Mobster's Angel (Mobster Series) Read Online Free PDF Page B

me.   I sit in the chair Brice was sitting in because I don’t want to sit next to him on the couch.  Too bad the chair and couch are so close that it doesn’t end up mattering. Brice sits on the very edge of the couch by me, practically in my lap.
    “ Brice.” Joey asks. “How’s the team this year? I saw you practicing. It looks like you’ve got some good prospects on the field.”
    “I think we ’re going to clean up,” Brice says, animatedly.
    Good Joey, talk to him about baseball. Keep him out of my hair.
    Nope. Doesn’t work.
    “So did you have a good work out?” Brice asks , leaning towards me.  “It looks to me like you did.”  He trails his eyes up and down my just showered body.  I cringe. Yuck!   Now I need another one.
    “Joey knows how to train, ” I inform him.
    “What are you training for? You look great to me,” he adds.
    Can I throw up now?
    “Life,” I quip.
    Brice looks at me strangely, but shakes it off.
    He doesn’t push. Smart.
    After thirty minutes of wishing Brice would leave and mindlessly staring at the T.V., Joey gets up.  He stretches, lazily standing in the middle of the living room.
    “It’s time for me to hit the road.”
    Clarissa and I watch him in silence. Brice is watching me. Ick!
    “You ready, Brice ?”
    “What? Oh.”  Realization dawns on him.  Joey is leaving; he needs to leave.
    Brice gets up reluctantly.
    “Thanks for the pizza,” Clarissa says with a sincere smile.  I wonder why she doesn’t see the same thing that I do when I look at Brice.  Her upbringing makes her typically a pretty good judge of character.
    “You’re welcome.”
    Joey kisses both Clarissa and me on the head.  He and Brice move towards the door. Joey opens it. “Good night,” Brice says, turning to look directly at me.
    I plaster on the best smile I have and wave.  “Good-bye! Thanks for the pizza!” I can even here the sarcasm in my voice; it didn’t come out right. Brice makes a face and the door clicks shut.
    “Still can’t stand him, huh?” Clarissa asks.
    “He’s not my type.”

Vito
    It’s Saturday morning. I spin into a tight spot in the parking lot of a tattoo parlor right outside Palmetto. I’m not sure what I’m doing, but I have this impulse to get a tat. Is it because I’m crawling out of my skin or because I’m just that bored? I don’t fuckin’ know. Last night’s fight didn’t do the trick like I had hoped. I pull open the door and a little bell attached to it rings.
    A girl comes out from a back room. She smiles.
    “Can I help you?” she asks with a thick British accent. A Brit chick tattoo artist.
    She ’s about six feet tall and has some major sleeves going up her arms. They’re intricate with lots of color. But of all things, her red hair catches my attention the most.
    It looks dyed and fake, but it doesn’t stop the image that invades my mind anytime I see red hair or anything red for that matter. I am a fuckin’ douche.
    “I’m thinking about some ink, but not sure what,” I answer.
    “Let’s see.” She pulls out a huge binder and places it on the counter. “These are our most popular. Why don’t you look through this?”
    She goes into the back room. I stand at the counter and flip through the plastic pages. This chick has a ton of stuff - dragons, fairies, hearts. A ton of freakin’ pansy-ass hearts. They must like hearts in England. I flip and flip, but nothing is really me.
    At the end of the book is the alphabet, A through Z . Several versions of twisted and scrolled initials are available. My eyes zoom in on the letter E. That’s it!
    Wait, no! I can’t do th at. Although they’re elaborate and hard to read, people will still ask me, what the hell does that stand for?
    The girl comes out again.
    “Did you find anything?” she asks.
    “Yes and no.”
    She glances down at the page of letters.
    “Do you want some lettering? Ma ybe for a girlfriend?” I shake my head.
    “No girlfriend.” She gives me a