Sweet Release (A Bad Boy Mafia Romance) Read Online Free
Author: Victoria Villeneuve
hadn’t exactly worked out for me.
He looked like he might, for a second. But, he ultimately shrugged, and jerked a thumb toward the world outside the door. “Ah, maybe some other time. Got a few guys to work with, so…”
“Okay,” I told him, hiding my minor disappointment. It wasn’t like I was ready to date someone anyway. Not that I had invited him on a date. I mean, not like a real date, anyway. “No problem. Well, next time some jerk asks for a handy jay, I’ll be sure to flag you down and maybe we can talk some more.”
Mike laughed at that, bobbed his head, and chuckled as he left the room.
The rest of the day was blessedly uneventful—thank God—and I left with about eighty bucks in tips in my pocket, which made this day, in my book, a net win. I was also pleased to have found out, even though it had been tense and a little embarrassing, that Jarome really did have my back in there. Zero tolerance; he meant it.
And then there was Mike.
I smiled. Well. I had myself well established into step four. It could have been jumping the gun a little, but…
Maybe I was ready for Step Five: Start airing out that broken heart, and give someone the chance to prove everything He-who-shall-not-be-named taught you about men wrong. But, don’t go crazy.
But was a guy like Mike really the right kind of guy?
Chapter 2
Michael
She was an odd bird, I was thinking, after work, waiting for my parole officer to finish with whatever other ex-con she was dealing with before she saw me. Ella Robinson. Coo-coo-ca-choo. Except Ella didn’t look like anybody’s mom I knew. She was cute. Too cute for the job. I wondered what she’d been thinking, getting herself into a place like the gym. Not that Jarome put up with anyone’s shit; he’d been serious about his zero tolerance policy and had terminated Rex’s contract the second he heard what he’d pulled.
Still, Jarome’s place, or any other gym known for training up fighters of one kind or another, tended to attract a certain type. They were my type, granted, and I never woulda done what Rex did in there but… there was probably a reliable statistic is all I’m saying. Guys like me ran hot, all that extra testosterone maybe, and while Jarome didn’t put up with drugs on his turf there were a couple guys—Rex included—that he suspected might be using steroids. Time would tell, and he knew what signs to look for.
Funny thing is, Ella hadn’t seemed to shaken up by it. She had some mettle in her. It made her cuter, somehow, little fireball in her workout clothes, skinny but not like the girls these days that get that way by eating salads and swallowing cotton balls or lived on cleanses and whatever diet was hot. No, Ella looked solid. If I didn’t know better, I’d think she was a fighter herself; lean muscle and punch. I wondered what was hiding in that cute little body besides fight.
Not that it mattered. Who was I? An ex-con with nothing to my name except that little room over the gym that wasn’t exactly the place you took a lady friend. Not that I wasn’t grateful to Jarome for it—I was, it would take years to pay the man back for his kindness—but to a girl that had her shit put together I was probably more eye-candy than anything else.
At least I had that going for me, though.
Annemarie let her parolee go, and looked me over from the door, like any other woman would. Except she didn’t care to flirt with me. All professional, this woman. I’d met her twice now, and she didn’t take shit from nobody either. “Michael,” she said. “Good to see you. Come in.”
She was a roundish black lady with a crop of red curls on her head that bounced when she moved. Couldn’t place her age, but she was mature. She had a way about her—like somebody’s mother; ready to discipline, but compassionate enough to see you for who you were, not what you’d done. I liked her
He looked like he might, for a second. But, he ultimately shrugged, and jerked a thumb toward the world outside the door. “Ah, maybe some other time. Got a few guys to work with, so…”
“Okay,” I told him, hiding my minor disappointment. It wasn’t like I was ready to date someone anyway. Not that I had invited him on a date. I mean, not like a real date, anyway. “No problem. Well, next time some jerk asks for a handy jay, I’ll be sure to flag you down and maybe we can talk some more.”
Mike laughed at that, bobbed his head, and chuckled as he left the room.
The rest of the day was blessedly uneventful—thank God—and I left with about eighty bucks in tips in my pocket, which made this day, in my book, a net win. I was also pleased to have found out, even though it had been tense and a little embarrassing, that Jarome really did have my back in there. Zero tolerance; he meant it.
And then there was Mike.
I smiled. Well. I had myself well established into step four. It could have been jumping the gun a little, but…
Maybe I was ready for Step Five: Start airing out that broken heart, and give someone the chance to prove everything He-who-shall-not-be-named taught you about men wrong. But, don’t go crazy.
But was a guy like Mike really the right kind of guy?
Chapter 2
Michael
She was an odd bird, I was thinking, after work, waiting for my parole officer to finish with whatever other ex-con she was dealing with before she saw me. Ella Robinson. Coo-coo-ca-choo. Except Ella didn’t look like anybody’s mom I knew. She was cute. Too cute for the job. I wondered what she’d been thinking, getting herself into a place like the gym. Not that Jarome put up with anyone’s shit; he’d been serious about his zero tolerance policy and had terminated Rex’s contract the second he heard what he’d pulled.
Still, Jarome’s place, or any other gym known for training up fighters of one kind or another, tended to attract a certain type. They were my type, granted, and I never woulda done what Rex did in there but… there was probably a reliable statistic is all I’m saying. Guys like me ran hot, all that extra testosterone maybe, and while Jarome didn’t put up with drugs on his turf there were a couple guys—Rex included—that he suspected might be using steroids. Time would tell, and he knew what signs to look for.
Funny thing is, Ella hadn’t seemed to shaken up by it. She had some mettle in her. It made her cuter, somehow, little fireball in her workout clothes, skinny but not like the girls these days that get that way by eating salads and swallowing cotton balls or lived on cleanses and whatever diet was hot. No, Ella looked solid. If I didn’t know better, I’d think she was a fighter herself; lean muscle and punch. I wondered what was hiding in that cute little body besides fight.
Not that it mattered. Who was I? An ex-con with nothing to my name except that little room over the gym that wasn’t exactly the place you took a lady friend. Not that I wasn’t grateful to Jarome for it—I was, it would take years to pay the man back for his kindness—but to a girl that had her shit put together I was probably more eye-candy than anything else.
At least I had that going for me, though.
Annemarie let her parolee go, and looked me over from the door, like any other woman would. Except she didn’t care to flirt with me. All professional, this woman. I’d met her twice now, and she didn’t take shit from nobody either. “Michael,” she said. “Good to see you. Come in.”
She was a roundish black lady with a crop of red curls on her head that bounced when she moved. Couldn’t place her age, but she was mature. She had a way about her—like somebody’s mother; ready to discipline, but compassionate enough to see you for who you were, not what you’d done. I liked her
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