Page 15 of His Obsession
“I think I’ll have the lobster pasta, please.” She closed her menu and placed it on the table, glancing at me.
“Okay, three orders of lobster pasta. Anything else I can get you?”
Liz’s eyes widened in surprise.
“A Caesar salad,” I said, putting my hand to my mouth, covering the shit-eating grin. If Tonk ever showed up, he’d want something, but it wouldn’t be the salad. I ordered it, knowing it’d piss him off.
I live to please.
The waitress left and returned with my scotch and Liz’s glass of champagne-colored wine. Not a word uttered.
“Is there anything else I can get for you,” the waitress asked.
“No, thanks,” I said, tilting my head in a silent question to Liz.
“I’m good, thank you,” Liz said with the fakest smile on her face and her manners sickly sweet.
“Okay, it’ll be right out.”
I caught her studying me. Not lying, it was thrilling being this close to her. My first addiction being satiated as we speak.
“Loyalty.”
One brief statement from her mouth, and I knew she was referencing the tattoo on my hand. Turning my palm face down to rub the black and gray ink, I could still remember the pain it took to get it done. It’s not a pleasant area to be tattooed, but I didn’t learn from my first one, so I got another.
“Loyalty is everything to me. If you are loyal, I’ll give you the world. Break it, and I’ll destroy you.” A firm warning to anyone who crossed me.
“That’s an intense argument for a businessman,” she said. “You have a good deal of tattoos.” Her eyes flicked back and forth from my hands folded on the table.
“I’m unorthodox. To put it simply.”
“Why? I mean, why do you have so many? Doesn’t it turn away clients? I know people can be judgmental about them.” She squirmed in her chair and bit her lip.
“I want my body to be how I want it, not how others try to dictate based on some social construct.” To be frank, tattoos are not really something someone pays attention to in my line of work. They are always too busy looking over their shoulder.
“Hmm. I have a tattoo,” Liz said.
I raised my eyes, surprised she was sharing.
I know you do, it’s on—
“It’s a small butterfly on my hip,” she said before I could even think it: a small black and orange monarch fluttering on her hipbone. I’ve touched it before while she was sleeping.
“Why did you choose that?” I already knew the answer, but I wanted her to tell me the story. I was there when she explained it to her date one night. I watched the pathetic loser almost piss himself when I confronted him in the bathroom stall about the tablet he tried to stick in her drink. He ended the date early, leaving her at the bar alone, while I broke his fingers for touching her.
“It symbolizes my rebirth. Leaving the foster care system, I grew my wings and flew away from my beginning to find my ending.”
“Am I interrupting something?” Tonk asked with a stupid smirk on his face. Let me wipe that off your face for you, Tonk.
“Is it done?” I inquired, purposefully being vague.
“Yeah.”
“And?” Tonk knew I hated fishing for answers.
“Trashed, I think the man lives like a slob. Nothing out of the ordinary, though.” Fuck. Where the hell did Cray Donovan go?
“Just pretend I’m not here, guys,” Liz said, wanting us to know that we were rude. You don’t get my attention all the time, Liz.