Page 8 of He Should Be Mine

Seeing the pimps filled me with disdain. Vile low-life drug addicts. No threat to me at all.

I turned a couple of corners and growled with frustration. I was reaching the very edges of the red-light district but hadn’t seen anyone promising. The vast majority of the whores were female. The thought that the boys solicited somewhere else, somewhere I didn’t know and was somehow going to have to find, was causing my blood pressure to rise.

The rain stopped. But the streets were still wet. Inky puddles reflecting the city lights.

I turned another corner. A wide street at the back of an industrial estate. Empty at night. Well, empty of honest people and honest work. Those of us who were made for other paths still lurked in the shadows.

There, huddled under a streetlight, I had seen him.

Bright blond hair. Ridiculous fluffy pink jacket. Obscenely tight black jeans.

He was leaning against the pole of the street lamp. Ankles crossed. Head down as he scrolled on his phone. His other arm was wrapped tightly around himself, pulling the stupid fluffy jacket as close to his body as possible in an effort to keep out the chill of a winter night in London.

I slowed down to take a better look. Riccardo wanted pretty, whatever the hell that meant.

Suddenly, the whore’s hand lifted. He held his phone up and very clearly took a photo of me.

I slammed on the brakes and threw open the door.

“Chill dude!” Molly exclaimed. “I didn’t get your plates or your face.”

He held up his phone screen to me. I had to walk towards him to be able to see it. Sure enough, it was simply a picture of my car. Side view, no plates visible and nothing but shadows inside.

I grunted and looked up into dazzling blue eyes.

“Not everyday I get to see a seventy-one Ford Thunderbird Landau Sedan.” He grinned.

My thoughts screeched to a halt. “Sixty-nine,” I mumbled.

“Nice!” exclaimed Molly. “She’s a beauty. Where did you find her?”

“In a barn in Kansas. Fixed her up myself,” I heard myself say.

Molly had straightened when I first jumped out of my car. He had uncrossed his ankles and stood up. As we talked, he took a step closer, unwrapping his arm from around himself. The jacket fell open, revealing his naked chest. His very naked chest and pierced nipples. Nipples that were perky from the cold. Piercings that glittered pink in a shade that was nowhere near as pretty as his nipples.

“And then you imported her? Sweet!” said Molly.

I couldn’t tear my eyes away from his chest to look at him.

He noticed.

He changed.

His body language. His demeanor. His very fucking aura.

“Want me to ride you in your sweet ride?” he drawled sweetly, provocatively. In a voice that was nothing like the one he had used a few heartbeats before.

I liked the voice he had used before. I had liked his earnest expression. I liked his genuine seeming reaction to seeing my car.

The sudden change was like a slap to the face. A douse of cold water. I jerked and roused myself.

“Quit the porn star act!” I snapped.

Molly blinked. He raised one perfect eyebrow. “You prefer the car geek? Is it boy-next-door that does it for you?”

The honeyed whore’s voice was gone. As was the sultry look in his eyes. He looked younger like this, sweeter. Not so jaded. I saw the freckles dusting his nose and under his eyes and I couldn’t look away. I stared at him in silence.

He smiled softly. “Got you.”