "Copacabana" and she still wouldn't notice. Elle was an amazing woman as much as she was a terrible waitress. I rang their order up and printed out their check, walking over to the table and offering them complimentary lemon cakes before returning to a still-oblivious Elle. Even though I was the barista and it technically wasn't a part of my job, I still covered for Elle all the time.