Page 36

“I’m fine, Pat. Really.” And I am. The unfortunate reality ofbeing a woman, especially a mafia princess, is getting used to unwanted advances and gendered trauma. And finding ways to cope, whether healthy or not. Exhibit A: last night in the backseat of the car.
They sigh. “Okay. I’ll drop it.”
“Thanks.” I swipe toner across my face.
They hum. “Tamayo will need to be vigilant.”
“What about you and me?”
Pat grabs my wet towel off the floor and hangs it up to dry. “What can we do other than rely on Tamayo and her gang to protect us? That’s the whole deal.” They don’t say it, but all I can hear are the unspoken words,the dealyoumade, ringing through the room.
“I’m not holing up in this house and never leaving.” I rub serum into my cheeks, my fake engagement ring bright red like blood.
Pat leans against the wall behind me with a smirk. “Even if Tamayo fucks you dizzy?”
“Patrizia Ann Marino!” I shoot them a glare through the mirror.
They snort. “You think partitions are fucking soundproof?”
I cover my face with both hands.
“It’s not like it’s the first time,” they needle.
My head hangs heavy, and I mutter to myself, “This isn’t happening. Nope. No one heard anything. No one at all?—”
“You were a lot more whiney this time, though?—”
“Pat!” I turn and smack them in the gut. They don’t even grunt, let aloneshut up.
“Usually you’re the one taking control.”
“Oh my god, how do you know this?” I snap.
They roll their eyes. “I have ears, Z, come on.”
“Ew.” I wrinkle my nose and squeeze a small dollop of sunscreen onto my fingers.
“So”—they waggle their brows—“was the top finally topped?”
I shudder. To Pat, it probably looks like disgust, my currently wrinkled nose adding to the effect. Except it’s not. Because the question only reminded me of Tamayo’s hands maneuvering me where she wanted, of those damnable words she whispered to me:Good girl.
“We’re not having this conversation,” I snap.
“Tamayo,” they draw her name out, whiny and long and mocking. “Please, help me,” they beg nasally.
I punch their arm. “I don’t sound like that!”
“Similar, though.”
I shake my head, rubbing the sunscreen in with far more pressure than necessary. Pat is right. Which is the problem. In the past, I’ve always led the tryst, always demanded what I wanted and gotten exactly that. No one’s ever treated me like Tamayo did.
“Are you a bottom now?” Pat asks.
“No.” I sniff. “I was having a moment.”
They snort. “That’s called an orgasm.”
I replace the products in the basket and narrow my eyes at them, chin lifted haughtily. “How would you know, seeing as you and orgasms are distant acquaintances?”