His Mafia Queen

Drinks With Friends

Riley

After Gabriel leaves, I sit in my apartment, drinking coffee and feeling conflicted. Something about this morning doesn't sit right with me. Maybe it's the way he gave me an orgasm then without missing a beat, immediately mentioned Catherine.

Had he been thinking of her while touching me? It's possibly my worst fear.

I think, eventually, the two of you can be friends, he'd said.

Friends with a woman who considers my boyfriend her muse? Yeah, right.

Friends with a woman who showed up at her estranged father's funeral to tell my boyfriend that she was in love with him? What the hell?

Friends with a woman who is tiny and beautiful, looking like a porcelain goth doll — pretty much the opposite of me? Come on.

Normally I understand where Gabriel's coming from. When he tells me he doesn't want me to be involved in his business, I get it.

But this? It's a big ask.

Then again, he's given me no reason to doubt him. He's been honest, for the most part.

"Except for the mafia part," I snort aloud.

I finish my coffee and wonder what, exactly, I'm doing. I adore Gabriel. I love Gabriel. I'm head-over-heels, deep in lust, butterflies in tummy kind of love.

Because of that, I'm going to trust him and contact Cath. My editor does want the story on her gallery soon, because it opens this coming weekend. It would be difficult to explain why I went to the interview, fled, then didn't write about her.

I pick up my phone and find Cath's number, then tap out a text.

I'm sorry about being pulled away on another assignment the other day. Would you be willing to continue the interview sometime soon? I still want to write about your gallery.

Her response is immediate. Of course! How about drinks tonight?

* * *

We meet at a lounge downtown, an upscale hipster place with a rooftop bar. We sit up there, at a high-top table with a vista of the entire city. From this vantage point, the twinkling lights make everything look like a dream. The downtempo lounge music adds a languid, sensual vibe to the place, and I idly wonder if Gabriel's ever been here.

Probably not, is my guess. He only goes out if he has a purpose, and when he wants to lounge with a cocktail, there's no better place than his terrace. My guess is that he wouldn't enjoy how the tables are so close together, how packed it is, how everyone here seems to be trying so hard.

He doesn't know I'm here tonight. All I told him was that I had a late interview. Then again, if he had lunch with Cath like he said, he knows exactly where I am and what I'm doing.

Even though I swore I'd never drink again after this past weekend's debauchery, when Cath asks me what I want, I study the menu and settle on a drink called The Second Chance.

"Ooh. Passionfruit, lime, mint, rum, and coconut rum. Make that two," Cath says to the waiter, snapping the menu shut. "And can we also get some snacks. Like nuts or chips or something salty and crunchy?"

She waves her black-tipped nails in the air, as if she's casting a spell on the waiter. He grins and says of course.

Once he's gone, Cath and I stare at each other. She's really something to look at, a petite woman who is impeccably made up. Tonight she's wearing black lace bell bottom pants, a red velvet blazer, and what looks like a black lace corset underneath. Her hair is long, black, and wild, and there are at least a dozen necklaces draped over her chest.