Punishing Me (Shaft on Tour #6) (6 page)

Bull’s Spit

Ireland

"I
win again!" Hunter's daughter, Jasmine, squeals around a mouth full of
cotton candy. The Skeeball machine buzzes and lights up. The words ‘WINNER’
flashing in a rainbow of bright colors, almost appearing to celebrate right
with her. Standing to her bright purple covered converse feet on the chair, she
throws her hands up, shaking her butt in a full on victory dance. Rubbing salt
in the wounds of Dominick's loss.

I
love this kid.

For
the last hour, she has gone through half a red solo cup full of tokens while
playing every game in the place.

Twice.

Dominick
has had his ass handed to him by a six-year-old, over and over. I am enjoying
every single second of it. With every win, Jazz throws down a victory dance
that any football player would envy, leaving the sore loser to roll his eyes
and pout like a baby. I am helpless to do anything but cheer her on.

At
her age, I would have given anything for days like this. It wasn’t until I was
much older, and able to bring myself, that I ever walked into an arcade. Even
then, it didn’t happen often. It was never the same without friends or family
to play with. This will no doubt be the highlight of my week.

"Girls
rule! Boys drool!" she sings, whipping her arms around above her head.

It's
contagious. I can't help laughing and dancing along beside her. Shaking my hips
back and forth, I join in the fun, pointing and laughing at him with her.

"Yeah,
yeah," he mutters, grabbing the fist full of tickets the machine spit out.
"Simmer down, ya bunch of crazies. You cheat anyway."

Jasmine
stops dancing immediately, her happy smile fading into a slit your throat and
leave you for dead in the desert glare. "That's a crockpot full of bull's
spit," she grinds out through gritted teeth. Facing him, she jabs him in
the chest with her finger. "Own your loss, punk."

Looking
between us girls, he shakes his head. "I really have no idea how to even
respond to that." Narrowing his eyes, he studies her carefully. "I
have my doubts as to whether you're really six, or if you're like that chick in
the movie I watched last night and never age. Maybe you're waiting to kill me
in my sleep, but are too cute for anyone to believe it."

"You're
boring," she replies, rolling her eyes.

Dominick's
eyes meet mine, his features softening. "Are you enjoying this?” he asks,
smirking at me.

"Absolutely,"
I inform him. "I think Jasmine could possibly be my favorite person on the
planet."

"Like
really, really?" she asks, turning to face me, her eyes lighting up.

"Oh
yeah," I nod, smiling at her. "Totally. Top of the list fave,
girl."

Leaping
from the chair, she launches herself into my arms, wrapping herself around me
like a monkey. "My best frannnnnnnd is the super, coolest girl ever! We
can have sleepovers and, and play dress up... and, and eat all the cookies when
we watch movies... and..."

"Whoa,
whoa; back the crazy train up a minute," Dominick blurts, holding up both
hands and interrupting her tirade. "Aren't you forgetting someone, Squirt?"

Loosening
her grip on me, she slides to the floor. "Don't worry, Mack," she
says, turning to face him. "You can come, too."

"Oh
yeah," he asks, staring down at her.

"Yep,"
she replies, popping the 'p'. "Who else is gonna bring the cookies?"

His
face falls. I laugh, unable to help it, because he looks like she just broke
his heart. I'd almost believe it, if I thought he had one to begin with. I know
all too well that there is nothing in that man's body resembling a heart, or a
soul. I am a firm believer that safely tucked away behind the layers of
Dominick Bradford is nothing but gaping black hole that will suck you in the
moment you let your guard down only to selfishly spit you back out without a
second thought once you've served your purpose to him.

Leopards
don't change their spots. Why would assholes be any different?

"I
see how it is," he huffs, scooping her up over his shoulder. Jazzie
squeals, giggling when he spins around in circles. "You can try to replace
me with someone prettier all you want. Just remember, no one is gonna rock that
Elsa solo better than I do."

Wiggling
around, she manages to wrap her arms around his neck and presses a kiss to his
cheek. "You'll always be my favorite princess."

"Good,"
he laughs. "Now, since that’s settled, let's hit the cookie corner before
we have to head home."

"Yay!"

Settling
to her feet, he produces a handful of dollar bills. “Loser feeds the addiction,
right?” he asks, holding out the cash. Jasmine grabs them without a word and
bolts across the large game room for the concessions in the corner. The tiny shops
are all surrounded by small, brightly colored tables and chairs.

We
make our way over, Dominick keeping his eyes locked on the little girl the
entire time. He smiles when she makes it to the counter and slaps down the
money. "Yo, Marina!" she says, as if she has known the woman all her
life. "Three please; but make mine with extra icing,
pleeeeeeeeeease."

"You
got it, Jazzie," the brunette behind the counter says, before turning her
back to us all. "Comin’ right up."

Sitting
down at a table clearly too small for any sized adult, Dominick's knees touch
his chin. Thoughts of the chair breaking and him falling to the floor have me
biting back a laugh as he speaks. "She tends to show off for company,” he
tells me when I take the seat across from him. “I’ve learned it’s best to just
go with it.”

“Mhm,”
I nod, not paying him much attention. I came here because of the kid. Well, and
for lack of anything better to do with my day. Besides, I have enjoyed spending
time with Hunter and Chase’s daughter. She’s everything I would expect and want
in a kid if I ever had one of my own. I had figured being around Dominick would
make me feel uncomfortable, or whatever, but Jazz being a force all her own,
completely commands all the attention of everyone around her. Somehow, she
makes it easy to forget that I can’t stand the prick and want nothing more than
to shove my combat boot up his ass every time he opens his mouth. It wasn’t
weird at all spending time with him around, until she wasn’t close enough to be
a buffer between us. Now that we are alone, being this close to him, you
guessed it, it’s awkward.

I
don’t know what’s worse, the silence, or when he tries to talk, forcing me to
answer in one syllable replies. I know it’s rude, leaving him to carry the
whole conversation, but what could I possibly have to say to him?

“Look
Mack!” Jazzie shouts, breaking the silence hanging around the table when she
takes a seat between us. “Marina even carried the tray over so I didn’t drop
your sammich on the floor this time.”

His
face turns beat red the second our eyes meet. “Givin’ all my secrets away
today, huh, Squirt?” he asks, reaching out and taking the black plastic tray
from the brunette behind the counter and placing it down in the middle of the
table. “Thanks, Marina. I appreciate not having to eat mine off the floor.”

She
giggles, batting her eyes at him, a blood red flush spreading across her face.
“I’d never make one of my favorite customers eat off the floor, Mack.”

Oh
for the love of subtle flirting…

“Aren’t
you sweet,” I say, looking up at her. “I’m sure Mack will give ya a nice, big
tip. I hear he spends too much time on his knees anyway.”

The
comment flies from my brain and out of my mouth like word vomit before I can
stop it. All eyes are on me, and suddenly, I can feel real vomit rising in my
throat. The embarrassment of my very rude outburst causes my whole face to
flame.

Jasmine
scoops up a giant chocolate chip cookie sandwich, white icing leaking out onto
her fingers as she shovels as much of it into her mouth in one bite as she can.

“Easy
there, kiddo,” Dominick says, grabbing napkins from the tray and helping her
wrap her dessert the best he can while she continues to attack it. “Pace
yourself.”

“It’s
soooooo good!” she says around a mouthful. She looks at me and smiles, icing
and cookie pieces stuck to her face. “I got you one too, Ireland. Try it!”

“Ireland
is a Vegan, Jazz,” Mack blurts. The fact that he even remembers that
information about me is surprise enough to render me speechless. Turning to
Marina, Mack smiles. “Could I get a box for the other two, beautiful? I should
probably be gettin’ the kid home some time tonight.”

“She’s
what?” Jazzie interrupts, scrunching her face up in confusion.

Mack
laughs at her cookie and icing covered expression. Grabbing another napkin, he wipes
some of the mess from her face. “Vegan. It means she chooses not to eat some
things, like meat.”

“That’s
boring,” she says, shoving more cookie in her mouth.

“No,”
Mack says, shaking his head. “I’ll keep it simple. Think of it like this: you
pick the pepperonis off pizza. That’s your choice, so we sneak them under the
table to Bits.”

“Rae
says we should eat everything that’s put on our plate,” she argues. “Anyway
pepperonis taste like feet.”

“Okay.
For one, we don’t listen to or do
everything
Rae says. I prefer to think
of it as more of an opinionative selection process,” Mack says, chuckling as if
listening to the nanny was the most ridiculous thing he had ever heard. “Two: I
know you don’t taste people’s feet.”

“Whatever,”
she shrugs, shoveling the last of the sandwich into her mouth. Licking her fingers
clean, she smacks her lips. Looking up at me, she knits her eyebrows together.
I have no doubt the wheels in her head are turning on overdrive, processing
what he has just told her. Nodding her head, she licks her lips and claps her
hands together. “Does that mean you don’t want your sammich? ‘Cause I do!”

By
the time Marina has boxed up the rest of the cookie sandwiches, and Jazzie has
cashed in her tickets for some stuffed parrot, I still have yet to swallow my
embarrassment and find my voice. I speak my mind, that’s just something I do.
Love it or hate it, it’s who I am. Though, I don’t usually spit random rude
things at people I don’t know; especially in front of a child.

It’s
the Dominick effect. Or should I say Dom’s-a-dick effect…

I
let him get to me and make me crazy. The problem with this particular situation
is he technically didn’t do anything. Why does putting your foot in your mouth
always leave such a bad after taste?

The
walk to the cars is quiet, except for the constant chatter of the supercharged,
sugar-fueled six-year-old. I read somewhere that the average six-year-old can
ask as many as four hundred questions in a single day. I’d bet all the cash in
my back pocket that Miss Jasmine has surpassed that just in the time it has
taken to cross the parking lot. Every single question is shot off in rapid-fire
succession that rivals any automatic weapon in a soldier’s arsenal. It has me
starting to wonder if Dominick is right and she is older than she claims to be
and is gathering intel before killing him in his sleep.

“Why
are your legs longer than my body? Is that how come you’re so tall, Mack?” she
asks, staring up at him, her hand tucked safely in his. “Is it so you can reach
the top shelf of the closet where Mommy hides the Christmas presents? Do you
bump your head a lot?”

“Ooookaaaaay,”
he says, hitting the button on his key fob for the locks before opening the
driver’s side door. “In you go, jabberin’ Jenny.”

“My
name’s not Jenny,” she huffs, releasing his hand and into the car. “Ya, big
buncha crazy!”

Leaning
inside the vehicle, he starts the engine and settles the cookie box in the
passenger seat. “I’ll just be a sec, Squirt. I wanna check Ireland’s spare tire
real quick before she drives home on it. Stay out of those cookies, or there’s
gonna be trouble, ya feel me?”

“Cross
my heart and hope for fries,” she says, giving us a double thumbs up.

Closing
the door, he grabs my elbow and steers me toward the other side of my car. “I’m
fine, you don’t ha—”

“What
the hell was that?” he snaps, pressing me back into my car.

“What?”
I ask, yanking my arm free of his grasp.

“Here
I thought you pulled that stick out of your ass and ditched the ‘I’m a
rockstar’, over-privileged, ‘I can be a bitchy brat all I want’ attitude.
Forgive me for thinking we could get beyond whatever issues you have with me
and could be civil for the sake of that kid in the car who, just so you know,
for some reason, thinks you’re amazing. Go figure,” he says, rolling his eyes.

“Go
to hell,” I hiss, stomping on his foot. He releases his hold on me, jumping
back a few steps. “I don’t like you. And, just so you know, I
never
fake
it.”

His
eyes narrow, his mouth pressing into a hard line. Even though he is pissed, I
can see the dimples in his cheeks, the ones that made him absolutely
irresistible to me all those years ago. They were the proof, in my mind, that
there was something beyond the badass, troublemaker he always appeared to be.
Something soft and sweet that I saw more of every time he smiled at me.