Page 36 of Forgotten Comeback (Parisi Family #5)

Chapter

Thirty-Five

Taylor

And get myself in order as Gavin’s bout is next. Why, oh why, do I keep playing games with that man?

The announcer hypes up the crowd, and even though I’ve seen Gavin’s entrance, it still gets my ovaries all excited.

The ref goes through the pre-fight routine, and soon the bell rings. Like a lion released from its colosseum cage, Gavin attacks his opponent with a ferocity I’ve never seen before.

One Mississippi. Two Mississippi. Three Mississippi. Four Mississippi. Five Mississippi. Six Mississippi. Seven Mississippi. Eight Mississippi. Nine Mississippi. Ten Mississippi.

His fists move so damn fast as I continue mentally counting the seconds.

Thirty Mississippi.

His opponent’s now against the ropes.

A perfectly placed uppercut at thirty-one Mississippi’s, and a combination too fast for me to clock at thirty-two Mississippi’s, and down crumbles Gavin’s opponent.

Gavin’s waved back to his corner, and his eyes lock with mine.

Like that? His eyes say.

Like that, my pussy responds with a violent flutter.

And yes, it does pain my little feminist heart.

Gavin’s opponent is out for the count, the crowd having gone absolutely wild.

Everyone clears the ring, with the bloody bucket guy doing the best he can, and I situate the Round 1 sign on top of my stack for the last fight.

Someone appears looming over me, and I jerk up in my seat to find the mean girl. “Oops.” She kicks my stack, and the round signs go sliding across the floor, with the top sign now underneath the ring.

She struts off, and I scramble out of my chair on a curse, reorganizing the signs. Except I can’t get Round 1 unstuck; it’s wedged perfectly beneath the ring.

I wave Steve down, and he comes hustling over. “I need another Round 1 sign,” I tell him in a rush.

“We don’t have extra signs.”

The announcer’s voice booms over the loudspeaker as he introduces the fighters, and I don’t have much time before it’s my cue.

Snatching the permanent marker Steve keeps in his front pocket, I wiggle out of my boy shorts. “Put your phone in selfie mode and hold it up to my ass.”

“Do I even want to know what’s happening?” he grumbles, but does as I ask.

“I’m taking artistic liberty,” I inform him, eyeing my ass cheeks on the phone screen as I work.

“You’re up,” Steve tells me.

“Guard those round signs with your life.” I chuck the marker and climb up the stairs to the ring’s canvas. A man holds the ropes open for me with wide eyes as I slip through.

I take a turn around the ring, pausing on each side to pop my hips: my bare ass displaying Round on my left cheek, 1 on my right.

Catcalls and whistles fuel my march as I make the full round. I lock eyes with the mean girl who’s seated front row, near The Hammer’s corner. Pulling a playbook from another psychopath I know, I make a kissy-kissy face at her.

The usual barrage of insults and/or pickup lines is amplified times ten on the return to my seat.

“Whore!”

“Girl, your ass is too fat!”

“Girl, your ass is too fat!”

The former, I think, is a compliment; the latter, an insult.

“Damn, girl. What that ass do?”

“Suffocate you. Shit on you. That sort of thing.” He still can’t hear me, so I smile and wave.

Returning to my seat, Steve is waiting for me with a look of awe. “Genius. This can be your signature thing for every first round.”

“No way,” I inform him, pulling my shorts back on.

“Knew you were gonna be a pain in the ass,” he informs me, walking off.

I stick my head out of my dressing room door, glancing around. The coast is clear, and I hurry out, only to be hoisted over strong shoulders.

“Put me down!” I pound on Gavin’s back, my bag falling to the floor.

“You trying to get out of our deal, man-eater?” He scoops up my bag and begins walking me down the hall.

Yes!

I’m carried out the private exit, where Gavin places me on my feet as he unlocks his car.

“Of course you drive a muscle car,” I say flippantly.

“Red, my favorite color,” he replies with a wink, opening the door for me.

“Uh-huh.” Ignoring my skittering pulse, I slide in, and he closes my door before hustling around the front of the car to the driver’s seat.

“At least there’s no trunk,” I cross my arms, staring him down.

“Are we still on that?” He raises an eyebrow.

I seethe. “Yeah, we’re still on that.”

“Let me eat—”

“Not even in the realm of possibilities.” I cut him off, while reminding my fluttering pussy to butt out.

He smirks, and it pisses me right off.

“Where are we going?” I ask on a sigh.

“On our date, the one you didn’t think would happen.”

“Aww, did I bruise your ego?” And maybe I didn’t think the date would happen. Not that Gavin isn’t a good fighter, but I didn’t realize someone could be knocked out that damn fast.

“Yes,” he says, and I think he’s being genuine.

I nudge him with my shoulder. “Maybe you needed the ball busting, because I’ve never seen you move like that.”

“Like what?” he asks.

“Like a man on fire.”

I must have said something wrong, because the entire mood of the vehicle shifts; darkens.

“You okay?” I ask gently.

“Yeah,” he says, flipping on the radio.

I examine Gavin as he keeps his eyes on the road. He uses his fuckboy charm and easygoing nature as a shield, and I realize there’s more to the man beneath the surface.

Gavin catches me staring and raises an eyebrow. “You really wanna play the psychoanalysis game with me?”

“I still don’t want to play any games with you, Gavin.” And since I use my own resting bitch face as a shield of my own, no, I don’t want to play the psychoanalysis game.

“Uh-huh,” he drawls, and I force my attention out the window.

We arrive at the boardwalk, and Gavin parks, hustling around and opening my door for me. He extends his hand, and I ignore it as I climb out and adjust my dress. “Please don’t tell me you’re taking me to the Diamond.” I heft my bag over my shoulder, only for Gavin to snatch it and hang it from his.

“Nope.”

“Then where are we going?”

He closes my door and grabs my hand before I can stop him.

On a sigh, I examine our entwined hands. “Your knuckles don’t look as bad this time. Maybe the man will be able to feed himself.”

Gavin

“Here’s to hoping.” In fact, I’m hoping to feed myself later on Taylor’s pussy.

The woman accused me of being a careless lover. Maybe she was right, but I’m willing to learn what makes her tick, inside and outside the bedroom.

And dammit, maybe I want her to want to do the same for me.

Refusing to release Taylor’s hand, I lead us down the boardwalk and to the amusement park pier.

She eyes me suspiciously but doesn’t comment as we enter through the neon archway, and I stash her bag in a locker. Next stop, the ticket booth. “Two wristbands,” I tell the same teenager who was working the other night I followed Taylor.

He’s still drooling over her as I slide the cash through the slot, and he rings up the sale and gives us our bands.

Tearing off the paper square, I stick the band around Taylor’s delicate wrist before doing the same on mine.

“Rides or food first?” My eyes meet hers. She either knows or suspects I was stalking her. Her hair’s in a messy bun, and I use my fingers to push an escaped strand behind her ear. “I’m not going to apologize for it.”

“You’re a psychopath,” she whispers.

I lean closer, my lips brushing the shell of her ear, loving the way her neck arches. “Which ride?”

“Come on.” She laces her fingers with mine, leading me to the roller coaster.

It does dumb shit to my head.

Taylor and I reach the front of the line, and she tells the kid working the gate, “We want the front row.”

“You gotta wait till the next ride,” he says in a bored tone.

“That’s okay, let’s just ride in the back,” I’m quick to say, eyeing the top of the coaster. Not that I’m afraid of heights or anything, but damn, why’s it gotta be that high?

“Buck-buck-buck.” Taylor’s fists move to her chest as she flaps her arms at me.

“We’ll wait for the front row,” I tell the kid firmly.

Taylor gives me a devious smile as we wait. The shit I’ve survived, and yet here I am, sweating like a little bitch over a roller coaster. A tin can of a roller coaster that looks like it’s been patched together with duct tape and super glue, all while dangerously teetering over the Atlantic Ocean.

My fingers dance over my chest, making the sign of the cross.

“I didn’t know you were Catholic.” Taylor’s assessing eyes miss nothing.

“In another life,” I tell her honestly.

The ride disembarks, and we’re ushered to the front row. “Ladies first,” I tell Taylor, and she scoots in first, and I take a seat beside her. “Shouldn’t there be a harness or something?” I mutter, examining the pitiful excuse for a lap bar.

“I’ve found Gavin’s weakness,” Taylor says, rubbing her hands together with glee.

My weakness is this woman, but I don’t give her the additional ammo.

The lap bar locks into place, and up, up, up the coaster climbs, pausing at the top as we peek over the edge. “I promise it’s fun,” Taylor shouts to me as she lifts her hands over her head.

Fuck it. If I’m going out like this, my girl isn’t going to think I’m a little bitch.

And Taylor is my girl; she’s just gotta catch up to that fact.

I lift my hands, screaming bloody murder as we careen down the tracks.

Taylor squeals with excitement, and I shout at her, “You’re the psychopath!”

Twists and turns, and the ride comes to a screeching halt.

“What do you think?” Taylor asks me, bouncing excitedly in her seat.

“Again,” I tell her, a grin pulling on my lips.

Fucking hated it, but she loves it, so we’ll do it again.