Page 28

Gabby

You know that moment when your world shifts completely, and you realize the things you thought you knew were just bullshit?

That’s exactly what is happening to me right now.

I grew up my entire life watching my parents, knowing they were so deeply wrapped up in one another that it was the stuff movies were made about.

I just knew it. I wanted that. From the time I remember looking at cute guys, I knew I wanted someone just like my dad.

He’d be tall, with dark eyes. He’d be covered in tattoos and rough around the edges.

He’d also be bossy and controlling in a way that showed me I’d always be taken care of.

I’d never want for nothing. I knew my dad was like this because he babied me.

He treated me like the most precious thing in the world.

Mom used to get after him, warning him that treating me like fine China wasn’t doing me any favors.

Dad laughed at her. Dad loved Mom. It was romantic, it was sweet, and it was cool.

Yet right now, walking into El Fuego Azul wearing the gorgeous, green-textured baby-doll maternity dress King purchased, I feel special.

It also means more because the dress is from King.

It really is beautiful too. The dress has bumbled three-quarter sleeves, and a square collar that I loved.

Before the rape, I wore clothes that were expensive and designed to highlight my body.

I made sure to show skin, cleavage, and legs.

This is because Dom liked it when I wore those kinds of things.

It’s also because as time went on, it got harder and harder for me to get his attention, so I wore clothes that reminded him of all the things he liked about my body.

Then when that failed, I wore them to get attention from other men so I could feel like I was still desirable.

Which maybe I was, but I was also just plain stupid.

I push those thoughts away and look down at my dress.

The square collar allowed me to look pretty, but no cleavage was found, and my arms were covered.

King was actually the one that showed me the dress and chose the beautiful green color because he said he liked the way it looked against my skin.

If you had asked me if I couldn’t have imagined King shopping for clothes, I would have laughed you out of the store.

The dress cinched under my breasts, but not so close I was uncomfortable—or drew attention to them.

Then, it flares out in true babydoll fashion, falling to just above my knee.

It’s pretty and the matching shoes I found—apparently, King draws the line at shoe shopping—are comfortable, but pretty.

I left my hair down but scrunched it up, so the natural curls were on display.

I topped it all off with very light makeup.

I felt pretty, and I the last time I felt like that was probably before Dom and I had sex. This is a soul-shattering discovery I file away for a later time. Only because King tilts my world off its axis, and he honestly has no idea he did it.

He puts his hand on my lower back and guides me as we follow the hostess to our private high-backed booth. I sit down, moving to slide over. He stops me by bending down and kissing my forehead. Then, he sits opposite of me. Opposite of me.

Okay, I know it’s weird. Most girls would probably like the guy with them to want to be close.

Dad always did with Mom. Dom did, on the few occasions he’d take me out-of-town to go out—he didn’t want his brothers from the club, his parents, his sister, or T to see us together.

Yes, I know this was a red flag . I ignored it then, because again, I thought he was working through hurting T.

Then I hurt T and made it worse by lying to Dom by pretending I was dealing with T so he wouldn’t have to.

Yep. I’m just plain stupid.

I push the thoughts away again and continue to dissect what I’m feeling. I look at mine and King’s joined hands. His strong fingers intertwined with mine and holding on as he sits there talking about … Oh crap. What’s he talking about?

“Sunshine?”

“I’m sorry, King. I think I zoned out. What were you saying?

” I mumble quickly, heat hitting my cheeks.

King has tilted my entire thought process tonight because he’s been giving me all of his attention.

He doesn’t look around the room. He doesn’t pick up his phone.

He doesn’t let his attention go anywhere but to me.

The man is doing the complete opposite of Dom.

That isn’t what jars me quite so much, though.

It’s that he’s not like my dad either. Dad smothers my mother.

He holds her close. He orders for her. Heck, he even feeds her at times.

Mom loves it. He’s always done everything for me, and I thought that’s what a man who was in love with his wife—or girlfriend—should do.

Not King. He asks for my input. He gives me my space, but he does it while still holding my hand . It’s completely different, and although he is entirely focused on me, I feel cared for and safe, yet my own person. Which brings me to the thought that rocked me to my core.

This is how it should be between a woman and a man.

Partners.

“I asked if you’ve tried the corn dip?” he says.

I look down at our appetizers. He ordered a variety platter, after asking me if I wanted anything.

I usually just nibble around on the chips and salsa, so after making sure I got that, he ordered a variety tray, too.

It seems too much food with what we ordered for entrees, but I didn’t say anything.

King is a big man. This past week has shown me it takes a lot of food to fill him up.

“I don’t even know what corn dip is,” I murmur. This could get dicey. I know with my heritage I should love Mexican food. Yet, not only do I look like my mother, but I also have her tastes, which means I prefer Italian cuisine. I can eat tacos—which is what I ordered—but not my favorite.

He studies me, tilting his face to look at me. “Why am I sensing that you do not like Mexican food?”

“I don’t know. I ordered food, King,” I point out.

“I screwed all this up,” he whispers, but then his lips move into a big smile that I don’t quite understand.

“What?” I ask, thoroughly confused.

“I’m ten years older than you are,” he announces.

“Um … we’ve been other this, haven’t we?”

“Yeah, Gabby. The thing is, I don’t think I made it clear that I don’t have experience with this kind of thing.”

“Going out to eat?” I ask, knowing my face is scrunched up because I just don’t understand what he’s talking about.

“Dating.”

“Yeah, right,” I laugh.

“I’m serious. The first woman I actually took out on a date, I married.”

I have the straw of my soda up to my lips and freeze when he says that. “Shelby was your first date?” I eek out, even more confused.

“Yeah.”

“But I thought you two hadn’t been together all that long really.”

“We hadn’t,” he confirms.

“King, you’re in your late thirties,” I point out again.

“Thirty-six. Let’s not send me over the hill and down the valley before my time, woman.”

My lips jerk into a semi-smile. “Fine, early thirties. How was Shelby your first date?”

“Your dad is in a club, right?”

“It’s his club, his life, and his first love,” I answer.

“So, yes,” he laughs.

“Yeah.”

“You’ve dated men in a club. You know the way of that life. I wasn’t looking for a relationship. I had my mind on vengeance. So, what I needed I got at the club, if I needed it.”

I study his words, knowing it shouldn’t bother me, but I remember how my virginity was given to Dom and I thought what we shared was special.

I thought by him claiming my innocence, it was a promise to our future—a decision we made together.

In my head, it was a declaration that we were going to be together and married soon.

I thought it was everything. Yet while I was planning our future, he was hanging with his brothers and getting blow jobs—and everything else, but for some reason the blow jobs hurt the worst and don’t ask me why—from Mony.

Mony was a club Twinkie—a relatively new one at the time.

She had tits, ass, and legs, and I’d heard enough talk to know she was up for anything.

She also looked nothing like me. Truthfully, the woman looked more like Thea.

That was another red flag that I ignored.

I guess Dom had a type. No, that wasn’t it.

I’d already seen the fire between Thea and Dom flare before that. I just ignored it.

I was just plain stupid.

“Gabby?”

“Sorry, unpleasant thoughts appear even when you don’t want them to.”

“Is that what the look on your face was about?”

“What look?” I ask, playing dumb, because I’m pretty sure I know what he’s talking about.

“Disappointment.”

I sigh. “My mind is all messed up, King. I think you know that. You can’t pay attention to me.”

“I would never cheat on you, Gabby,” he says, his voice deep, urgent and surprisingly frank.

“King—”

“I wouldn’t, and not just because I’ve had that shit done to me. I just wouldn’t .”

I decide to give him what I’ve now decided to think of as mine and King’s sign that we’re on the same page. I squeeze our still joined hands. Then while looking him straight in the eye, proclaim, “I know.”

“Thank fuck,” he mutters, taking a drink of his beer.

I try to ignore the way his lips move over the top of the bottle as he sucks it back.

I’m not entirely successful. The past week of kissing him, and some other things, has left my mind a mess.

The only thing I’m positive of is I could become addicted to having King in my life, and I figure that’s not a good thing.

I push away those thoughts. Just another thing to go over with my therapist during our next session.

Thankfully, we do most of our meetings through video conferencing.

If not, I’d be practically living at her house with all the panic attacks and nightmares I’ve had lately.

Also, my state funded insurance pays for pretty much everything because I’m low income and pregnant.

I had insurance through my dad’s club, but I canceled it when I moved out.

I killed my brother and his oldest son. I didn’t want Dad to have to pay to keep me up and be reminded every time I go to the doctor of what I’d done.

I doubt my father even knows I canceled my policy.

I’m pretty sure the less he thinks about me at this point, the better.

“Although I wouldn’t blame you if you did. I mean, I’m the one who told you to run, not walk away from me.”

He shocks me when he lets out a sound that reminds me of an angry bear. “Why in the fuck do you say that shit?”

“King—”

“Fair warning, Gabby—and baby—I need you to listen to me.”

“O … Okay,” I answer, swallowing nervously at the intensity on his face.

“Every single time you doubt me or say shit putting yourself down, I’m going to spank your ass.”

“What?” I gasp.

“I’m going to turn you over my knee and spank your ass,” he quietly growls out.

“You wouldn’t dare!”

“Try me. You’re going to get out of that habit of thinking the worst about yourself until you see all the good I see in you.”

“Maybe you’re the one who is delusional. Did you ever think about that?” she huffs.

“That’s strike number two, Gabby. You going to push it and see what happens, or are you going to back down?”

“Has anyone ever told you that you’re very bossy?”

“It’s been mentioned,” he jokes, smiling at me.

“Jerk,” I grumble.

“Now, back to what I was saying?—”

“I really don’t want to hear more about you spanking me,” I warn him.

“I screwed up. Shelby loved Mexican food. I just assumed you would. I wanted to make tonight special for you.”

“King,” I murmur, feeling a little overwhelmed.

“I screwed up. I’m sorry.”

“Stop it. Today has been beautiful. You’ve spent way too much money, but I love the outfit you bought me—not to mention the other two outfits back in the hotel.” He smiles at my words and somehow that makes me feel better. “I also do like tacos. So, we’re golden.”

“Okay, then if you could pick anywhere you want to go to eat, where would it be?”

“You have to promise not to tell my father.”

“I don’ think that will be an issue ever,” he mutters, making me giggle.

“Other than tacos or chips and salsa, I’m not big on the Mexican cuisine. Now, my family history is mostly from Spain, and I love paella. Still, if I get to choose, I’d go eat Italian.”

“Scandalous,” he laughs.

“You can’t beat chicken parmesan or a pizza.”

“I’ll make a note,” he quips.

“What about you?”

“What do you mean?”

“Your favorite food. If you could go anywhere to eat, what would you choose?”

“I don’t think I can tell you the answer to that,” he hedges.

“Why on earth not?”

“I’m trying really hard to impress you, and I’m pretty sure this would ruin all my hard work.”

“Who says I’ve been impressed at all?” I snicker.

“Damn, woman,” he laughs.

“C’mon spill, King.”

“There’s a hotdog stand in Virginia that has homemade hotdog sauce.

It’s the best fucking footlong I’ve ever had in my life.

They give you this huge bag of shoestring fries and splash this seasoning on them, like damn .

They also make this ketchup from scratch.

I don’t know what they do with it, but it’s damn good. ”

I almost cackle as I listen to him. “So, we’re saying you’re addicted to dairy bar food?”

“Only if we’re talking footlong hotdogs,” he cautions.

“I don’t know if I can live up to some dive in Virginia, but I can make a pretty mean hotdog sauce.”

“The fuck you say,” he whispers, eyes twinkling.

I shrug. “That’s what I’ve been told.”

“Then, Sunshine, I’m going to invite you to rock my world.”

“It’s a deal.”

“Deal,” he murmurs, squeezing my hand.

We stare at one another. It could have been seconds, minutes, or an hour. I don’t really know. I’m lost in him. I’m beginning to think being lost in King is the safest place in the world to be.