Knocked Up by the Bad Boy by Vanessa Waltz Page A

want.”
    I don’t buy that.
    I pick up my slacks from the floor and pull out a small white card with my private phone number. If she even knew how rarely I gave it out to girls, she’d be honored, but of course the dumb idiot doesn’t. I haven’t had a comare in ages, and I’d like to have her as one. I take her hand and gently close her fingers around it.
    Then I bend my lips to her ear and I feel her shiver. “Call me the next time you feel like a good fuck.”
    “I don’t think so.”
    A grin stretches my face. “Maybe the next time you fight with your dad.”
    She stuffs the card in her jeans without looking at it and I walk her to the door, opening it for her and giving the whole hallway front-row seats to my cock. Maya doesn’t want to leave. It’s all over her body. From those nipples sticking out like pins on that fuck-me dress she wears, to her eyes locked on mine.
    “You’re trying to tempt me back inside.”
    “Is it working?”
    The blush spreading over her cheeks tells me yes .
    “Don’t you care that anyone could see you right now?”
    “No.”
    A smile cracks her face and suddenly she takes a step forward. She bumps her lips against mine. For a moment I think she’s coming back inside, but she pulls back almost immediately. It’s just a cheap goodbye.
    “Bye, Johnny.”
    I don’t say a word as she backs away from me and walks down the hall.
    This isn’t goodbye.
    * * *
    Smoke curls around my fingers. I blow out a stream and watch as my cigarette makes calligraphy in the air.
    A man stands above my table, waiting for me to notice him. My silence hangs over his head like an axe. He clenches and unclenches his hands.
    What a moron. If he had any brains, he would make me notice him. Maybe he’s playing it safe. Maybe he knows I wouldn’t have a problem with blowing out his brains in the middle of this restaurant. No, he doesn’t say a word. He’s real quiet. Like a dog waiting for scraps.
    I hiss the smoke through my teeth, and then the waiter comes to my table with my Marechiara pizza. A blood-red pie sits on my table, thin crust, the big black olives wrinkled with the heat with the pits still inside. None of that canned olives shit. Napoletana is one of my favorite pizza places in the city. It’s cash only, of course. The owner fought me hard against paying me protection money, and my love of the pizza in the place kept me from torching it until he finally buckled down and gave me my money.
    “Uh—Johnny?”
    I don’t even look at him. “What?”
    “L—listen, I just wanted to apologize.”
    I finally flick my gaze to him. He’s a strapping, young guy with at least fifty pounds on me, but he looks at me as if I’m Jesus Christ. His hands are clasped in front of his body and his head is bowed, as if in penance. I can taste the fear sweating off his body. He’s waiting for a reaction from me. A condemnation or a reprieve. I won’t give him either.
    “Apologize for what?”
    I slide a slice of pizza onto my porcelain plate and cut into it with my knife and fork. Dignified. Slow. A boss can’t just shove pizza down his fucking throat like some fat fuck. The hot sauce stings my tongue. It’s like fire, but it tastes so goddamn good that I can’t help but keep eating. I grip my wineglass and the dry vintage slips down my throat, adding fuel to the burn.
    “I fucked up, but I can fix this. Please let me fix this.”
    His shaking voice makes my tongue curl.
    “How?” I cut my gaze over his, staring into his widened eyes. “I’ve been planning this heist for almost a year, you dumb fuck.”
    Millions of dollars of untraceable cash, just sitting in the airport. Begging to be stolen. My whole crew knows about the heist, of course.
    “I can get the keys. I have a plan—”
    “François told me about your plan.”
    The dismissive tone almost brings him to his knees. “There’s a short window. Fifteen minutes. I can get copies of the keys made.”
    I doubt he can get anything