Sick Bastard (6 page)

“He's a good tipper too.” I assure her, but it’s not like she needs a push. She’s already headed toward him.

Have a nice life, you crazy fuck. I wish he were different. What a fucking shame.

Dante

I’ve given up on my “Stay the fuck away from her” rule. It’s a rule I started just this week, but here I am, sitting at the bar in The Blue Lounge waiting to see her. I need to see her.

I didn’t go as far as finding out her work schedule. I just decided to show up and hopefully take some time to prepare myself if I did see her. I’ve been here for hours, watching the door like it’ll start performing tricks. People come in and go out, but there’s no sign of London.

I don’t know what I’m doing. This shit is seriously disturbing on so many levels, but she’s an obsession that I can’t walk away from until I have her. I’m not looking for forever, hell, not even a few days. I’m looking for right now and tag, she’s it. I get what I want, one way or another.

Sitting at the bar, I stare into my drink and begin thinking this may be her day off. My phone starts to vibrate in my jacket pocket and I fumble with it in pure desperation, pulling it out before it stops ringing, “Branson?”

“Sir, she just left her building.”

“Same car?”

My unyielding need for any and all information about London has become an unhealthy prerequisite in my daily affairs. I’m not proud, but this is how I function. I don’t let shit go, and she’s one of those things at the moment.

“Yes sir,” He answers.

“Thank you, Branson.” I end the call, shoving my phone back into my pocket. Now I wait some more.

“Good evening, handsome. Is there
anything
I can get you?” Plastic Barbie purrs as she leans over the bar. Jesus Christ, I can’t stand women like this. They’re so dense that they can’t even take a hint when they’re not wanted. I’m not interested. I’m a single-minded man on a mission for one woman, and one woman only.

“No,” I snap at her. The only thing I need has long dark hair, a slim body with tits and an ass to die for. That’s the sight I get as I look down the hall that leads to the back of the restaurant, and she’s smiling from ear to ear.

I feel a bit of relief wash over me as soon as I set eyes on her. It’s like that first hit of a cigarette after hours of waiting for one. At least all this waiting wasn’t a huge waste of my time. I get my second chance to talk to her, to make a better impression. I feel I need to apologize and maybe, just maybe, get to fuck her and move on. The need to talk to her and get her out of my head is a must. Apologize, leave a more suitable impression of myself and move the fuck on with my life. She’s just an obsession, that’s all. I have to convince myself of this before my life really gets fucked.

I figure I’ve got time to take a quick piss so I head to the restroom. Once I return, I see her. Fuck, of course she’s even more beautiful than I remember. I was hoping the terrible mood lighting from the last time I was here had fucked with my eyesight but it didn’t. I see that there’s not a damn thing that could make her look bad.

She looks around the floor like she’s looking for someone, but she only shakes her head, almost looking disappointed if I saw the look correctly.

She walks behind the bar and I watch her as she starts going through what I assume is the reservation book. I wanna fuck her on and against that bar like she’s never been fucked before. She leans up and over the bar and my dick gets hard. She's concentrating with her arms folded under her tits, pushing them up where all I can see is a whole lot of cleavage while she bites her fucking lip. I wanna do that. I wanna bite down on her lip and make it bleed, then move to those big tits of hers and fuck ‘em.

Before people start to notice my dick trying to rip out of my slacks, I take a seat back at the bar, but I take the stool directly in front of her. Shit, seeing those tits this close, I’m about to lose my fucking load without even touching her. I can see my dick pumping between those tits…

She finally raises her head and looks at me, forcing me to take my eyes away from her chest. Thank fuck for small mercies, but shit. I need to force myself to look anywhere but her right now because I don’t think I have any control over what may happen if I keep thinking about it.

Her stunning eyes go wide for only a second, but the shock doesn’t last. Those deep green eyes morph almost instantly to annoyed irritation. I really did fuck up our first meeting and now she hates me.

“Good evening, Mr. Marx,” she says as she takes some time looking me over. I’m still trying to get my dick under control, rolling my watch around, anything to distract myself.

“London,” I nod, barely realizing she’s still staring at me. I must pull her out of her haze because she begins to walk away, but I don’t want her to. “London,” I call to her in barely a whisper, feeling unsure of what I need to do to make whatever went wrong right with her. She turns around and I can’t stop the smile from spreading across my face.

“Yes, Mr. Marx?”

“Please, call me Dante. I just wanted to drop by and say hello, and see how you’ve been ?” God, could that sound any more stupid. I’m fucking ashamed of myself, acting like some goddamn girl with a crush. I can’t even look at her. Could this get any worse? This is
not
me. I don’t do this shit, ever.

“I’m good. Thank you for asking,” she says. I want to say more but not a damn thing comes out, so she turns on her heels and walks away. I’ve built my career on my ability to speak with precise execution. My livelihood depends on it and I’ve succeeded with my extreme ease in communicating and verbalizing my thoughts and ideas, but right now, I’ve got shit.

I know she has work to do, but I decide to stay and watch her. I figure since I can’t say a fucking sentence in her presence, that I’ll just watch her, try to figure her out. I catch every glance she tries to hide and this makes me hopeful. Winning her over now seems like a possibility.

She finally leaves the floor and heads back to the bar, and straight for me.

“Hi,” she says with a real smile on her face. This smile is just for me.

“Hello again.”

“Can I get you anything?” Yes, she can.

“There’s one thing in particular I want very much, but I need to be patient,” I say more to myself than to her, causing her to look a bit confused.

“I can try to get it for you,” she offers. Damn, if she only knew. My mind goes back to my earlier thoughts but I shake them off. I can’t go there again, not right now.

“No, thank you. I’m okay for the time being.” She leaves me to take care of someone else at the other end of the bar.

What happens next has me ready to lose my fucking mind as a man in what seems to be the restaurants employee uniform walks behind the bar and heads right for her, wrapping his arms around her waist and pulling her to him. My heart starts pounding as she turns to hug him tight, obviously happy to see him. This must be her boyfriend, or whatever the fuck you wanna call him.

I watch their interaction and feel sick. She may have a man, but that sure as fuck didn’t stop her from kissing and grinding into me in that alley.

He says something to her and takes off to the back of the restaurant. Through this whole thing, I don’t realize how hard I’m squeezing my glass until it breaks in my hand, shards of glass flying all over the bar.

She runs to clean it up and all I can do is stare at what I’ve done, but she’s pushing me to a breaking point and doesn’t even know it.

“London?” I say as my temper is at an all-time high.

“I have customers. I’ll send another waitress to take care of the bar. I hope you have a good night, Mr. Marx,” she says as she walks around the bar to speak to another waitress who looks more than happy to cater to me. Fuck her.

Throwing a few bills on the bar, I go to leave. The last thing I need is to be here right now. I don’t know what the fuck I might do next, but no matter what she thinks of me, she wants me and I want her. I’m done fucking around and trying to win her over. I am who I am and she’ll see it soon enough. She’ll be mine, no matter what means I have to go through to make it so.

She better get the fuck ready, ‘cause I’m comin’ for her.

London

I look back toward the bar just as Mr. Marx gets up and walks to the door.
Good
, I think to myself, but a little part of me is sad to see him go. I don’t know how to take him. His moods are all over the place and he’s obviously confused about something when it comes to me. I understand that now because he stirs something inside of me, whether it’s anger or something else, I'm not entirely sure. Mr. Marx is one angry man whose smile can turn into a scowl in the blink of an eye. It’s too much for me to deal with, but I hate how fascinated I am by him. That big ball of crazy is someone I very much want to know more about, but it’s just not an option at this point in my life. Nevertheless, I think tonight may have been his last straw with me and I’ll never see him again.

“What was up with that sexy hunk of a man?” Matt asks as he watches him walk out the door, licking his lips. “Goddamn, he is one yummy piece of man meat. I wonder if he plays for my team.”

“He's got issues,” I tell him dismissively. He looks at me like I'm exaggerating, which I’m not.

“All the hot ones do, boo boo,” he says over his shoulder as he makes his way back to the bar.

Well if that ain’t the truth.

~~~~~~

“Come on, babe,” Matt calls as he slams his work locker shut.

“I'm ready for bed.” I sigh in exhaustion, slumping against him. My bed is calling my name. “Ah, me too. Let’s do popcorn and a movie when we get home.” Matt suggests as we walk arm in arm out the back entrance of the restaurant. Thank God work went smoothly the rest of the night.

“Yes, please.” Nothing sounds better at this moment. Okay, maybe one thing does, but I'm not going there.

Our car pulls up outside of our apartment building. “It’s so good to be home,” Matt says as he climbs out of the car, stretching as he goes. I follow right behind him.

“London?” A deep voice calls from behind me. Turning around, I find Mr. Marx, or rather, Dante, leaning casually against a Bentley with his arms and ankles crossed. What the fuck is he doing here? Maybe he hasn’t given up as easily as I thought. Maybe stalking is his big turn on; his secret.

“What are you doing here?” I ask him, “How do you know where I live?”

He doesn't say anything as he glares between Matt and I. What’s his problem with…Oh, I get it. Shit, this could end badly. My over-protective best friend and a problematic, possibly bipolar stalker. This is not how I wanted to end my night.

“Matt, this is Mr. Marx. He's a customer at the restaurant. Mr. Marx, this is Matt, my best friend and roommate.” I say so there’s no confusion as to who is what to me.

Dante only continues to glower at Matt. Actually, it’s more like he’s imagining himself ripping Matt in two. He really needs to get a goddamn grip on his fucking emotional issues. I don’t appreciate his attitude with Matt at all.

“Hey man,” Matt drawls in his usual friendly tone, none the wiser of the crazy man standing only a few feet away. Dante only nods at Matt, which is a silent slap to the face.

Matt doesn't miss the coldness rolling off him and shoots me a look.

“It’s late, Mr. Marx, and I see no need for you to be here or act rude to my friend. You need to go and not come back.”

This obviously gets his attention because he looks a little pissed. I take it he isn’t used to being dismissed, “I’m only here for a moment of your time.”

“I’ll give you a moment, and then I want you to leave.” I have no clue what he wants, but I’m curious as to why he tracked me down. Dante and Matt are still staring at each other, but Matt looks between the two of us with confusion.

“Give me a sec, Matt. I'll be right up, I promise.” I smile, trying to reassure him. I can see the big brother coming out as he squares his shoulders and fists his hands at his sides.

“Are you sure?” he asks with concern evident on his face.

“Yep. I'm okay. Just give me a few minutes.”

Matt lingers for a second, looking unsure about leaving me alone with this man. I don’t blame him, he’s a scary fucker.

“Okay, but I’ll come right down if you need me. Don't take long,” he says firmly, but looks at Dante as he says it. He turns to leave and I give Dante my attention.

His face is dripping with anger. As soon as Matt’s out of sight, he begins running his hands through his hair. What the hell is wrong with this man?

“What do you need, Mr. Marx?” I bite out. I’m not being nice at this point because I just don’t care. Whatever I thought I was feeling towards him is diminishing by the second. He’s completely unhinged. “Mr. Marx?” I implore.

“Dante.”

“Excuse me?” That's not what I asked him.

“Call me Dante.”

“No thank you. There’s no need for me to be on a first name basis with you so I'll stick with Mr. Marx,” I retort. “So why are you here?” I try again. He only looks at me like the words are on the tip of his tongue, but nothing comes out. “Listen, I'm tired and I wanna go to bed, so could you
please
just say what you need to say and leave so I can go in?” I snap. My temper is about to get the best of me and I sure as fuck don't feel like playing this game with him.

He takes a deep breath and walks towards me. “I'd much rather you called me Dante, but call me whatever you like,” he says, waving a hand in some grand gesture. He catches me off guard and he’s close enough to run his fingers down the side of my face with a sexy grin on his perfect lips. I'm caught like a deer in headlights, staring at this madman.

“Who is he?” He asks while I’m in this euphoric state, just from his touch. I like his touch. I want him to keep touching me.

“Who?” I whisper. I know who he’s talking about but I don’t want to process words. I only want to
feel.
It’s been so long since I’ve felt this. It’s something so simple, yet to me, it’s so much more.

“Your
friend
… Matt.” He spits out. His tone brings me out of my lust induced spell and I step out of his reach. “Who is he, London?” He shouts out at me.

He starts stalking after me as I continue to back up and speak as I do so, “For the record, that's none of your fucking business. I don’t know you and you don’t know me, so why are you doing this? Is it because I’m not throwing myself at you? Am I some sort of challenge? I don’t want whatever it is you think you want. So please, Mr. Marx, I want you to leave me alone.”

“He's your friend?
Just
your
friend
.” He says sarcastically. I figured he wouldn't believe me. Why is it so hard to believe?

“Yes, he’s my best friend. He has been for ten years and that’s something that will never change. You’ve gotten what you came for so I’m going now.” I gesture towards my place. I'm done and over this.

“I came here to apologize. It’s not something I ever do, and apparently I don’t know how.” He says. His words are harsh.

“I don’t know what you feel the need to apologize for and I never asked for one.”

“I came to apologize for my actions the first night we met. I wanted to say that I’m sorry so we can hopefully put it behind us.” He sounds more disgusted with himself for putting himself through this when it wasn’t necessary in the first place. He doesn’t mean it anyways. It’s all in the way he says it with a sour face, like the words taste bad in his mouth. All this apologizing must be hard work for a man who I assume hasn’t apologized and meant it a day in his life. “I’m sorry.” He tries again, but it still sounds like he’d rather drink acid than say those words. I don't have it in me to fight tonight though. He wants me to forgive him? Fine, I’ll give him that so he can “Put it behind him”.

“Sure, we're great. So go on, you can put all this behind you now. Good night.” I turn to look at him over my shoulder one last time. That strong face looks somber and lost . UGH! I’s only be wasting my time trying to figure him out. He’s definitely bipolar, I think to myself as I leave him standing there. He’s right. I hope this is behind us and he’ll stay away for good.