The Note by Natalie Wrye (urban books to read .TXT) 📗

head thrown back, and without my permission, my eyes lock on her.

I watch her from the window.

Tight denim jeans over her hips, a Yankees jersey on her back, she looks younger than ever. Carefree. But her clean babyface is no match for the body beneath it.

Through the facade of angel-like innocence and all, that curvy, slim figure betrays her, showing the truth of her undeniable womanhood. Tapping her knuckles against the metal counter, she widens the smile on her pretty face, glancing over—right at me—her gaze clashing with mine in the window.

That smile she had for the older man slides off her face.

My throat threatens to close as I reach for the door. Throwing the wooden slab aside to the sound of an alerting bell overhead, I step inside the tiny pizza shop called Giani’s, as shown in the sign outside.

And I keep walking until I’m right in front of her, my attention entirely on her, my skin buzzing as she does nothing but blink back.

I speak up first.

“Fancy digs.”

She shrugs. “I was hungry. Figured this might be the best place to come.”

I could tell her all about “coming.” Or “late-night cravings.” Especially the ones I was just having.

But I turn instead to the man behind the counter, my eyes scanning the brick ovens behind him, smelling of my favorite item in the world. My mouth waters for an entirely different reason this time.

I glance down at the employee, the old man full of life.

“So, what’s good to eat here?”

“In a word?” He spouts, his Bronx accent thicker than oatmeal. “Everything.” He glances behind him at the ovens. “Just choose your poison.”

Suddenly Sophia, stepping around me, interjects.

“He’ll take the special. Same as me. With all the fixings.”

I start to refute her. But the smell of her lilac and vanilla scent envelope me, rendering me silent.

Taking my wallet out of my still-wet jeans, I slap my credit card on the table.

“I’ll pay for the lady’s meal. And mine.”

It’s the least I can do after the plans I have for Sophia.

I know, in my own way, that the little thief will pay me back.

With interest.

I motion towards a small table in the back and Sophia follows, slipping into a seat across from me, her hazel eyes bright, her teeth sunk into her pink bottom lip.

I concentration on ignoring both.

“Seems you recovered those tequila-lost brain cells fast,” I accuse. “So…?”

She cocks a brow. “So…”

“You do have the watch, then.”

“Not in my possession right now. But like I told you earlier, I know where it is. Or at least the place holding it.”

I shrug, acting more casual than I feel. “It’s a start. So when can you get it to me?”

“First…” she starts off, shifting in her seat. The nerves are apparent by the blush in her cheeks. She bows her head. “I’d just like to apologize.” The jersey on her small shoulders slides just a bit as she wriggles on the lightly worn leather of her seat, showing a hint of her bare collar. She swallows thickly, and I stop myself from scanning the rest of her smooth skin. I watch her inhale.

“You didn’t deserve it, I know.” She bites out. “And…your watch wasn’t mine to take. I was short on rent. Being evicted,” she stumbles over her words, pressing her lips together. She closes her eyes for a second. “It was sudden. But that’s no excuse. I stole from you.” Her amber-green eyes gloss. “And I am sorry. Sorry about it all.”

But I’m not interested in her excuses. Or apologies.

What Sophia Somerset did to me three nights ago was just another reminder that people aren’t to be trusted.

Not your friends, most of the time. Definitely not your family. (My own father had clearly shown that.) And certainly not strangers.

On a desperate night, I forgot that. Forgot myself.

I won’t again.

“It’s fine.” I cluck out with a nod. “Then you can get it when they open up shop today, yes?”

“I should be able to.” She pulls that delicate neck of hers pin straight, clearing her throat. “That was first. And secondly, I…”

My brain goes into overdrive, my patience snapped. I’m sitting there, somehow letting Sophia control the conversation and whatever reticence was left in me, whatever restraint that kept the bear in my body on hold is let out of its cage—ready for destruction.

I hold up my hand. “I have to be honest with you, Miss Somerset. I’m not interested in your ‘seconds.’”

I allow my eyes to burn into hers, my words never stopping.

“You’re a criminal, Little Bear,” I throw the days-old nickname at her. “And no amount of little apology, no amount of tiny retribution you think will be worth it can even the score of what you did to me. What you’ve allowed to be done…” I trail off, finally sinking the nail home, the temptation to touch her stronger than ever.

I resist, sitting even straighter. I fold my hands over the table. “Now, you want to tell me what this condition is, so I can say ‘no’ to it?”

She exhales, her small paint-stained fingers dropping into her lap, out of sight. My eyes follow them as her pink lips purse—blush-colored and perfect in every way.

My gaze travels back to her face as she speaks, her voice almost meek as she talks.

“Since I sold the watch to get cash for my rent because I was so behind…” She blinks—apologetic. “Not like you should care, but… I might have to buy it back for the price I sold it.”

I lean closer. “Which was?”

“Fifty thousand dollars.”

I close my eyes, reining in the rage.

Fifty thousand dollars. For a diamond-studded watch worth ten times as much. I lick my lips. “Alright. And?”

“I might need your help convincing the pawnshop guy to give it back to me for less than he sold it to me.”

“I see.” I knock my thumbs together across the table, my eyes set on her face. “Anything else?”

“Actually,” she begins. She’s gotta be fucking kidding me. “I just need a promise from you