BOSSY BROTHERS: TONY Page 4

I turn to leave, but Vann grabs the sleeve of my hoodie and tugs me back. “Come on. It’s Tony. Did you know he was in town? We need to catch up. And besides, we don’t open up for hours. There’s nothing to do at work.”

  I glance at Tony. His expression is flat. Almost unreadable. But I can read him. I don’t need to notice the way he’s working his jaw to understand what’s going on inside that head of his.

  “Yeah,” Tony says. “Sit, Belinda. Enjoy your coffee.”

  Vann takes a seat, pulling me into the chair next to him. “When did you get into town, Tony? Let me guess, you came for a world-famous Sick Boyz tat. I saw some ink on you back in Florida. It’s not bad”—Vann says this in a way that clearly indicates he’s seen better—“but we can certainly fix you up with something spectacular.” Vann looks at me. “We have room on my schedule today, right, Belinda? Fit Tony in.”

  “Uh…”

  “Sure,” Tony says. “Yeah. I’ll take you up on that offer, Vann. Do I get a family discount?”

  “Are you family?” Vann asks. His grin never falters. But it’s very clear to anyone who knows Vann Vaughn that this statement is really a challenge.

  “Close enough,” Tony says. He nods his head to me. “Belinda and I go way back.”

  “I’ve heard,” Vann says. “How long ago did you date the fisherman, Belinda?”

  “Uh…”

  “High school,” Tony says. “We were high-school sweethearts.”

  “Really?” Vann says.

  “That’s not really accurate—”

  “Well, that’s too bad,” Vann continues.

  “Why’s that?” Tony asks.

  “You know, high-school sweethearts? That’s just a practice run, right?”

  I stand up. “OK. We have to go now.” I pull on Vann’s hoodie sleeve the way he was just pulling on mine. Thankfully he gets to his feet.

  “We do. We have work,” Vann says, contradicting himself from just a few moments earlier. “But you stop by this evening, Tony. I promise to fix you up.”

  And yup. There it is. The threat.

  “Let’s go, Vann. Now.” I pull him and he comes along. But of course, that can’t be the end of it. Not with two men involved.

  Tony calls out, “I can’t wait to see what you have to offer.”

  “Bye!” I call, trying to make sure that’s the last word.

  But Vann is walking backwards now, his hands out, his grin just as big as ever. “Trust me. My offer is a good one, Tony.”

  When we get outside he grabs the sleeve of my hoodie again, pushing me towards the passenger door of his truck. He opens it. “Get in.”

  “I’m just walking across the freaking street, Vann. I don’t need a ride.”

  “Get. In.”

  I look up and find him glaring at me.

  I get in. I’m certainly not going to have an argument with Vann in front of the theatre coffee shop for all to see.

  He closes my door, walks around the front of his truck, and gets in too.

  “What the hell was that?”

  “I don’t like him.” He starts the truck and backs out onto College Avenue.

  “I don’t like him either.”

  “Then why is he here?”

  “I don’t know. You’ll have to ask him when he comes in later for a tattoo. And hey”—I stare at the tattoo shop as we blow past it—“where are you going? I have work.”

  “You work for me, Belinda. Who cares about work? We don’t even have appointments until four this afternoon.”

  I point at him. “I don’t work for you. I work for your brother, Vic. And technically you have appointments at two. You Vaughn brothers just don’t show up until four.”

  “Same thing.” He takes a hard right and I lean into the door with the force of the turn.

  “Where are we going?”

  He looks straight ahead. “Where are we going? We’re going on a date, that’s where we’re going.”

  “A date?”

  “Do I stutter?”

  I laugh. “You’re being stupid.”

  “I don’t like him. I don’t want you with him. He’s… bad for you. I can just tell.”

  “I’m not with him. He just showed up last night.”

  “Last night? You saw him last night?” Vann pulls his truck over to the curb and puts it in park.

  “He just…” Shit. I should not have said that.

  “He just what?”

  “He followed me home from work last night.”

  “What? That fucking asshole. I will kill him.”

  “Your brothers walked home with me. Nothing happened.”

  Of course, that’s not really true. He kissed me. I kissed him back. I spent all night obsessing over him.

  “Why is he here?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “This is bad.”

  “Vann, I can handle him. It’s fine. Besides, he’s not like that.”

  “Not like what? Not like… a fucking criminal who smuggles people into the US?”

  “Kids,” I say. “They smuggle kids.”

  “I get it. It’s a pretty little crime. Filled with bleeding-heart feelings and all that good shit. But it’s still dangerous. The FBI still showed up. With helicopters. We had to enlist the entire marina into the Dumas family business to pull that last job off. There’s no way any of us would’ve been forgiven if we’d gotten caught. And he got you involved.”

  “He didn’t, actually. I got myself involved. And we didn’t get caught, so it doesn’t matter.”

  “I don’t like him.”

  “You don’t like him because… he’s a bad guy? Because I don’t like him either, Vann”— another lie—“but he’s not actually a bad guy. He’s a little weird. Especially in the sex department. But—”

  “What?” Vann is looking at me with an open mouth and wide eyes.

  “Sorry. TMI. But… he’s not dangerous. That’s all I’m saying.”

  “Belinda,” Vann says, taking one of my hands and holding it in his. “I don’t think you understand. He’s part of… you know.” He waves his hand around in the air. “The witnesses.”

  The witnesses he’s referring to are all the witness protection program people who live here in the Fort Collins area. There’s an unnaturally high number of them. Like… more than two dozen in the same twenty-five-mile radius.

  No one with a brain thinks this is just some coincidence, but purposefully planting your witnesses in one area doesn’t have to lead to insidious government corruption or secret shadow government-type doomsday plans.

  Unless you’re Vann Vaughn, of course. He’s into that shit.

  “So what, Vann? I’m one of the witnesses too. There’s nothing weird going on with us. I would know, wouldn’t I? And the Dumas family were the ones who got me sent here.”

  “That’s my point. He should not be there. The streams should not cross.”

  “Was that a Ghostbusters reference?”

  “I’m pretty sure it’s an evergreen expression these days, Belinda.”

  I laugh. “You’re being ridiculous! And completely overreacting.”

  “Am I? Well, that’s a relief.” He’s being sarcastic now. “This town is filled with rogue FBI agents and people in the federal witness protection program. We have enough going on without your stupid high-school sweetheart showing up for a reunion!”

  “He’s not here for the witnesses, trust me. He’s here for me.”

  Vann’s neck jerks back in response, his normal good-naturedness replaced with narrowed eyes that flash with anger. He points at me. “You’re into him, aren’t you?”

  “I’m not into him.” I’m not over him, either, but I keep that to myself. “It was just one kiss!”

  “You kissed him? When?”

  Ooops.

  Vann is speechless. He looks away. Looks back at me. Starts to say something. Stops. Shoves the truck into gear and pulls away from the curb.

  We drive east in silence for a few miles, go
ing who the hell knows where. Then he’s shaking his head as he mutters, “I cannot believe you kissed him.”

  “He kinda took me by surprise. It’s not going to happen again.”

  “Right.”

  “You know what, Vann?” I point at him. “It’s none of your business. We’re friends. I like you. A lot. I wish I could like you more. I think you’d make a very fine boyfriend. And I think you’re sexy. And kinda smart.” He looks over at me and frowns. “And really fucking talented.”

  “But?”

  “But…” I sigh. “I just don’t have… you know. The feels.”

  His jaw clenches as he looks straight ahead. Then, in a very low voice, he says, “The feels.”

  “Look, I’m not trying to be mean, OK? It’s just… you’re good. You’re so good.”

  “I’m good?” He side-eyes me. And it comes with a glare. “So good it puts you off, doesn’t it? You’re one of those girls who like the bad boys?” He scoffs. “That’s so fucking predictable, Belinda. In fact, it’s disappointing.”

  Now it’s my turn to be angry. “I’m not here to impress you, Vann. I didn’t even come here by choice. I got stuck here.”

  “You’re not stuck here now. You can leave any time you want. But you stay.”

  “I’ve been here for eight years. Maybe I’ve settled in? Maybe I don’t want to pack up my shit and move somewhere new again? Maybe I don’t want to start all over? Ever think of that?”

  “You could go home. Your best friend lives in your home town. But you’re. Still. Here.”

  “You keep saying that.”

  He’s silent for a few moments. I know what he’s thinking. He’s thinking I’m here for him.

  And that’s not true. I am not here for him. I’m here for me. I planted roots in this town. I have a job I look forward to, a cheap, cool apartment that doesn’t eat up half my paycheck, and I hardly ever have to leave the old downtown so I don’t even need a car.

  I’m here for me.

  I’m not saying I don’t like Vann. I do. He’s my friend. But that’s all he’ll ever be. Just a friend.

  I know what it feels like to be in love with someone, and I do not have those feelings for Vann. I just don’t feel that… that… obsession. I’m not obsessed with him. And maybe I’m romantically simple, or cliché, or possibly even stupid for craving this type of all-consuming, can’t-eat-anything, sick-feeling-in-my-stomach kind of love, but… I want it. That’s all I can say.

  Except I don’t say that. I don’t say anything.

  He glances at me again. This time the animosity has been dialed down a notch. “I’m just looking out for you, Belinda.”

  “I get it. I understand that. But Tony and I have… you know. History. And he came here for closure. That’s all. I left Key West without saying goodbye and he’s probably just trying to fit all the pieces together.”

  “Closure?” Vann laughs. “He didn’t come here for closure, Belinda. He came here for you. I took one look at that dude and I saw it. I knew him for less than a minute and I understood. He’s in love with you.”

  “He hates my guts. He admitted that he’s only here to bang me so he can forget me.”

  Vann guffaws. “Harsh.”

  “Very.”

  “But you still want him. It’s so fucking…” He grabs his hair. “Infuriating! Why do nice girls like you fall for assholes like him?”

  “And not assholes like you?”

  “You just called me a good guy.”

  “Yeah. And I think you are. But there are probably a hundred women in this town who would take exception to my opinion of you.”

  He huffs some air and blows the hair up that’s covering his eyes, then looks straight ahead as we continue east, away from town.

  I turn in my seat and study him for a moment.

  Vann Vaughn is fucking hot. I’m not going to tell him that, but I’m not going to lie to myself, either. He’s one of those people you just want to look at. His jaw is square, his eyes are blue, his hair is blond, his body is well-muscled, but still on the lean side. And he smiles a lot. These smiles are wide, and honest, and reveal dimples.

  He has a friendly face, even though both his arms are well on their way to being full sleeves. His theme—all these Sick Boyz have a tat theme going—his theme is words. Paragraphs and paragraphs of words. Poems and passages from old books. Song lyrics and gravestone epitaphs. Vann Vaughn is in love with letters. Some of them are big and bold, like the giant double X’s on each of his shoulders. And some of them are small and delicate like the list of his nieces’ names down his left ribcage.

  His blond, all-American looks and his ink are the definition of a contradiction.

  Which just makes him… interesting. And, let’s face it, sexy.

  “Vann?”

  “Hmm?” He continues looking straight ahead.

  “You might be my best friend.” He glances over at me, then back at the road. “I mean that. Tara’s gone and you’re all I have left. Please, please, please—I’m begging you. Don’t ruin this.”

  “Don’t ruin what, Belinda?”

  “Us.”

  “I think you just made it perfectly clear that there’s no us.”

  “Are you deaf?”

  “I hear you.” He sighs. “It’s just… I like you, Belinda. A lot. I think we would be good together and you won’t even give me a chance.”

  No. He’s right. I’m not going to give him a chance. Ever. And now that I have articulated that in my head there is only one thing left to say and he needs to hear it.

  I really don’t want to say it.

  But I have to.

  “Like I said, Vann, you’re sexy. And smart. And talented. And sweet. And charming. And basically all the things. But I’m looking for an obsession. I’m looking for an addiction. It might be sick and it might be ridiculous. But I don’t care. I only get one life and I want all the feels before it’s over. You’re not that obsession, Vann. You’re not that addiction. So if the only reason you’re nice to me is so you can hang on to the idea that one day we might be a thing, then…” I throw up my hands. “Pull over and let me out here.”

  He pulls over.

  And I get out.

  CHAPTER FIVE - TONY

  Anna Ameci’s seems to be the go-to restaurant for dinner in this small section of old Fort Collins. But that’s not why I decide to go inside and eat. I go inside and eat because I can see Sick Boyz tattoo shop if I get a table by the front window.

  It’s not quite dark, and the tattoo shop has their windows blacked out with some kind of translucent paint. So the shadow behind the counter who I know is Belinda isn’t clearly outlined. But I fixate on that dark, grayish smudge behind the glass anyway.

  She came in late today. Got dropped off by an Uber. Not sure why that happened, but I know it has something to do with Vann Vaughn. He didn’t come in late. He was actually early.

  This part of downtown is old-school. There’s a strip of parking that runs down the middle of the street between the north and southbound lanes of College Avenue. So right now I’m looking at Vann Vaughn’s giant black truck in one of those parking spots.

  It’s interesting that they left the coffee shop together but didn’t show up to work at the same time.

  “Did you make a decision yet?”

  I look up to find a pretty waitress smiling down at me. She’s sexy in a very traditional way. Hips, tits, ass. And dark red hair tied back in a ponytail that sets off her blazing green eyes.

  “I think I’ll just have a drink.”

  “Oh, come on,” she says. “I can tell you’re hungry.”

  “Can you?”

  “Mmm-hmm.” She slips into the seat across from me, leans her elbows on the table, and props her chin on her folded hands. “Want me to tell you what’s good here?”

  “You really want me to eat, don’t you? Let me guess, this place has a profit-sharing plan.”

  She giggles. I would put her at about… twenty-fiv
e, maybe. She’s cute, but in a dangerous sort of way. She’s got a gleam in her eyes that says Don’t fuck with me and Fuck me at the same time.

  She leans back in her chair and grins. “Full disclosure. My family owns this place. So you’re not far off.”

  “You’re…” I glance at her name tag. “Soshee Ameci?”

  She tips her chin up. “The one and only.”

  “What kind of name is Soshee?”

  She extends her hand. “Hello there. I’m Soshee and you are…?”

  “Oh.” I stand up and take her hand, then lean over and bring her knuckles to my lips, kissing them. “Tony. Tony Dumas.”

  She holds on to my hand for two seconds too long. Long enough for me to make an observation about her skin—it’s soft—and her grip—it’s light. She blushes, lets go of me, and I sit back down.

  She draws in a deep breath, pretends to fan herself, then chuckles. “It’s a nickname. Short for Stacy.”

  I laugh. “I’m pretty sure it’s not.”

  “Whatever. My older cousin couldn’t say Stacy when I was born. So she called me Soshee. And it stuck.”

  “Well, I like it.”

  “Thank you. Me too.” She looks out the window for a moment. Her smile falls just a little. Just enough for me to notice. “So why are you obsessed with them?” She nods her head in the direction of Sick Boyz.

  “You say that like we have something in common.”

  “We do.”

  “Ah…” I laugh. “You like one of them. Let me guess. Vann?”

  “Mmm-hmm.” Her eyes are drawn to the tattoo shop. And there’s a longing in them that makes me sad, for some reason. “But he’s obsessed with his new flavor of the week at the moment.”

  “Ah, let me take another wild guess. Belinda Baker.”

  Her eyes dart to mine. “How do you know that?”

  “I’m stalking her.”

  Soshee bursts out laughing. It’s a loud laugh. Like the kind of laugh you long to hear on dark nights. The kind of laugh that lights up a room.

  Everyone in the dining room takes notice.

  They all look in our direction and an older woman at the cash register bar shoots Soshee a dirty look.

  “Sorry,” Soshee calls.

  “Your mother?”

  “Aunt. My mother is a fortune-teller down in Boulder.”